by TheTimeTrust
The Tower of Cuccubao, Brazil:
The ever-present evil in the Tower of Cuccubao seemed to flee in terror before the bronzed form of Kristofer Schanz, who raced through the labyrinthine corridors of this hellspawned structure.
Chance scarcely knew where he was going so intently. All he knew was that he needed to find the map to the Lost City they'd come here for in the first place. Time could no longer wait for them. As soon as any guards saw the destruction of one of their so-called laboratories -- though butcher shops was a more appropriate term in Chance's mind -- the danger Chance and his comrades found themselves in would be doubled.
The Luckiest Man Alive ran up uneven steps carved from stone to an unknown destination. And as he did so, he couldn't help but to worry about the teammates who had left him behind and who he had left behind. He had not run into the Raptor and Crasher at all so far, though they could have been anywhere in this maze of tunnels and corridors by now. Were they in trouble? Did they need the trusty assistance of their able ally, Chance? The Swede knew in his gut that it must be so. Yes, they had run into danger somewhere in this place, though he knew not what it could be.
And what of poor, unconscious Ameristar? Was Drax able to guard her from the horrors that lurked in the deadly Tower of Cuccubao? Chance could only hope that the powerful dragon form of Drax could hold off any and all attackers. But for how long? Time, he repeated silently to himself, was of the essence.
Yet as Chance flew through the passageways on feet like steel, he began to notice a slight irritation come over his unclothed body. He paid it no mind at first, continuing to move through the labyrinth and through many unoccupied rooms in search of his prize, but the irritation slowly grew more and more painful. Finally, as the pain began to grow so much that he could not ignore it any longer, he fell to the ground, doubled up in pain.
"AGHKK!" he croaked as the pain became almost too much to bear. "What's... happening to... me?" he groaned to himself as his veins felt like they were shooting hot flames through his whole body. He felt pain in every part of his body at once, somehow, pain that no ordinary man would have been able to endure. But Chance's magnificent body took that pain inward and sought to master it.
Chance fought against these searing, almost-crippling sensations, his muscles going into involuntary spasms from the shock of it all. But he managed to push himself up on his knees, and after a few more moments, he managed to fully stand. The bronzed Swede stood up and flexed all his muscles at once in an attempt to shake off the paroxysms of pain going throughout his body. And after a few unbearable moments, the pain slowly began to lessen, and lessen, until finally it receded altogether.
The strain of it all was nearly -- but not quite -- too much for our hero. He was now covered in sweat -- much moreso than before -- sweat that was quickly washing away the caked-on blood and gore he'd received during the dirty business in the laboratory just before.
"What was that?" he said to no one in particular as he began to feel some semblance of normality once again. He had needed to use a technique of meditation he'd once learned from a Hindu mystic during his youthful travels in order to master the pain, and he had accordingly gone into a near-catatonic state to do so. Now that he was out of it, his quick wits attempted to think of an explanation. But none was forthcoming.
It was then that he heard an eerie sound.
Chance's keen hearing perked up once more in the dreaded darkness of the tower. Strangely enough, the sound he now heard eerily echoing through the passageways seemed to be... singing!
He listened closely, and he could soon hear the following ditty sung faintly over and over:
"I'se the b'y that builds the boat,
And I'se the b'y that sails her,
I'se the b'y that catches the fish
And brings 'em home ta Lizer!"
Chance's eyes widened in astonishment in the darkness, and a grin broke over his face as he recognized the unique voice that sang that traditional folk song of the people of Newfoundland.
"PETE!" Chance cried out gladly. "Pete? Is that you, you lucky bastard?"
In the darkness at that moment, Chance's vision could now focus itself on the dim shape of what seemed to be that of a human. Yet it was transparent and glowed eerily in the darkness. It was the ghastly ghost of Pete Glover.
The diminutive ghost stopped singing and only now seemed to notice Chance's presence. He looked the Swede up and down with a wry, toothy grin on his face and finally said in a voice that seemed somehow to come from far away and right before him at the same time, "Why're you traipsing 'round like that, me old son? You're buck naked an' covered in the devil's funk! Shockin' that is, shockin'! Idn't dat foolish, b'y?"
"Pete, are you ever a sight for sore eyes!" Chance laughed. He hadn't seen a hide nor hair of Pete ever since the first week he had arrived in this world. And, amazingly enough, he had grown to miss the little bugger. "Pete, I'm -- I'm so sorry, man. This has rightfully been your life I've been living on La Perdita with the team. You should be here rather than me. And I've been trying desperately to find a way to bring you back all these months, but I've had no luck at all so far."
"Bring me back?" Pete said with a humored expression on his face. "Now why da 'ell would ya try ta go an' do a daft thing like now, old son?"
"But, Pete, I--"
"Shut up your prate when I'm yappin', b'y!" Pete continued. "I've gotta say, me old son, that it's been a hoot to watch you these past months mopin' and moanin' about poor ol' Pete -- whatever am I gonna do? Boo-hoo-hoo! It's turned ya into a real angishore, ya chucklehead! But enough's enough. It's time ya took control o' your own life and stopped tryin' to find a way to bring me back. I'll have you know I'm happy the way I am!"
"But where have you been all this time?" Chance asked him.
"I've been beatin' the pat with you the whole time, ya daft-brained jinker. You couldn't see or hear me 'til now on account'a you're so demmed stubborn! And, o'course, somebody's gotta put you in your place once in a while! It's amazin' you've held on to your past life so well up until now, me son, but I tell you it's time ta put an end to it. An' that's why I'm here now. I'll be with you from now on. But don't expect me ta do any o' yer work for you -- I've agreed ta be yer sidekick for ta be the comic relief, not fer anythin' else, b'y!"
Chance grinned, his recent troubles put out of his mind by the friendly face of the ghostly old Newfoundlander. "I'm glad to hear it, Pete," he said. "But I can't stay to chat right now. There's something I've got to find." At that, he turned and kept running on his intent search for the map he was determined to find.
"Ye're feckin' arse is showin', b'y!" Pete's ghost shouted at him as the Swede ran on. "Put on some demmed trousers, why don'tcha!"