The Inter-Dimensional Courtship of Bowser Koopa

Chapter 9
Life's Thief


Four days had passed after Bowser awoke in his room, saved from outer space’s vacuum. He had picked himself off the floor and collapsed into bed and slept for half a day. After waking, he immediately thrust himself into the day-to-day affairs of which he had been absent from for all of a week.

That threw him off a little. Had he really been gone for a whole week? It felt like it month when he sat down to remember it all.

Of all the things Bowser thought about since his return, it was thoughts of Sami, and the promise of a suitable mate to be delivered upon the completion of his duties that filled his time. Since his return and recovery a ten-minute period did not pass without him checking the Scroll of Distant Heralds. The device of Pit and his gods remained inert, however.

Bowser threw out his considerable collection of Princess Peach pictures on the second day. It was in preparation for the coming of his new mate, he told himself. A mate that had to be Sami, there was no doubt in his mind about that. They had connected. There was an energy of close kinship between them. For Bowser, Sami was the only person that made any sense to him. He tossed the photos, not wanting Sami to feel she had competition. Peach didn’t seem as friendly to his eyes, nowadays. The koopa troop that manned fort Bowser thought he was losing it. They would peek around corners and creep about doorways overlong after receiving their orders, checking over their shoulders as they went by to see if their liege would do anything strange.

It wasn’t long before the king of koopas began to wonder if he had been mistaken. Perhaps someone had died who should not have died. Maybe Pit was stiffing him, or to them it had been a joke? The waiting for something to happen tormented him, the possibilities growing more grim with each passing hour. By the third day, Bowser’s mood had grown dark. His own koopalings steered clear of his presence, leaving their father to stew in his funk until he found his own way to come out of it.

The fourth day found Bowser taking his favorite personal airship, one of many, for a cruise over Iceworld. He was standing tall on the fore deck, letting the cold air wash over, biting into his scales pleasantly, when he felt the urge to view the Scroll again. He had thought to throw the thing overboard on this day, to be rid of it and the obsession it trapped him in. Bowser thought Pit a cheat, his reward lost. And now, a few short minutes from being thrown into oblivion it delivered a simple text message both exhilarating and frightening. It said:

—You’ve done me a marvelous favor. Mission accomplished! Securing your promised reward hasn’t been easy. I’m opening a doorway at wherever you are right now. There’s not much more I can do. Best of luck. Now hurry, there’s not much time. Save her. Your’s, Pit—

In the middle of reading this, a door appeared in the center of the deck with the same wooden clunk as the first one he stepped through in his room, more than a week ago. On its own volition, the door swung open from its unmoving frame, revealing not a black patch in reality, but rather a scene of black smoke and trampled mud, screams of dying men and exploding machinery. It was a scene of war.

Bowser stood frozen in shock and fear, soaking it in. Then the implication of what he saw before him hit home, and he launched himself through the door.

+++

The capital of Orange Star poured thick, oily smoke into the brown sky, the city reduced to nothing more than a burned out shell. Black Hole forces combed the valley and hills of the surrounding countryside, black squat figures that skulked the country side like roaches—routing out the remaining Orange Star forces, gunning them down where they stood.

At once critical strategic chokepoints all over the land the remains of Orange Star’s last stand coated the ground with shards of twisted metal and the crushed bodies of the dead. There was little movement here, a few soldiers on both sides slumped through the half-light of a smog clouded sun, struggling to breath in the blown ash of a freshly dead civilization, searching for survivors. It was into one such place that Bowser found himself emerging.

The koopa king shut out the sights and smells of the battle around him, eyes darting in his head, desperate to glimpse a patch of pale white skin or olive green bandanna.

Bowser kept low during his search, ducking behind cover where he could find it. A downed tree here, an exploded tank there. Staying calm proved to be impossible. Time was racing by, some unnamed instinct within told him that he must find her soon, that there was only so much time. Everything was dirt, and though Bowser had never been what one would call a tidy creature, the amount of filth overwhelmed even his tolerance levels. He had never seen so much of it, and the mess seemed to cover his field of vision like a thick fog. The lost checkpoint, consisting now of a collapsed base and a cluttered dirt road, was eerily silent. In the distance, machines of war and gunfire created a backdrop of sound, a dull roar with the occasional thud like a misplaced drumbeat amongst the music of war.

Bowser grew panicked, for he had seen no signs of life nearby, much less a clue to the whereabouts of Sami. He was almost reduced to a weeping mess when a burst of rat-a-tat-tat machinegun fire came from a nearby patch of woods a good number of yards from the side of the dirt road. The koopa king pulled together and sprinted at a speed that was rare for his species. Half of the wooded hollow he now ran into had been pushed over by Black Hole vehicles, leaving the still standing portions the target of his frantic search.

Trees passed by in the haze like strangers in a crowd, each reaching out to stall him with their braches. Bowser barreled through them all, stopping for nothing. He did not run long before the trees on either side dropped away suddenly, leaving him at the top of a clear bluff. Downhill, Black Hole recon and mechanized infantry advanced to his location across a sunken valley beyond. A little ways ahead, where the downward slope of the bluff began, a hand-dug pit lined with sandbags housed three human figures. One of them was Sami, her bandanna flapping in the wind.

Bower continued to run, slowing to a jog while calling out her name over and over. At last she turned, wide eyed. She almost shot him, but dipped her rifle down as she recognized his one of a kind outline. Next to her an Orange Star infantryman laid dead, a bullet in his forehead. The third was about to follow, sitting in a pool of his own blood which seeped from his chest.

“Bowser! What are you-“

“No time,” he roared. With one meaty claw he hoisted the woman to her feet and took off running back in the direction of the door. Sami jerked her arm free from his grasp but kept up with the koopa. She had dumped her machine gun back at the foxhole.

Behind the grind of tank treads and the growling of motors grew close. Crossing back into the trees, what was left of the forest growth and the fog of war hid them from any pursuers. For the time being.

Sami had sprinted ahead of Bowser by the time they cleared the other side of the woods. Bowser shouted and pointed to the still open door, dead center in the middle of the base road, just a good sprint away.

They had just gained the road, still twenty yards off from the door when the Black Hole MD tank rolled into view. From the direction of the fallen base it bared down upon them, a solider already taking his position at the heavy machineguns placed on the tank’s top. Sami cried out in despair, pushing herself, reaching inside for any last hidden reserves of strength and finding just enough. Bowser trailed by a yard, both of them green and orange streaks against the tan dirt of the road.

The man on the tank’s top began to fire. Slugs buried themselves in the ground alongside their escape route, kicking up the dirt in large plums of dust. The door was still a few yards away. Bowser knew the gunfire could easily mow them down given another shot, so he wheeled about to face the harrying tank.

The machine gunner fired off another long burst, the bullets landing all about the koopa. Bowser ignored it and gathered in a full breath. Then he spat it out, igniting it with all the flame he could muster. The resulting fireball was huge. Dwarfing Bowser’s own head, it rocketed through the air, heat waves swirling about it in a wide corona. The flames struck the target in full, engulfing the top half of the tank in raging fire. The Black Hole soldier screamed as his outfit, and then his body, hissed and sizzled in the heat. He died soon after. The tank swerved off the road and came to a halt, the driver trapped inside a burning tank and unable to see clearly for the flames.

“The best way to get rid of trash is to burn it,” Bowser spat and turned back to the door. What he saw turned his guts to stone.

Sami laid face down in the dirt, unmoving. Bowser was at her side in an instant, turning her over with the greatest of care. He searched her body for the wound and found it immediately. Sami’s shirt was dark red around her stomach. The bullet had gone into her lower abdomen and had not come out the other side. Her face was chalk white, lined and drawn tight with pain. Sami looked up at Bowser with watery eyes, the horned bulk of his face blurring in and out.

“They’re all dead. Max, Andy, Nell. Everything’s gone,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. A weak smile came to her lips. “Guess Black Hole is about to complete the set.” Sami gestured to the blood oozing onto her shirt.

Bowser’s voice was hoarse, breaking as he spoke. “You can still live with me, there’s still a kingdom waiting for you, just past that door.”

Sami coughed, blood sputtering up into her throat. “Gonna take me to your castle? Take me prisoner.” Her one hand drifted up to his face, tracing the lines of his nose and mouth. “My own private monster to keep me there.”

“Yes.” Bowser cradled her in his arms and hurried through the door. Nothing else touched them.

+++

“Thirsty. It feels c-cold,” Sami said as Bowser prepared to leave her of the fore deck of his airship.

“I know something that can save you. Wait here for me, I’ll be back before you know it.”

The look in Sami’s eyes told Bowser that she wanted him to stay, that she expected to die any minute and that she wanted him there, with her. But he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t sit around and wait for her to die, not when he knew that somewhere in Iceworld below, a One-Up mushroom waited. He might not find it, or return in time to save her. He may miss what could be his last minutes with her. The risk, he decided, was worth it, even as her desperate gaze tore him to ribbons inside. Bowser shoved these worries away and gave Sami a final nod. The next minute found him descending the airship’s anchor chain to the icy plains below.

The ship’s anchor had landed in a narrow valley cut into the center of Iceworld’s largest mountain range like a paper cut in the face of the world. It was here that he hoped to find the 1-Up mushroom, hidden somewhere within the hollows and crevices of this unnamed valley. One could waste days searching for hidden metal boxes that housed the green and white mushrooms of life, but Bowser had no time for that. He knew the sure location of just one, a box that neither Mario nor his allies had ever found, one he had saved for a true crisis.

Hunching against the frigid winds of Iceworld, he made his way into a ravine along the valley’s eastern edge. All about the koopa king boulders of pure ice glinted in the noon sun, pointing their jagged edges to airship above. Bowser eased himself down into the groove, its walls rising up to block out the slate white sky on both sides. Ice in Iceworld came in two forms: smooth and slick or pointy and jagged. He had to avoid both as he descended, waddling on all fours where the sloop grew treacherous. Bowser was aware of the passage of time like never before in his life. It hurt to feel the minutes slip away, to have to sacrifice time by sidestepping obstacles or taking an indirect but safer route.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, Bowser reached the end of the ravine. Sheer walls of rock and ice towered highest here, joining into a square-ish dead end. Save for a few stray stones and broken chunks of ice, the ground was empty. Bowser moved under the spot where the box hovered invisible in the air and looked up. The air was clear, it remained invisible, no one had touched it. Letting out a huff of relief, Bowser picked up a nearby stone of the approximate size of a koopa shell and flung it upwards into the block.

There was a hollow thump as the rock shattered and the metal storage box bumped into view. No 1-Up mushroom appeared. The box had simply revealed itself and sat there, suspended by magical forces, inert.

It was empty.

With a roar of indignation and rage the koopa king leapt into the air, latching onto the magic box with both paws, as if to drag it down to earth with his weight. However, the box held firm in its place as Bowser raked its top side with his claws. No mushroom.

The world turned red for the koopa king. He frothed with fear and anger which sent him tearing all over the ravine’s floor, flinging every loose object at hand into the air in his search. A vision of Sami’s pain stricken face filled his mind, driving him on.

And the whole while he thought of who could be responsible. The box had been empty, yet still invisible, which meant that someone with magical know-how had taken the mushroom and turned the box invisible again. That left out the Mario Bros., who had neither the magic nor the inclination to cover their tracks. But who if not them?

It was then that he found the door. Bowser was certain right away that it was not one of Pit’s for it was made of metal, painted red with a gold knocker, smooth and formed with little detail in the shape of a beast’s head, a ring of gold clutched in its jaws. He did not recognize this sigil, but it appeared to be more decoration than anything else. The door was smaller than Pit’s plain wooden jobs. He was also certain that it had not been here during his last visit to this place.

With no time left to ponder its mystery, the king clenched the gold knob and twisted. The knob turned without resistance and the door swung open. Instead of blackness a whole other world stretched away before him, baking under a foreign sun. The door opened onto a path that lead away from the door, over ridge tops and waterfalls. Strange mountains like cardboard tubes striped with grass filled the landscape as trees filled a forest. The actual trees themselves looked tropical and everywhere low growing plants with red or green leaves swayed in the breeze. On that same breeze were smells so strange that Bowser knew no words to describe them.

Bowser could also see a small group tromping away into the distance. About five small figures lopped next to a much larger bulk, all too far away to make out the fine details. There was one detail that did not escape his attention, and that was the white and green object in the bulky stranger’s hand.

The door was small, but it could only delay Bowser a second as he threw himself through it with renewed rage. Bowser cleared the door and hurtled down the path, heedless to the endless drop off of the cliffs on either side of the path.

It did not take long for the leader of the thieves to hear the noise and turn. The thing took one glance at Bowser and began to run faster, its tiny followers picking up the pace to avoid being left in the dust. The thief could not outrun Bowser, however, and soon lost its lead.

Bowser caught up with the creature on the edge of a wide waterfall. Its waters rushed and churned, lined with white foam. Logs of floating wood rolled over the falls into an abyss, a place where the land ceased to exist into a vast expanse of nothingness that light could not reach the bottom of.

The band of thieves came into sharp focus. Their leader was a gigantic frog or toad, Bowser couldn’t tell which, with green skin and a huge mouth. It wore a golden crown and a golden chain and pendant. A fur-lined robe of white sloped over its hunched shoulders. In its right hand it held the purloined mushroom. Two perfectly round eyes regarded the koopa king with distain. Its lips tipped upwards in a smile and it snickered, gesturing its minions to attack.

The toad king’s helpers marched on Bowser in direct lines, maintaining a fast but even pace. They were queer, squat characters as high as his knees. Each wore brown or purple cloth jumpsuit and a featureless white mask that completely hid their wearers.

Bowser never stopped his charge. With mouth gaping, he spat flames at the on comers killing three where they stood. Snarling, Bowser jumped on another and lifted the squirming creature above his head. The last minion drew close, its method of intended attack unclear. Bowser let it draw close before hurling its comrade into it with all his might. They squelched as they collided and toppled over the cliff’s edge, into the abyss below.

The toadies killed, Bowser spun about to face his new enemy. The toad (or was it a frog?) grimaced, looking rather put off. Pulling in its round, enormous belly, it said, “What manner of grotesque creature is this that would invade my realm and seek me harm? Be gone, or I will smite you where you stand. None exist that can withstand my magic. I will-“

“Stuff it. There’s only one king here. Give. It. Back.” Bowser’s vision filled with the dancing lights of frenzy. His claws opened and knotted closed in spasms, as if already practicing what they would do once around the thief’s throat.

“What Wart holds, Wart keeps,” the toad said with his insolent smirk.

Bowser leaned forward, legs bracing for a leap. His eyes remained locked on Wart, his words calm and cold. “How will you hold anything when you no longer have hands?”

Wart parted his flat lips to respond but Bowser never gave him the chance. The koopa king was upon him, claws slashing into slimy rubber skin, metal bracers and clenched fists hammering everywhere.

The frog king (or was it a toad?) could do little to resist his beating. His flabby arms waved about franticly, trying to force Bower’s bulk off. But the koopa could not be moved. He felt as heavy as a safe to Wart.

Bower quickly grew weary of beating the snobby thief. His blows stunned and staggered the frog but did not seem to be killing him as they should have. Rather, the other’s bulbous body seemed to absorb the hits, leaving few outward signs of pain and damage. For Bowser it was enough to have his enemy pinned. He reached for the mushroom, intending to snatch it up before it could move away from them, into the nearby abyss or waterfall. It was a 1-Up mushroom’s inherent nature to escape those who sought it.

Before Bowser could secure the life giving fungus Wart opened his mouth wide. The movement distracted the koopa long enough to halt his reach for the prize. From a mouth seemingly every bit as black and depthless as the nearby drop off came a horrid belching noise and a stream of bubbles, each half the size of Bowser’s head. They hit the koopa full on the face, punching him back off the frog with the force of a bullet bill. The bubbles burst into a soaking spray of foul smelling saliva and gastric juice that burned skin. Bowser kept his eyes clenched on instinct, desperate to keep the foul fluid from his eyes. Wheeling backwards Bowser wiped at his face to clean it off. He was not so much worried about his scales, which could withstand much worse, but for his eyes and nostrils. He would lose if he could not see.

As Bowser finished clearing his face of the reeking saliva another salvo of bubbles hit in his chest, pushing him back and nearly over onto this shell. He managed to avoid being trapped on his back by turning to the side as he fell. Landing with a grunt, Bowser raked his claws over the ground, searching for something to pick up and throw at Wart. The only things available seemed to be the low growing sprouts of various plants. In his hurry to stand upright and continue the battle, Bowser grabbed the nearest set of leaves and yanked them clear as he stood up.

There was a belch and another stream of bubbles but Bowser was ready for them this time. He stepped to the side of the arching shot, under the trailing bubbles. A quick glace revealed that the leaves he held were attached to a carrot. The vegetable was lager than his fist, and he could swear there was a face growing on the orange skin.

Bowser cursed his luck. Getting close would be difficult without being knocked back by the frog’s spew. Flame breath was out of the question, for it might destroy the mushroom. Wart even now held the fungus protectively over his chest, as if it were a hostage. Bowser could see that the frog king was nervous now. Wart seemed a little shorter now, shrinking down into himself. His skin was producing excess moisture and his gaze flicked from Bowser’s face to the carrot he held. Where had the cocky attitude gone?

The koopa king shook his head in disgust and chucked the vegetable at Wart with all his might. What happened next made his jaw drop.

Wart let out a high-pitched shriek of terror. Shifting his bulk with previously unseen haste, he flopped out of the carrot’s path long before it could reach him.

An idea so nonsensical rushed into Bowser’s mind that he almost dismissed it right out. Could Wart be afraid of these plants? Better still, was he vulnerable to them? The koopa decided it was time to find out.

As the frog hastily rolled to his feet Bowser bent over and grabbed at leaves with both hands. It took some effort to pull the vegetables from the earth, the clots of earth surrounding each bulging only a little. Bowser saw Wart inching away, readying for another salvo of bubbles after which he would, no doubt, attempt to flee. He redoubled his efforts and freed the tubers from the soil with a soft pop. In his left hand he held a gourd, in his right a heart shaped white turnip.

So armed, the koopa king rushed anew at Wart, bearing down with an unwavering course. Seeing his foe coming for him in a straight line, the frog unleashed another set of bubbles.

Bowser surprised him by retreating into his spiked carapace, vegetables and all. The bubble shot broke harmlessly on the shell’s armor as momentum continued to carry it through the air.

While still midair, the koopa reemerged from his shell and threw the pumpkin like gourd at Wart’s head. It connected and bounced off, leaving Wart reeling backwards towards the waterfall’s banks. Bowser landed not ten full feet in front of him. He came forward quickly and caught the frog’s shoulder with his free hand, holding him fast. Wart’s mouth gaped open in horror and protest, an opening Bowser quickly exploited.

Bowser took the turnip and rammed it into the other’s mouth. He didn’t stop there. He kept pressing the vegetable deeper until a tight, shuttering tube of muscle convulsed around his hand. Bowser figured it to be Wart’s throat and decided to leave the turnip lodged there.

The frog’s skin turn gray as he suffocated. Wart dropped the 1-Up mushroom to claw at his throat and thrashed about in panic. Sure enough, the mushroom began to move on its own, away to the waterfall’s unseen depts. Bowser freed his arm and snatched it off the ground with a hurried ease, taking great cares not to crush it in his claws and free its power. It was super light, as if made of paper and Bowser had a hard time convincing himself to not squeeze it harder, to confirm that it was really there.

Wart stumbled at the wondering koopa, a last ditch attack to win his life. Bowser flinched, his rage returning in a flash of hatred for the frog king. He backhanded the frog across the face, hard enough to create an audible snap. Wart staggered back, turning grayer still, small retching sounds piping from his maw.

“I know losing’s bad, but there’s no need to get all choked up about it. Bwahh ha ha haaa!” Bowser joked. He snorted in the strange air and fired off a fireball. It struck Wart true, exploding in a brilliant burst of reds and whites. And then the frog king was gone, consumed in flames, tumbling over the cliff’s edge into the plunging froth of the waterfall and out of all sight and hearing.

Bowser beheld his odd surroundings for a split moment, then, with eyes set forward, ran back the way he came, never stopping.