Declaration of Victory
The Malice Queen reclined in her dark tower, rereading the letter that her messenger had delivered in utmost secrecy. “Your victory is inevitable,” she read, a smug smirk playing over her lips, “and even I am not such a fool as to play Odin on the eve of Ragnarok. Receive my gift at midnight as a token of my fealty to you.” The note was unsigned, but Keitalia could guess its author.
She glanced at the lead hands on her clock’s obsidian face. 11:55. He would be here any minute.
Several floors lower, in the gray night, the android called the Nebulizer, one of Keitalia’s many goons, nodded to a cloaked figure in what seemed to be wary recognition. “Filthy carbon-based double-crosser,” he said sharply, loudly enough for the guards inside to hear. But the cold metallic discs contained in his firm cybernetic handshake gave the lie to his words. His companion said something quietly and retreated out of sight behind some kind of gigantic looming structure half-concealed in the fog. The Nebulizer waited a moment; then, when the time was right, he called for the guards to help him wheel the strange sculpture into Keitalia’s keep.
Soon Keitalia was alone with the sculpture in her art room, the opulent high-ceilinged gallery devoted to storing the many works of art she had purchased or stolen over the years (plus one piece, a crayon drawing of a raven on a moonless night during an ash storm, that she had made herself in kindergarten on Xenon). She gazed at her new acquisition with pleasure. A gigantic scale, its burnished ebony left pan set far below its pure ivory right, now stood as a centerpiece along one wall. Along the scale’s tilted bar were three lifelike statues – a model of the Reaper on the left, the image of an avenging angel on the right, and poised perfectly in the center, the figure of a faun that Keitalia knew must represent her benefactor himself. Curious, she thought, considering his oath of allegiance to her. No matter. A gift was a gift -- and what a rich gift this was.
The dark lady turned her back on the scale to return to her tower to plot her next nefarious scheme. A moment later, she heard a heavy thud behind her and wheeled around, only to see a wizened man standing before her, his cold eyes glaring. For a moment the stunned Malice Queen thought the statue had come to life; then she realized the truth – that there had never been a faun statue, that her adversary’s mountain goat hooves had kept him steady on the scale’s skewed bar. Behind him, the mammoth scale, bereft of his weight, swung back and forth, slowly equilibrating.
“Panpype,” breathed the Malice Queen, speaking aloud in her shock. “What are you…” I mean, welcome to my gallery. You have the advantage of me. What can I do for you?
“No talk, Keitalia Malifica. Your unnatural regime has come to an end, a regime as unbalanced as your wicked mind.”
What are you talking about? Keitalia knew she ought to feel confident; she was, after all, virtually invulnerable. Yet she found herself edging toward the door. Why am I acting the coward? she thought. I have but one weakness, and surely he –
Panpype extended a gnarled hand. “This.” To Keitalia’s horror, metal gleamed in his palm – a metal she knew all too well.
Before she could react, Panpype’s quick arm threw a piece of the metal towards the door. With a thud, a gleaming chunk of Xenonite fell between Keitalia and her only exit, and she knew she was trapped. Do you want money? Power? Keitalia asked her captor, nervously gauging his reaction. No, I know. Balance is what you seek. Come, rule at my side, and let your spirit temper my evil. But Panpype, coolly placing four more masses of Xenonite in strategic locations around the room, replied “No, Malifica. You are past hope of redemption. Perhaps if you had offered earlier… but no. Now balance can be restored only by your abject defeat.”
Keitalia knew it was true, and noted that she was now ensnared in a perfect pentagram prison formed by the five pieces of metal scattered around the room. Yet she did not blanch as Panpype entered the pentagram. The fool was out of Xenonite. Had he expected her to surrender at this point? No, never, not when she had come so far! Her manicured hand smoothly drew a dagger from a sheath on her thigh. A corner of her mouth upturned, the Malice Queen advanced on the defenseless Panpype.
Panpype saw her coming, saw the dagger. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and his body began to glow. An astonished Keitalia could only watch as glorious electricity at once arced over the goat-man’s body, causing thunderclaps to resound off the walls. In a blaze of white light, the forks of Panpype’s tongue fused and his clock pendant rusted away to nothing. When finally the light faded, Panpype – a very tired-looking Panpype – held a sixth and final piece of the shimmering, fatal metal in his hand.
Keitalia dropped her dagger as Panpype approached her on weak legs. “H-here,” he whispered hoarsely. “Look upon your demise – and upon a return to Balance.”
The Malice Queen did not even have time to scream. As the Xenonite touched her skin, she collapsed unconscious, her power forever departed.
*****
Minutes later, Panpype emerged from the ruins of Keitalia’s crumbled fortress. She was entombed beneath its wreckage, but Panpype knew the erstwhile Malice Queen would live. They always did. Looking around, Panpype saw a crowd of onlookers, civilians and heroes alike, assembled – waiting for an explanation, waiting for closure.
But Panpype did not have enough energy to orate about Balance, nor even to recount the story of what had just happened. Before the eyes of the multitude, Panpype closed his eyes and fell to the ground – less than a man, yet in his way, greater than any hero. But with the last of his energy, in clarion tones, he declared:
“My friends, the Malice Queen’s injustice is vanquished. The war we have fought so hard is won at last. It is finally time for us – all of us – to return to the sea from whence we came.”
She glanced at the lead hands on her clock’s obsidian face. 11:55. He would be here any minute.
Several floors lower, in the gray night, the android called the Nebulizer, one of Keitalia’s many goons, nodded to a cloaked figure in what seemed to be wary recognition. “Filthy carbon-based double-crosser,” he said sharply, loudly enough for the guards inside to hear. But the cold metallic discs contained in his firm cybernetic handshake gave the lie to his words. His companion said something quietly and retreated out of sight behind some kind of gigantic looming structure half-concealed in the fog. The Nebulizer waited a moment; then, when the time was right, he called for the guards to help him wheel the strange sculpture into Keitalia’s keep.
Soon Keitalia was alone with the sculpture in her art room, the opulent high-ceilinged gallery devoted to storing the many works of art she had purchased or stolen over the years (plus one piece, a crayon drawing of a raven on a moonless night during an ash storm, that she had made herself in kindergarten on Xenon). She gazed at her new acquisition with pleasure. A gigantic scale, its burnished ebony left pan set far below its pure ivory right, now stood as a centerpiece along one wall. Along the scale’s tilted bar were three lifelike statues – a model of the Reaper on the left, the image of an avenging angel on the right, and poised perfectly in the center, the figure of a faun that Keitalia knew must represent her benefactor himself. Curious, she thought, considering his oath of allegiance to her. No matter. A gift was a gift -- and what a rich gift this was.
The dark lady turned her back on the scale to return to her tower to plot her next nefarious scheme. A moment later, she heard a heavy thud behind her and wheeled around, only to see a wizened man standing before her, his cold eyes glaring. For a moment the stunned Malice Queen thought the statue had come to life; then she realized the truth – that there had never been a faun statue, that her adversary’s mountain goat hooves had kept him steady on the scale’s skewed bar. Behind him, the mammoth scale, bereft of his weight, swung back and forth, slowly equilibrating.
“Panpype,” breathed the Malice Queen, speaking aloud in her shock. “What are you…” I mean, welcome to my gallery. You have the advantage of me. What can I do for you?
“No talk, Keitalia Malifica. Your unnatural regime has come to an end, a regime as unbalanced as your wicked mind.”
What are you talking about? Keitalia knew she ought to feel confident; she was, after all, virtually invulnerable. Yet she found herself edging toward the door. Why am I acting the coward? she thought. I have but one weakness, and surely he –
Panpype extended a gnarled hand. “This.” To Keitalia’s horror, metal gleamed in his palm – a metal she knew all too well.
Before she could react, Panpype’s quick arm threw a piece of the metal towards the door. With a thud, a gleaming chunk of Xenonite fell between Keitalia and her only exit, and she knew she was trapped. Do you want money? Power? Keitalia asked her captor, nervously gauging his reaction. No, I know. Balance is what you seek. Come, rule at my side, and let your spirit temper my evil. But Panpype, coolly placing four more masses of Xenonite in strategic locations around the room, replied “No, Malifica. You are past hope of redemption. Perhaps if you had offered earlier… but no. Now balance can be restored only by your abject defeat.”
Keitalia knew it was true, and noted that she was now ensnared in a perfect pentagram prison formed by the five pieces of metal scattered around the room. Yet she did not blanch as Panpype entered the pentagram. The fool was out of Xenonite. Had he expected her to surrender at this point? No, never, not when she had come so far! Her manicured hand smoothly drew a dagger from a sheath on her thigh. A corner of her mouth upturned, the Malice Queen advanced on the defenseless Panpype.
Panpype saw her coming, saw the dagger. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and his body began to glow. An astonished Keitalia could only watch as glorious electricity at once arced over the goat-man’s body, causing thunderclaps to resound off the walls. In a blaze of white light, the forks of Panpype’s tongue fused and his clock pendant rusted away to nothing. When finally the light faded, Panpype – a very tired-looking Panpype – held a sixth and final piece of the shimmering, fatal metal in his hand.
Keitalia dropped her dagger as Panpype approached her on weak legs. “H-here,” he whispered hoarsely. “Look upon your demise – and upon a return to Balance.”
The Malice Queen did not even have time to scream. As the Xenonite touched her skin, she collapsed unconscious, her power forever departed.
*****
Minutes later, Panpype emerged from the ruins of Keitalia’s crumbled fortress. She was entombed beneath its wreckage, but Panpype knew the erstwhile Malice Queen would live. They always did. Looking around, Panpype saw a crowd of onlookers, civilians and heroes alike, assembled – waiting for an explanation, waiting for closure.
But Panpype did not have enough energy to orate about Balance, nor even to recount the story of what had just happened. Before the eyes of the multitude, Panpype closed his eyes and fell to the ground – less than a man, yet in his way, greater than any hero. But with the last of his energy, in clarion tones, he declared:
“My friends, the Malice Queen’s injustice is vanquished. The war we have fought so hard is won at last. It is finally time for us – all of us – to return to the sea from whence we came.”
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