Author's Note: The author would really like to thank all the people who've never sent him fanmail. If you people have even the slightest bit of shame and/or dignity, you'd at least tell me how much you hated it. Oh, and thanks to J. Wolfman, Skylark, Foxin Star, and all the people who actually have mailed me. You're on my christmas card list. This isn't an attempt to alienate all you folks who are quiet readers, but how hard is it to click my E-Mail address and write "Great Story!" or "I hated it!"? You probably noticed I don't kill people very often. In my opinion, conflict should take a backseat to development of plot, but what do I know? Maybe that's why I never get fanmail. I killed off a bunch of people in The Liberation of Devoniay, and that story's never been heard from again... ah well. If you don't like people being executed in brutal ways, falling off really high places and surviving, and being instantly immersed in a geothermal vent, why is it that JW can just shoot somebody over and over and you still love him for it? I'll shoot people more often if that's what you want. Am I rambling again? Oh, sorry. Let's start the story. Andross and all other Nintendo properties ©1996-98 Nintendo. Bandit, Haran, Clark, etc. are all © that very nice guy Jason Wolfman. Kay Twilight's Star McCloud is mentioned briefly; she (Star, not Kay!) is ©1997-98 Kay Twilight. Endriss Ressler, Nix, Holliman, Favon, Harrison "Holt" Wilkinson, the Wirmisch, Duelba Higgins M.D., Lord Archibald, Agent Progeny, and Agent Progeny's real name (still withheld for plot reasons) are all ©1998 Nakar Gabab Productions. Use them without permission and I contract the Scarabs to blow your house up. And that's not a threat - that's a promise.

Nakar Gabab

By the Graces and Wisdom of S. Miyamoto

Presents

The Wirmisch: Part I

Vying for the Favor

"Why do villains use deathtraps? It makes no sense. If I wanted to kill a hero I'd shoot them or something. And why is it that the heroes escape? Who in their right mind would build a DEATHTRAP with an escape hatch? Are you THAT worried about falling into your own trap?"

-Nakar Gabab, Musings

Chapter One

"The favored man shall rise; the despised shall die"

-Ancient Maxim

"Bow before the mighty Emperor Andross." Commanded the sentry. The tall, slender orangutan did as instructed, dropping to his knees.

"Most beloved emperor... the mine on Macbeth has proven itself to contain a high amount of the nigh inimitable metal your scientists found traces of in the meteorites. We therfore present you a gift."

From under a long cloth carried by the ape's assistant a greenish sword was drawn. It was a katana, that at a glance appeared to be made out of jade. It was not, however, and in fact was almost indestructible. Andross took the blade and made a few slow passes with it, marveling.

"Such splendor!"

"Only fitting for an emperor." The orangutan agreed. Andross grinned.

"Ah, I would've made a fine shogun with this!"

The presenter bowed his head respectfully. "And for every shogun there is a dedicated samurai who will do anything for his lord."

Andross blinked. "Indeed. You please me, Ressler. Once more you have caught my eye and won my favor. And as such... yes, I feel it is time..."

Ressler grinned. He knew what was to come.

"...time to promote you to the title of Right. You, Ressler, will be my foremost advisor, entrusted with secrets not even my heir Andrew knows. Guards! Show this man to his new apartments and robe him as a true Right! Let it be known across Venom that Endriss Ressler is the model of all that a subject should be!"

Ressler laughed heartily. "Thank you, greatest one. I shall never disappoint."

Ressler wandered out of the throne room with newfound poise and authority. Victory again! Andross's trust would not be misplaced, not because Ressler had any sort of false loyalty to him - he secretly knew the emperor was a madman and an idiot - but to accomplish his own ends he would gladly serve under another.

And he had served well. As a young man he pointed out that Pigma Dengar was disappointed and might betray Starfox. James McCloud had been the prize he brought to Andross. His promotion to Commander thereafter was no coincidence. It was Endriss Ressler who had seen the worth in Bandit Forhawk and he had personally accepted the terms of defection. He continued to take credit for Forhawk's actions, riding high on slaughter and mayhem, until shortly before his death, when Ressler's vast foresight dictated that Bandit was soon to fall. And fall he did, but not before Ressler had convinced Andross that it was never his idea to promote the raccoon. Even in Venom's losses Ressler had won.

He had much for him - a brilliant mind, savvy senses, and most of all, his secret. The secret that would keep him in favor forevermore, or at least until he dictated the lives of the galaxy...

Whether they knew it or not.

Andross carefully handed the sword to another servant, a badger named Archibald.

"Take this to your manor and guard it with your life, for as this blade goes so goes your life."

Archibald gulped and left with it.

---

'Summertime, and the living is easy.' thought the lanky ermine as he slipped into the hall of Lord Archibald of Venom. Most of the 'treasures' collected in the dark, columned hall were merely useless trinkets, but once caught the deep blue eyes of Holt Wilkinson. He was lucky his summer fur was in, as he was dark black and able to blend into the shadows of the hall. If his fur were still wintery he would be albino white and totally unable to hide...

'Unless I'm on Fortuna, in which case I even lose track of myself.'

The sword sat on a pedestal, uncovered and ripe for the taking. Holt snuck around the edge of the room, his near empty backpack making not a noise.

The sword, he guessed, was about six pounds. He carefully weighed a long, katana-shaped rock and assumed it matched the weight about right. A single paw darted out and snatched Andross's blade, and another placed the phony. Smiling, Holt packed the sword and slinked towards the open window.

A pair of booted ermine feet hit the turf of Lord Archibald's lawn. Holt crept a few feet more before being stopped.

"Hold it right there, buddy boy."

He swung about, looking for the source of the voice. At last he noticed another ermine, dressed in a black jumpsuit. She was tall and well built, but still agile in appearance. He was not sure who she was. She spoke first.

"Who're you, buddy?"

"The gardener." 'Gardener, sounds too much like Gardiner.' Holt added. She was unimpressed.

"Shoot. I thought for a second you were Corneria's foremost spy. Now I know you're not; just some two-bit thief."

"My name's Holt Wilkinson, lady." He said stupidly. "There, you happy?"

She swung at him. Holt backflipped and her swing whiffed air.

"Damn," she muttered, "you're good on your feet, aren't you Holt?"

Holt responded with a roundhouse kick, which the femlae grabbed in midmove. She flipped Holt to one side.

"Hmph." Holt grumbled. "You got a lotta skill, y'know? I was taught by one of the best freelancers in the field. Now I'm almost as good as her."

"Women are always better." She boasted as she casually kicked Holt just above the groin. He stumbled painfully to his feet. "But I can do you one better. I was trained by Venomian Intelligence. They call me Agent Progeny. Think you can take me?"

Holt opened up on her with a pair of hooks. She took the first one to the snout, but managed to stop the other with her arm. She returned with a low stomach jab. Holt reeled and kicked her leg, causing her to stumble. She dove for him and knocked him over with a shoulder to his knee. Holt threw himself over her and the two began a fierce ground struggle. She won, and tossed the battered male off of her and into some rosebushes. Holt groaned, seemingly unable to stand. Panting heavily, Agent Progeny approached him, gloating.

Then, at the last possible moment, Holt made his move; withdrawing the stolen katana and swinging wildly. His foe screamed as her jumpsuit leg split open, blood staining her black fur a sickly maroon. Not wasting any time with the wounded agent, Holt wiped the sword on the grass and stood, darting instantly for the wall. He didn't know what or who his dueling partner had been, but if she could nearly best a pupil of Star McCloud, she must be... nah...

'She IS' Holt concluded. 'She's Venom's Dar Mansfield.'

Holt vaulted the wall where his ship - his new ship, his beloved ship - lay in wait. In honor of the teacher he secretly loved, Holt had named the ship Star. It was a sleek, emrald-green arwing codesigned by none other than Star McCloud. It held six nova bombs and fourteen Prudent Intercessor Missles, had a triple laser cannon, and about 50% to 75% greater shield integrity than most ships on the legal market, including Starfox's standard arwings. Holt kissed it's black tinted canopy.

"I love you almost as much as I love her... and that's one thing about me she'll never find out."

He tossed the sack into the empty copilot's chair and jumped in the front. Moments later, he was off, flitting into the early morning sky with Lord Archibald's life in tow.

---

"What!?!" Andross exclaimed as the prostrate Lord Archibald groveled.

"The blade was gone, great emperor! I don't know where it went, nor who took it."

At the great ape's side, Ressler shook his simian head. "You don't know? You didn't guard it at all, did you Archibald? Think you're invincible? Only my spy knew of the theft in time to identify the thief. Where were your sentries, Archibald?"

Archibald began to weep. Andross waved Ressler to continue.

"My emperor, I concur that since Archibald did not believe your statement that the sword was his life, he does not deserve, nor does he seem to care about, his life. Therefore he should lose it."

Andross agreed. "I thought the exact same thing. Do so, Right."

Ressler was overjoyed. Archibald was his only real political rival. His death could be harnessed...

"I herefore, by the will of the Great Andross," Ressler concluded, "that Lord Archibald is to be dealt with as follows. Two hours of solitude, then seven hours of torture from our foremost artist in the craft. Afterwards, his eyes shall be put out and he shall be chained naked to the gates of our lord's palace for one full day. Then he shall be led to a small room and his wrists will be slit and held open until his death. His corpse will then be dragged through the streets as a reminder that the mighty Andross cannot tolerate such an infidel! Hail the emperor's decree!"

Andross rose. "All that my Right has said will be. Take him of, and videotape all of it! This will be amusing. And then all of you but my Right begone for a time."

The orders were carried out, the panicked Lord Archibald being escorted out first. The doors shut behind the final attendant as Andross turned to Ressler.

"Such elaborate punishment!"

Ressler smiled. "It is the best way. Believe me, his worst suffering has just ended. Hearing the details of his death will be far worse than the death itself."

Andross stroked his ape chin thoughtfully. "Too true, Right. But what of the sword?"

"Progeny found what she believes is the name of the thief. If she can confirm it, I ask full permission to recover your sword."

Andross sighed. "Do so, Right, and your favor will multiply."

Ressler nodded. "Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to hold your favor."

'For it makes me that much stronger, and you that much weaker.' Ressler reasoned, grinning happily.

Chapter Two

"A word to the wise: Don't be wise. It makes you a target and worries you. How many stressed, paranoid fools do you know?"

-Endriss Ressler, Venom

'My name is... my name is... it's coming back to me.'

She was strapped into the chair. A tall bobcat leveled a large machine at Agent Progeny's head.

"Hold still as before, Progeny."

She did so. Yet, she could not recall ever doing this before...

The machine clicked and worked, scanning her mind, imprinting her memory onto a disk. The cat nodded and smiled, raising a sickly green concoction to her lips. The ermine drank to slow coaching.

"That's right... drink it all... and..."

She sighed and fell unconscious.

'My name is Na... no... it's gone... gone again...'

She slowly awoke from the side effects of the memory potion. The bobcat released her.

"To your new orders, agent!"

He waited until she had left, then lit a cigarette.

"Another job well done down in the Higgins mine. Now to ship off her pertinent data..."

He tapped a few keys. The memories of the night prior were packaged and shipped out.

---

Elsewhere on Venom, Endriss Ressler was reviewing a datafile on the thief who stole Andross's blade. A new memory file came into his workstation, and he gleefully scanned it.

"Who're you, buddy?" The recording of the memory played.

"The gardener."

"Shoot. I thought for a second you..." it went on.

"My name's Holt Wilkinson, lady. There, you happy?"

Ressler smiled, ran the name through his mind, savored it. Holt Wilkinson, a new ermine cloak for his emperor? That would win favor. So too would Holt's hea don the very sword he'd stolen...

If 'Holt' was his real name. But Progeny would find out, unaware that she had met him the night before. She was a fine tool, a purposeful instrument, but it would be hazardous if her memory was returned. She might hold regret...

He pressed a button. "Send for Holliman, Nix and Favon."

They came swiftly. His new ensign and task force of 3 zealous Venomians who would follow their Emperor's Right as God. Holliman was a Basenji dog; Nix a lizard of some sort; and Favon a finch.

Holliman and Favon were not intelligent in the least, and it showed. They did, however, possess great strength and were willing to do anything - even die - for their faith in Venom. Holliman was well built and quiet, as Basenji tend to be. Favor was the dumber of the pair, and when he did muster the courage to speak it was always far too late to make a difference. But their records were good and they rarely failed.

Nix was diffrent. While most lizards were dimwitted and slow, Nix was cunning and quick of mind. His constant scheming was tempered by his love of Andross, which kept him from being dangerously ambitious. He would perform any mission, but tended to stray from those that were obvious suicide. He would've been greatly advanced in rank, possibly a commander, but for one failure. He had been sent to retrieve Dr. Duelba Higgins from Corneria prior to Andross's first assault on the planet. But he was delayed, and evacuated the doctor in the midst of the fighting. Higgins' transporter was hit, and the doctor inhaled a great deal of reactor emission by mistake. Though it was uncertain how harmed Dr. Higgins was by the radiation, since he was already insane, Nix was not killed for his error, and from that time on swore never to be late to any occasion.

They stood at reverent attention before Ressler. Their master explained, illuminating a holoscreen.

"This is 'Holt' Wilkinson, also known as Harrison Wilkinson. He once worked for our ally Colonel Harland. He has abandoned the good Colonel's Racket and has since turned to terrorism. This sinner has taken from Emperor Andross a katana of rare minerals. It is a most holy relic, for Andross himself blessed it. And this..." he paused, pleased at the dogma the three were so eagerly lapping up, 'this... heathen... has been so bold as to steal it!"

Holliman gasped. "The heretic!"

"He defies our good name, and that of Andross." Favon added.

"So our goal then," Nix asked, "is to locate this Wilkinson, delay him, and recover the sword?"

Ressler closed his eyes prophetically. "No... I forsee worse. Holt Wilkinson will ruin the Emperor!"

Favon was shaken. "No! Our empire is invincible!"

Nix grinned, seething with the comedic actions of his companion. "Then he must die."

Ressler smiled. "I see some of us have caught on. Yes. Find this Wilkinson and kill him in the great glory of the emperor."

"And the body, what do we do with it?" Nix asked.

"If," Ressler explained, "he dies easily - a clean head shot or somesuch - keep the corpse and we'll have it flayed. But if not, if he bleeds excessively or is torn apart by a grenade, don't bother. Now leave my sight, and never come back, unless one of you possesses the sword."

They bowed. "For our high emperor, his will shall be done." Nix said reverently. They left in a hustled cluster.

Ressler paced his apartments that night, restless and curious, ever pondering his own agendas. As expected, his plans were going as he wanted them to. Things would resolve themselves in the manner that he had chosen, no matter what tomorrow held.

Unless, he reasoned, Wilkinson knew. His inner conscious was fearful to the thief in the night, more paranoid than it should have been. Could Holt be his opponent? Could his senses wrong him? The answer was obvious.

He had to be right; Wilkinson was his nemesis. The nemesis that never would know...

Or would he? Could Holt survive Ressler's minions? Anyone as dangerous in the very power of his name had luck on his side, as Ressler well knew. For luck was also on his side.

Luck, or was it more? Of course - he was mighty. And he had a strategy that gave him great tactical power. He was not like others - Andross, bent on power; Starwolf, honing in on money and revenge; Bandit Forhawk, killing for sheer pleasure; Haran Goresins, slaying for a religious goal; Clark McHara, zealously adhering to no plan at all; Colonel Gardiner Harland, concerned most with making a profit; the others, struggling for motives - greed, hope, power. Corneria fought for freedom and security, Venom for power. And he...

He fought for...

---

Star cruised gently over the waters of Corneria's Sea of Chatrah, somewhere southwest of the vast Corneria City. Holt was taking the moddied arwing through its paces, pulling off amateurish loops and turns.

He was a mediocre pilot, he admitted that, but his other talents were almost enough to compensate. At least, he thought that would be the case.

Life was good, despite the war. The small state of Vitría was now his home, and Holt had learned to speak passable Vitrían while he was there. His home, however, was on the opposite side of the Chatrah, where the towns were but small mountain hamlets. It was an oddity - a place as yet unspoiled by war.

Holt banked right and flew parallel to an enclave of waterfalls, cliffs, and bridges. Directly behind one was his hideout...

He boosted through the watery veil and his ship shed the water like a sieve. Holt decelerated and stopped in his small entry cavern. Hopping out, he admired the sparkling shine on the Star and clicked open a small, almost invisible side door that led to his den.

It was a well equipped but modest abode, featuring a fold-out couch/bed, TV, a Musicnet© player, a bookshelf of fiction (Holt hated factual information), and a kitchen and bar. The bar was the first place he headed, Holt being a conneseur of fine beverages. He quickly chose his poison.

"I need some'a this." Holt proclaimed as he retrieved a bottle of Vitrían wine, of the previous year's vintage. Holt poured himself a glass and clicked on CNN. The polished, poised anchorman grinned with a row of perfect teeth and began his reports.

"Today the Battle of Baruvin Pass came to an end. Recently promoted General Deson Motambo led the Army columns to victory despite the Navy's failings in the sky above. Baruvin Pass, a critical convoy route for Venomian Troops on Macbeth, will be a vital holding in Corneria's conquest and deposition of self-proclaimed Emperor Andross of Venom. In other news, the identity of the captive rescued from Venom several months previous has been uncovered. Ex-marine Peter Rusty is sitll in recovery from what was done to him on Venom..."

Holt reached to switch off the TV.

"And now a playback of a recent speech by President Harrels."

Holt paused and leaned back. He like the president considerably, but feared that the other parts of the government did not support his proposal to hit Venom hard with every gun Corneria could muster. Which, it seemed, was exactly what the speech was about.

"Arm your families, Cornerians, for the time of the true war is upon us. The government has at last reached an agreement of armament - Venom will no longer control this war!"

Vast applause, then silence as the giraffe went on.

"Every tank is being unpacked. Every rifle has been handed out. Each and every pilot has been rearmed and their ships restocked. Tomorrow we will choose a planet - a planet! - to take in our name. I know Venom is listening, and this message is to you - within days one planet wil be lost from your control!''

Even more and louder praise. The president's points were well recieved. He went on.

"But which one is it? You'll never know, for only one man or woman besides me is informed, but when we come knocking you'll wish you'd never rebelled! And to you, Cornerians, peace will be yours once more. Give the Army and the Navy time to react and act, and the war will be ours, from planet to planet, until the fire rains down on the mad emperor himself!"

Harrels walked away from the stage with tremendous acclaim ringing in his ears. The clip ended.

"Again, viewers, President Andrew Harrels, who is being called Corneria's Defender..."

Holt turned off the TV and laughed.

"A whole planet. Never, not Navywise... but there's of course!" Holt slapped his forehead. "Andross expects a navy hit! This'll be an Army strike! Of course, I've got no clue who we're after, but hell, whatever. I such as a freelancer - too loyal to my roots. But I often wonder, what makes Corneria and Venom any different? They both wanna rule the galaxy, or at least Lylat. Somebody's gotta put Corneria in her place - all this expansion's a bad thing."

Holt figured it was the sherry getting to his head, when he suddenly recalled he'd been drinking wine.

"Aw hell, that's the problem with this stuff. Never lasts long enough..."

Holt collapsed on the couch and fumbled for a remote. Instead his paw hit a flashlightlike object.

It wasn't a flashlight, of course - it was yet another of Holt's semilegal or illegal weapons from his CR days - a laser sword. Using mirrors and miniature plasma generators, it projected a red beam four feet that could cut just about anything. On a low setting, once could also shave with it. He fingered it lightly. Ture, it was strong, but four feet of range was a bit too short.

Holt doze off on the couch. When at last he awoke, his fate was sealed.

Nix stepped out of the transport and waved his colleagues into some bushes overlooking a waterfall bridge.

"We know he comes here?" Favon asked.

"Ressler told us," Nix said, "have faith."

Holt shut the hidden door and swaggered out into the late afternoon sun. He had strapped the stolen sword to his back, already taking a liking to it. His laser sword was buckled onto his belt.

He decided to take a scenic walk past the waterfalls as he was wont to do and stepped onto the small, rickety bay bridge. Nix pressed a silent page in to Holliman on the opposite side. The Basenji crept closer to Holt. Favon stepped into the ermine's view on the other bank. Holt stopped.

'When one shows up, another's right-' Holt didn't finish the thought, as Holliman decked him, shoving him to the bridge's center. Favon charged.

Holt was still spry despite being shoved, and he soon flicked out the katana. Both goons stopped.

"Give that to us!" Favon demanded.

"If you insist," Holt remarked, slashing across Holliman's stomach and plunging the blade deep into the dog's body cavity. It came out the other side with a sick squish. The dog's chest cavity ruptured and he panicked as his organs began to spill out. Holt rose and challenged Favon.

"Think you can deal with me?"

Favon replied with a high sweep kick that sent Holt over the guard rope. He clung to a floorboard and gripped it tightly.

"OK," the ermine pleaded, "you win. Can you give me a paw here?"

A large boot stomped onto his paw as Nix approached.

"But of course. And now to your death, heretic."

Holt gasped and slid free, plunging the equivalent of 100 yards down the falls before hitting the basin with a loud snap and a splash. Nix accepted the katana from Holliman by sliding it out casually.

"Patch up Holliman and treat for shock. He'll be fine - just a little organ spill. I've seen Higgins treat worse... although his solution for everything seems to be euthanasia..."

Following Holliman's bandaging, the three Venomian agents fled Corneria.

---

Ressler watched the playback with emotionless care. He nodded at long last.

"It's done then?"

Nix nodded. "No one could survive that all, sir."

Ressler stroked his chin. "Ah, so you confirmed him dead?"

Favon stuttered. "W... well, not exactly."

Ressler began to boil with slowly mounting fury. He packaged the anger and set it aside in his mind.

"Fine. But if the heretic lives, it is you whose life I will make a living hell."

The agents gulped. "For our sake," Nix said, "he'd better be dead."

---

He wasn't.

Laying face up at the base of the falls, Holt had probably seen better days. He couldn't feel his limbs, and most of his bones seemed to be broken. His right elbow was shattered and part of the humerus had broken the skin. Blood blanketed his body and more flowed with each passing moment. Unless some miracle occured, he would assuredly die.

"Dios Mío!" Exclaimed a voice. Holt groaned, but was unable to see the source of the voice.

"Qué sucedió?" the rescuer asked fearfully. Holt's vision began clouding. The last thing he could recall was being cautiously lifted by a pair of paws.

He awoke an incalculable time and place later, in an ICU hospital bed. Though monitored by machines, Holt was alone.

Until the manx cat entered. He was short and stocky and hovered over Holt like a greedy vulture.

"Ahh... lessee... you'll die anyhow. Yuppers, you'll do well."

Holt was confused (what else was new?). The doctor began wheeling his bed out of the unit and down the hallways, not encountering a lick of trouble. They stopped at a door with a large biohazard sign on it as the cat fumbled for keys.

The door clicked open and Holt was escorted inot a small, darkened lab. The doctor placed him in a chamber and sealed it. Holt heard him dictating.

"Effects of a combined saturation of solar and gamma radiation, test four."

A button clicked and the chamber began to hum. Holt started to feel warm.

'I feel warm.' Holt thought. 'That means all my nerves are intact...'

Another feeling, one not quite so pleasant, was added to the warmth. It felt almost like millions of ants were under his skin. He felt tickled and itchy but could do nothing. His fur stood on end.

Then he was ripped and torn by a burning, searing sensation. His skin felt like Titanian sand at noon, yet he showed no apparent signs of burn.

In time the chamber fell silent. All was quiet until the doctor removed him from the chamber.

"He's... alive. Alive? Holy shit! I gotta put him back or I'm gonna get my ass kicked."

He did so. Only two people ever knew Holt was gone.

Eventually Holt's real doctor came in. she sat on the edge of the bed. A border collie, she had mottled white fur that almost blended with her labcoat, but stood out from her blue scrubs.

"Feeling any better?"

Holt wanted to inform her, but couldn't. She sighed.

"Don't know how you fell like that, but you're in serious trauma. Thankfully, bones mend, and nothing else had to be taken out - except your appendix. Did you know you just happened to have appendicitis?"

Holt nodded weakly. "BS. You'd never have known. Anyway, I say it'll take at least six months to heal one-hundred and sixty-two bones. Get used to the accomidations, pal."

She patted him on the right leg and left to see her other patients. Almost instantly pain shot to Holt's brain from the patted area. He clenched his suprisingly undamaged teeth.

The pain was awful. Holt had been trained to ignore pain, but in this case he merely tried to will the pain to stop. And amazingly enough, that's just what it did. That and more.

Holt could feel the bones in his leg shift, each one snapping back into place, marrow melded, and once cracked skeletal parts regrew into each other and fused. Curious, he applied the same idea to his whole body.

And it mended. Bones noticeably ruined jumped back into place with mere clicks. Skin resealed with greater precision than any surgical tool ever could hope to achieve. In mere minutes, Holt felt better than he ever had in his life.

He really had to go to the bathroom, so he hopped out of bed and darted into his small restroom. He was sitting contentedly on the john when when a panicky rap nearly beat down the door.

"Sir!?!"

"Whaddaya want?" Holt asked, "I'm in the middle of something right now... ahhh... almost done."

A minute later he clicked the deadbolt lock and stepped into his room. A male nurse and a very frightened doctor awaited him.

"What the hell!?" She exclaimed. "I was just in here! You've got over a hundred broken bones... what the..."

"I'm fine," Holt said. "In fact, I think I'm about ready to check out of here."

The doctor scratched her head. "You're not injured?"

Holt shook his head and moved his arms, legs and tail to show her. "Nope."

"Nurse, get me an X-Ray readied. I've gotta see this."

Three hours later Holt was redressed and in the elevator to the lobby. Beside him was his doctor, suitably confused at the results of her scan.

"Intact... everything's intact. Bu tthese X-Rays here are from two hours ago... you looked worse than a climbing accident. Bones don't heal that fast - this's exceptional!"

Holt smiled. "Well if you'd like me to I'll keep in touch with the hospital. Who knows what happened to me?"

She laughed. "Would you please? My name's Dr. Martha Boston"

"Harrison Wilkinson." Holt said, shaking her paw. "Nice to meet you."

She sighed. "Keep in close contact, Harrison. I really have no logical explanation for this case, and the administration doesn't like that. It denies all possible explanation!"

Chapter Three

"Nunca dice nunca. Hay muchas casas ciencia no explica, y por que prueba cuando no es posible?"

-Vitrian Philosopher Jorge Cassel, PhD

Ressler was stricken by an eerie presence that night. Even from his posh, psi-blocked chambers in Andross's palace, it existed. In one moment a universe where his power was so great it could almost kill a psychic within twenty feet of him was nearly overshadowed by a strong, raw new aura.

"I feel it... there is now another. Be he Venomian I'll make an ally out of him. But be he Cornerian..."

Ressler was hardly tired, so he plodded from chamber to chamber, trying to see more truth to this new force.

But the more he tried, the less he liked the presence. It was unfocused, but quite obviously greater in strength than his own power. Whose was this power? How had it been created?

Perhaps much the way he had. Observe the Katina Experiment, so long ago...

Katina had been colonized over 120 years before, and was initially the site of a research facility. That facility's work was top secret, and after the experiment the laboratories were sealed. During Venom's ever-so-brief occupation of Katina, Dr. Duelba Higgins had the labs unsealed and their contents returned to his bunker, 'for testing'. Ressler was younger then, of course, and was nearly killed when a Venomian transport he was in crashed over the Venom wasteland. Ironically, he was in one of Higgins' newest test sites, where he was bombarded with a carefully noted amount of radiation. How he survived such radiation was a mystery, but Ressler felt Higgins had somehow arranged for the shooting down of the transport in hopes that one crew member would somehow survive and become an unwitting test subject. Ressler was also curious as to whether his own powers were related in any way to the Katina Experiment. But even as Andross's Right he could not find out; only Higgins had full access to his bunker, and not even Andross could be certain what went on there. Its location was not even fully known - somewhere in the southwest sector of Venom's rocky hill country. Nontheless, Ressler would find out, somehow...

'You who emanate so far...' Ressler telekinetically projected, 'I request you. You and I must meet... dear friend... whomever you may be...'

---

Sitting alone in his home, Holt heard the call quite clearly.

'Do you hear me?'

'Yeah, I hear ya.' Holt thought. 'Who the hell are you?'

'I am known to you... you have ways to find out, Holt Wilkinson.'

Holt was shocked. 'Who told you my name?'

'You did, Holt. I also know you are the thief who took Andross's katana. Now learn who I am.'

Holt furrowed his brow. 'How do I do that? What's going on with me?'

The projected voice cackled. 'Don't you know? Ah well, it is all to much to explain in detail as we are now. Tell me, Holt, did you recover from that fall rather..'

'Quickly?' Holt thought. 'Hell yes!'

'Yes,' the voice said thoughtfully. 'You do have it.'

'Have what? Tell me now, dammit!' Holt demanded, sending angry energies out. The voice swooned in pain.

'Fine then! You have control over the very essence of matter, Holt. You cannot create it, cannot destroy it, but you can, shall we say, alter it. That is how you healed - you willed the matter of your body repaired, and it restructured itself.'

Holt's creativity ran wild. What power!

'Who else can do this?'

'Just me, Holt. Soon we shall meet, like it or not. You will see...'

'Wait!' Holt thought. 'Don't leave me hanging like this! Hello? Hello?'

Silence. "Damn." Holt muttered. "I'm in some serious y'know-what."

He stared at his half-full (some would say half-empty) glass of whiskey. Carefully he executed a command.

'Shatter, but leave the liquid in the shape of the container.'

As though it had always been meant to occur, deep cracks suddenly pulsed through Holt's cup. The glass fragmented and fell away, but the whisket stayed in place as though nothing at all had happened. Holt grinned mischeviously.

'Boil.'

In seconds, the alcohol had evaporated. A wicked, cocky smile crossed the ermine's muzzle. He rose and stared at his door.

'Open. No, wait, better yet... make yourself intangible.'

The door didn't move. Holt gingerly reached out to touch it with his paw...

And his fingers passed right through the metal. He pulled back, then tried again, passing his arm through. Confident, he stepped through the door. Neither he nor the portal seemed affected. Holt laughed.

"Cool! OK, door, back to your ordinary state."

He tapped the door. Solid as ever. Holt concentrated on another flask, this one empty, across the room. It flew through the air and into his waiting paw. With another thought the once boiled whiskey recondensed inot the glass. Holt grinned. The glass drained as the matter shifted into his mouth. He gulped and sighed.

"This is great. Wonder if I could blow up a planet or something?"

The concept of power abuse had never dawned on Holt (not yet, at any rate).

"Warning! Incoming message!" Blared his computer.

'On.' Holt willed. The screen clicked on. Holt was suprised.

"Fox McCloud?"

Fox nodded. "Hey, pal. Great work back on Venom a few months ago. I need your help again."

Holt nodded happily. "What's up?"

Fox pointed over his shoulder. "See that fog? It's steam. I'm in some geothermal power plant on Titania. Abandoned for a long time. I crashed out here and I'm afraid Venom will find me. You've gotta come pick me up!"

Holt smirked. At last, a chance to really test these powers. "I'm on my way. Coordinates?"

"Thirty south, twenty-six west." The com blipped off.

---

A single gunshot resonated through the geothermal plant, blasting the brains out of Fox's head with a sick splatter. That is, if it had been Fox.

"Adieu, 3771, adieu... parting is such perverse pleasure."

Dr. Duelba Higgins, pistol smoking, paced across the anteroom to the crumpled McCloud clone. A deep, low voice laughed with contentment.

"Thank you, Dr. Higgins. I needed that aid more than you'll ever know."

The steer's eyes blazed. "No, I needed that more than YOU will ever know, Ressler. It was my pleasure."

'I'm sure it was, you creep.' Ressler thought wistfully. "Well, leave the rest to me, and the best of luck to you, doctor."

Higgins nodded. "How will this trap work anyway?"

Ressler inhaled the steamy air deeply. "Steam disrupts psychic energies. It also augments me by supplying a great deal of matter to shape. His feeble, untrained ability is more than overwhelmed by my trained skills and raw power."

Higgins smiled. "I call the corpse... to autopsy and such."

Ressler chuckled. "As you will, now, begone from here. I have work to attend to."

Holt was confused. The coordinates were right, and the plant was there, but Fox's crashed arwing was nowhere in sight.

'Might've been buried in a sandstorm.' Holt reasoned. Star touched down outside the plant. Little did Holt know who was really inside.

Chapter Four

"I've seen to what extent my kind of power can lead to. And I've resolved never to let anyone be that strong, even me."

-Holt Wilkinson, Wirmisch

The door was quickly made formless and Holt passed through. His first impression was the intense steam that emanated throughout the plant. There was a low hum that Holt interpreted was the conversion of steam to electrical power, but whose home could it possibly power? He'd forgotten that the coordinates to Star's den weren't all that different from that of the plant. His fur began to sweat and he knew he'd not like it for long. Quickly he generated a steam-free 'bubble' around himself and stimulated his sweat glands to secrete more often, which rapidly cooled him. Holt unclipped his laser sword and proceeded with caution.

There was some sort of presence in the plant. Holt figured Fox could be hiding or worse, and he had to be located and reassured of his own safety.

Holt approached a large metal door. The sign on it was rusty and the lettering was next to impossible to read; however, Holt could piece the words together in his mind somewhat.

'Main... steam... vent. Damn, that's gotta be humid."

He walked through the door without difficulty. Where he ended up was an odd place indeed.

It was a wide, cylindrical room, forty feet in diameter and impossibly deep. Sunlight peeked in through vents atop the shaft. He stood on a walkway about two yards wide. A figure approached.

From out of the mists he came. A presence so alarming that Holt felt a strong desire to flee. He flicked on the laser sword and a red beam shot out to illuminate the beast.

"You aren't Fox, are you?"

"Fox was never here," the orangutan said as he emerged from the steams. "Your eyes failed you, as I was certain they would. You are powerful, young Harrison, but untuned, unfocused. You can be very strong, however..."

Cautiously, Holt reached out to touch the ape's mind. He withdrew all the information he believed he'd need.

"Endriss Ressler, Andross's Right, how could I ahve been so stupid?"

The sword swung back and forth loosely, guarding Holt. Ressler laughed.

"I prefer to think of it not as stupidity, but lack of insight. You are not aligned with anyone, Holt, and I offer you the option to be my, well, pupil I guess, a new Wirmisch."

"What?" Holt said quizzically.

Ressler waved his paw. "A Wirmisch is the term used to refer to a soldier infused by radiation with the power to change the very form of matter. 'Wirmisch' means 'sculptor' in old Titanian. That, I believe, was the subject of the Katina Experiment; I learn much as Right. There exist now, and perhaps only has ever existed, two Wirmisch - you and me - and only one who knows how to infuse others with our skill. He is now more or less under my thumb - you alone, an accidental, ironic case, will ever learn my art."

Holt growled. "So you want me to join Venom?"

Andross's Right shook his head. "Not necessarily. I have other plans, Mr. Wilkinson, plans that do not in any way involve Venom. But they will involve you." He clenched his fist. "It is a simple choice, Holt - join me or die from my wrath."

Holt laughed. "I'd never sign up with you. And I seriously doubt you can best me quite so easily. Think fast!"

The ermine leapt forward, sword arcing in a sure death blow. Ressler turned and his arm reformed into a plasmatic beam. The two blades met with a shower of energy. Holt backed away.

"Why the hell do I need this thing anyway?" He said with a motion to his weapon.

Ressler pointed at the ermine. "I don't know."

Flame leapt from Ressler's arm and snaked towards Holt. Panicking, Holt did the most logical thing that came to mind. He willed the steam in front of the fire to condense into water. The flame hissed and dispersed.

Endriss laughed. "How novel, Mr. Wilkinson. But you aren't undefeatable."

Sparks coursed from ape to ermine and ignited into a solid bolt of seething electricity. Holt winced and collapsed at a brief second of voltage.

Ressler hovered over his foe, smirking.

"Very clever, Holt, unfortunately your meager abilities are little concern to me. Your power is generally greater, but my skill is superior. Or rather, was."

Rock began to form over Holt's prone form. Soon it weighed well over a ton, and Ressler willed it to drop.

Holt, only faking his debilitated state, sat up and backrolled to safety as the unguided rock slammed onto the walkway. It punctured the wire mesh flooring and snapped the bridge like a twig. Holt's side, being shorter, remained suspended over the pit. Endriss's buckled and fell, plunging the orangutan into the steam vent. A sickly scream was Holt's only reward. In a state of near shock, Holt stared dwon into the pit. Ressler had plunged deep into that abyss, the darkness and doom of a planet's mantle. Such it would be if he too abused what he had. Tere had to be some limits...

---

Holt made his choices on the long flight back from Titania.

"First of all, I'll never attack or kill someone with it. Second, I'll only use it to defend myself and treat others. But I'll never bring back a dead person, and I'll never take revenge for something with it. That's how it's gotta be."

His com blinked on, revealing a face he was quite familiar with.

"Hey dummy. Got a little frontier town on Katina I can't save right now. You want it?"

Holt reset his nav computer for Katina. "Yup, on my way. Tell 'em a genuine Wirmisch is en route, and he's coming to help them out."

"A what?" Came the confused reply.

"A Wirmisch. I've got some serious power, pal, and I'm gonna show these people how much good I could do with it."

The screen shut off. Leaning back in the cockpit, Holt considered his own fortunes. Ressler was dead and his favor had ended, but the day would come when he'd have to face Ressler's master...

And on that day, all the favorgiving in the Lylat System wouldn't stop Holt from bringing Andross to justice.

The End???

Author's Final Note: Holt will be back in Part II of the Wirmisch Cycle: A Child of Pride. A Child of Pride would be © B.C. Sophocles, had he lived until today. Poor guy.