The Unmasked Mallard, Part 2 - RubberSoles19 (2024)

Chapter 1: The Chapter Where Someone Mentions A Dentist

Chapter Text

Duckburg was often considered the "Jewel of the Coast," and for good reason. It was clean, healthy, organized, and raised hearty, morally-centered citizens who took pride in contributing to society. It also had its very own hero, a duck with a heart almost as big as the robotic chest plate he wore.

Gizmoduck circled the sky, in big, easy circles, watching the citizens go about their day. It was the middle of spring break, and the city was filled with tourists and returning students. Occasionally, one such visitor would notice Gizmoduck and wave a friendly greeting, or call for a quick selfie. Gizmoduck, of course, was always happy to oblige.

His armor, property of McDuck Enterprises, was sparkling white, with flexible gray rivets and joints, red plastic parts for cosmetics, and had a single wheel under his feet for mobility. The Gizmoduck insignia - a capital "G" with an arrow crossing it - was on his chest, a visor of blue glass sat on his exposed bill, and a helmet with a crown like a centurion protected his head. The most advanced computer was uploaded to the suit too, to assist the pilot.

As the jet engines on his back powered him gently to the corner of a roof with a gentle hum and gust of wind, the duck inside put his hands on his hips, satisfied. "Another peaceful, picture-perfect day in sunny, beautiful Duckburg." With a sigh, the metal-clad hero took a deep breath of the seaside air - and his whole frame slumped over at the waist. "What I wouldn't give for something criminal to happen!"

Then, with the perfect timing the hero was used to, a panicked shriek rang out, and Gizmoduck perked up. His internal computer immediately worked to triangulate the source of the scream, and the duck blasted off the roof, rushing through the air.

He approached the scene quickly and scanned the area. A car had jumped the curb and was wrecked into a light pole, which had bent over in half. Gathered nearby was a small huddle of pedestrians, cowering from a menacing, looming figure - a figure that jangled lightly with the sound of bells.

"What's wrong?" giggled the clown-dressed gander, creeping closer to the civilians. From the pockets of his pin-striped suit he pulled out two handfuls of chattering, plastic teeth with pink gums. "You're not scared of a little dental work are you? Don't worry…" Tossing the teeth aside, the gander pulled a red stick of dynamite from up his sleeve, its fuse already lit and hissing. "... You won't feel a thing!"

FWOOOOSH!

Suddenly, a coat of thick, white foam covered the clown from the top of his hat to his leather shoes, effectively extinguishing the fuse. The gander blinked at this audience, who looked up, and - seeing their local hero - cheered.

"Gizmoduck!"

"Stand clear, citizens!" Gizmoduck commanded, drifting gently to the sidewalk and placing himself between them and the pillar of foam that was staring at them. The nozzle of a hose retracted into one of his metal gauntlets. "I'll handle this!"

Quackerjack, looking the interloper up and down, growled and shook quickly, flinging the foam in every direction. "Hey, easy with that kinda stuff," he barked. Then, he crossed his arms and raised his chin, turning away and looking snooty. "I have allergies!"

"Fenton! Fenton!" called a familiar voice from further down the street, and Gizmoduck turned as a white-feathered hen with a curly ponytail and big, blue eyes waved at him. Besides her was a star-eyed canary with glasses.

"Wait," the canary blinked between the two, "Gizmoduck's name is 'Fenton'?"

"Ah!" Gizmoduck chirped excitedly and wheeled closer, his arms outstretched. "Miss Featherlight! And Mister … Muddlefoot, yes? What brings you two to Duckburg?"

"He did, actually," Chickpea pointed at Quackerjack, who was busy relighting the fuse of his dynamite. The group turned to him, and the gander looked up, realized he was being watched, and stashed the dynamite behind his back quickly with a giant, toothy grin.

Gizmoduck, unimpressed, raised his fist and knocked the gander off his feet with another spray of foam. Then, he frowned and turned back to Chickpea and Honker. "Wait, you know this fellow?"

"Yes!" Chickpea and Honker rushed Quackerjack and helped him stand, wiping foam off him in big, thick clumps. Gizmoduck watched, and then flinched. Looking down in confusion, he found a pair of plastic teeth chewing on his wheel, and then spotted others scattered around the sidewalk. Some were bouncing closer to the pedestrians - which he quickly covered with another spray of foam - and others were gnawing on the wheels of the crashed vehicle, no doubt the initial cause of the wreck.

When he looked back at the trio, they followed his gaze, and grinned apologetically.

"Sorry about that," Chickpea shrugged, and then, hearing a hiss, turned to see Quackerjack finally manage to lite the dynamite. "Put that down!"

Grumbling, he tossed it aside.

Chickpea turned back to Gizmoduck. "We had to get your attention! We need your help!"

The dynamite exploded, ruffling Chickpea's ponytail and knocking Honker's glasses askew. He readjusted them and glanced in the direction of the explosion while Chickpea gave Gimoduck a second, smaller grin.

"... Sorry about that too."

Gizmoduck looked at them each - Chickpea, Honker, and Quackerjack - and then sighed. You know what they say: be careful what you wish for.

Scrooge McDuck, despite his lack of stature, had quite an imposing presence. As he stood on the roof of the legendary Money Bin, the pride and joy of Duckburg and the entire Duck family, he barely lifted a hand to steady his sophisticated top hat as Gizmoduck's jets kicked up a flurry around him.

"Miss Featherlight," the old duck greeted with a small smile and a courteous nod as she and Honker jumped off Gizmoduck's shoulders and to the roof, "Mr. Muddlefoot. What, I am afraid to ask, brings you to this side of the Bay?"

"St. Canard has been taken!" they exclaimed in unison.

Scrooge and Gizmoduck both blinked at them. "What?"

Together, Honker and Chickpea threw their arms towards St. Canard, which they could see across the Bay, and at the big, pink bubble that surrounded it.

"Oh…" Scrooge and Gizmoduck grimaced in unison.

Honker stepped forward. "Mark Beaks used his latest, greatest device to transform the entire town into completely different people! Also, he made supervillains!"

Scrooge glanced past Honker's shoulder and to Quackerjack, who waved and grinned at him, showing off his big buck teeth.

"Not that one," Honker added quickly. Quackerjack's bill began to vibrate, shaking more and more violently and tossing him around, and he finally spat out the chattering teeth he'd bitten onto and gagged, rubbing his sore jaw. Scrooge's gaze slid back to Honker. "Well - yes, that one. But he's not evil. Not anymore."

"He's in love!" Chickpea chirped. "And he's helping us!"

"Look!" Honker opened his work laptop - which he'd grabbed from Waddle - and showed the display to Scrooge and Gizmoduck, which looked like a massive mess of 1s, 0s, with alien symbols mixed throughout. "I copied this from a giant super-computer in Mark's definitely-evil lab in Waddle's secret basem*nt!"

"Wow," Gizmoduck said, leaning close to inspect the code. "Mark Beaks wrote all of this?"

"I cannae say I'm surprised," Scrooge grumbled, crossing his arms. "Anything with that … twerp's name attached is bad news!"

"It wasn't just Waddle," Chickpea added seriously. "The Knights are back."

That got Scrooge's attention, and his face darkened while Gizmoduck gasped. Scrooge snatched up his cane and pointed it at the others.

"Downstairs. Now!"

The Money Bin was, by all accounts, bigger on the inside. It had seemingly endless floors, corridors, rooms, and sections. But the most interesting part was the laboratory among the sub levels, which made up the Bin's sizable basem*nt, surrounded by impenetrable rock on one side and the clear blue Silverfish Bay on the other.

The lab was massive, with gray walls and floors and thick windows that looked out into the water of the Bay, and utterly spotless. A higher level circled above their heads off the wall, and there sat a round, slightly raised platform in the middle of the floor. A massive, red computer sat against the wall among some desks that were cluttered with various, unfinished devices, chalkboards with blueprints and diagrams taped to them, and, of course, a coffee maker.

It was the second underground lab of the day Honker and Chickpea had found themselves in, but they decided they liked this one considerably more. Besides, the company had certainly improved.

They kept a careful eye on the nervous looking Quackerjack, however.

Gizmoduck rolled to the center of the room and up onto the central pedestal. "Blathering Blatherskite!" he said, and in a whirlwind of energy and motion, the Gizmoduck suit broke apart into countless pieces that zipped through the air and assembled themselves neatly in a single, rectangle trunk. A mallard with cinnamon-colored feathers, long, well groomed head-feathers, and a yellow business shirt and purple tie emerged from the swirling mass and landed deftly on his feet.

Honker stared, awestruck.

"Fenton!" Chickpea cheered, scooping the smaller mallard up into her arms.

"Hello, Chickpea!" he laughed, and motioned to Honker. "Hello again, Honker, right? We met at the Evelyn Eternal opening!"

Honker frowned, eyes wide. "We did? You mean I met Gizmoduck?"

Fenton giggled a little, tugging at his shirt collar. "Well, it's not that big of a -"

Suddenly, Honker was towering over him, vibrating with energy. "Who designed your suit? Do you use lithium or titanium batteries? How many kinds of pies can you shoot? What's up with the singular wheel? Can I get a selfie?!" Without warning, Honker hooked one arm around Fenton's neck, swung his WaddleMaker outward, and the thing snapped a quick photo of them both.

Fenton blinked up at the canary, and then glanced at Chickpea. She shrugged, a fond grin on her beak.

"Excuse me," Scrooge cleared his throat, looking at the group unhappily, "I'd hate to interrupt your reunion, Doctor , but I believe we were in the middle of a tale."

"Oh," Honker blushed and quickly stood back up, adjusted his glasses. "Right. Sorry."

Fenton did the same, and then whispered to the canary out of the side of his bill, "Lithium, by the way."

While Honker squealed and his eyes widened, Chickpea turned back to Scrooge. "Rocky is back, but he's calling himself 'Steelbeak' now."

"On account of his steel beak," Quackerjack added, stepping next to the hen and knocking on his own bill and making a distinctly wooden sound.

"Rocky?" Scrooge frowned, looking between the two. "He survived that mad contraption last winter?"

"And he's the ringleader of the Fearsome Four," Chickpea added, and motioned to Quackerjack, who gave Scrooge a sweeping bow, "who he convinced he'd plucked from alternate universes and dropped into ours to help defeat Darkwing Duck!"

"Wait," Scrooge pointed his cane at Quackerjack, who put his hands up quickly, "there's four'a you?"

"And two of them are unaccounted for," Honker offered, joining the others. "Liquidator attacked Posiduck Productions, mistaking Mr. Diver for Darkwing, and then Megavolt attacked Canard Tower where Mark was handing out his new WaddleMakers…" Honker and Chickpea each indicated the devices strapped around their wrists, "and to thank the Mallards for saving his life Mark decided to throw 'DWCon,' and invite fans from all over into the city to celebrate Darkwing !"

"Quackerjack," Chickpea waved to the clown, who shyly tugged on his hat, "attacked DWCon and kidnapped Roxanne Rose Dane while Bushroot attacked the Police Academy, but she was caught. Honker, my sister Henri, and I found Quackerjack after they almost killed Mr. Diver and Gosalyn, but aborted the plan for some reason and then turned on him, and Quackerjack agreed to bring us to Steelbeak."

"Except it was a trap, and he brought us to Waddle, where we found that Mark made him and the other Fearsome Four. I managed to get in contact with Gosalyn right as this program on everyone's WaddleMakers activated and began the transformation. I interrupted the program in Gosalyn's, but…" Honker looked at Chickpea, and they both looked scared. Chickpea spoke up, quietly.

"We don't know if it worked. We lost contact and then that pink barrier appeared and… well, here we are, asking for help."

Scrooge and Fenton, who had been staring at the trio, looked stunned. For being young - and on spring break nonetheless - they looked exhausted, a little frantic, and desperate, clinging close to each other. The clown's clothing was charred, ripped, and torn, Honker's eyes were red from a sleepless night of staring at a screen, and the ever-energetic Chickpea looked like she was about to tip over. Scrooge reached out, hooked a neary rolling chair with his cane, and swept it closer.

"Of course you've got our help, youngins," the old duck said, scooting the chair towards her. Quackerjack took Chickpea's hand gently in his own and guided her to the chair, helping her sit into it. "But I cannae figure why these … confounded contraptions didn't turn the two'a you as well."

Chickpea sighed, dropping her hands between her knees and slumping forward. "Steelbeak told Quackerjack to take whoever came after Gosalyn to Duckburg to keep them out of the way… we've each interfered with Knight plots before, Steelbeak probably wanted us to watch as our - everyone else got changed."

Fenton padded closer with a few coffee mugs, which he passed out among the trio. "Do you have any idea what he was changing everyone into?"

Chickpea and Honker shook their heads.

"We didn't get to see much before we lost contact," Honker muttered, hugging his mug close.

Quackerjack, however, frowned, and then an idea came to him. He zipped around the chair and bent over in front of Chickpea. He knocked on the air between them. "Knock knock!"

Chickpea looked confused for a moment, but then smiled a little, setting back into the chair. "Who's there?"

"The whole gang!" whooped Quackerjack, putting a massive cowboy hat on his head and jumping up to kick the shiny spurs on his heels together. "Better get the grill firin' - we're havin' ourselves a re-yun-ee-on!"

"A reunion?" Fenton frowned. "Of who?"

"These are the Knights Paddling, lad," Scrooge grumbled, his arms crossing. "Who else do you think they'd consider worthy of bringing back?"

Fenton's brow twisted in thought, and then he gasped. "Their own members?!"

"Are you saying," Honker stepped closer, his eyes wide, "that they're turning living, breathing people into their own members? Are they making copies?"

"It's a reunion of the corpse-kind," Quackerjack shook his head, waving his hands through the air. "Think… deader!"

"Their dead members?" Chickpea gasped, sitting up. "They're bringing back their own dead members? And using the living to do it?!"

"It makes sense," Scrooge said. "After all, they've done it once before…"

The group swapped a look, and then gasped at once. "Diver!"

"Ding ding ding!" Quackerjack jumped up and tossed confetti into the air. "Give the lady a prize!"

"Henri," Chickpea breathed, shooting to her feet, and Quackerjack's smile fell. She spun around, pleading with Scrooge and Fenton. "We have to get back into the city!"

"You can't," said a new voice from behind the group, a feminine one with a posh accent. The group, frowning, turned and watched Fenton rush towards the lab's massive computer, which seemed to be talking to them.

"W.A.N.D.A.," Fenton said, "what can you tell us?"

"I can tell you what I know," the computer - W.A.N.D.A. apparently - replied, displaying several different pieces of camera footage of the Audubon Bay Bridge. "Which is… pretty much anything."

"The Bridge?" Chickpea frowned, her and the others gathering close. "What about it?"

"Oh, only this." WANDA's display played on, and in unison the different cameras all showed the same event - a pink barrier materializing with glowing runes before it fully formed in a flash of light, slicing the Bridge cleanly down the middle.

The group gasped in shock. Cars and pedestrians tumbled among the crushed rubble and snapped suspension cords into the churning Bay, white suds and frothy waves capturing and swallowing it all.

"They're completely cut off," Honker breathed.

"And nothing is getting through that barrier any time soon," W.A.N.D.A. added. "The Coast Guard has been trying to get through, to no avail. And if the Coast Guard can't get through, you certainly won't."

"Thank you, W.A.N.D.A.!" hissed Fenton, banging his fist on the keyboard and shutting the display off. Silence permeated through the group, the life - or what of it was left - sucked out. Fenton turned shyly back to the others, flinched at their deflated faces.

Finally, Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Bless m' bagpipes… what does this - thing know, anyway?"

"W.A.N.D.A.?" Fenton frowned, glancing between the old duck and the computer behind him. "Uh, pretty much everything? She said so…"

"Poppyco*ck!"

The group gasped again, staring at Scrooge. He looked a little delighted.

"Yah heard me! I'm Scrooge McDuck! I've never once listened to any of this new fangled technology, and I don't plan on starting now! What's one thing we have that the bumbling Coast Guard doesn't?"

The four swapped a couple of confused glances, and then shrugged.

"A flying, robotic suit?"

"A Waddle internship?"

"An impenetrable sense of optimism?"

"A giant bomb that says 'Bomb' on it?" Quackerjack suggested, motioning to the large, black ball with a hissing fuse the size of his head he held aloft in one hand.

"No!" Scrooge hissed. "We've got adventurers! Spirit! Now think! There's more than one way to get across the Bay than the Bridge! What we need," the old duck smirked and his eyes twinkled, "is a pilot!"

Chickpea and Honker, watching him, pointed in the direction of St. Canard over their shoulders as their faces fell.

"Launchpad is with the Mallards."

Scrooge twitched.

"Well - call him!"

"We can't get a signal through," Chickpea argued.

"The barrier must be blocking it," Fenton muttered.

"Unless we hack their WaddleMakers," Honker added, "but that will take all night, and I have no idea where anyone is besides Gosalyn!"

Scrooge glared at them both, and felt one eye begin to twitch.

"I can try to fly around and scout things out," Fenton offered.

"No good, lad," Scrooge shook his head, "these are the Knights, and they know you're allies with Darkwing and this lot. They've probably already prepared some way to blast you out of the sky - or worse."

"But you weren't worried about Launchpad being blasted out of the sky!" Honker argued.

"Launchpad is used to being blasted out of the sky!" Scrooge snapped. "Usually by his own hand!"

"There's another way," said Chickpea, and everyone turned to her. Light began to seep back into her voice, and her back straightened a little. "We can't drive in, and we can't fly in, but what is the city - the entire island - surrounded by?"

Blinking, the group swapped a confused look and shrugged. Chickpea smacked a hand over her face.

"We don't need a chauffeur or a pilot! What we need…" Chickpea lifted her arm and the WaddleMaker quickly summoned a picture of a floppy-eared, buck-toothed pup slouched on the wheel of a small fishing ship, grinning at the camera and holding up a peace sign. "... Is a captain!"

Spoonerville, like Duckburg and St. Canard, was cramped up against a coastline, but unlike the others this coastline wasn't the ocean, but was a bent river that split the city in half. The town, made mostly of residential suburbs and recreational parks, filled out both banks, which left it relatively wide open and spread out, with lots of grass and clear, open lawns settled between nice little homes with white picket fences.

In one lawn settled alongside a little yellow home stood a grown dog, with black fur and a brown muzzle, droopy ears, and large buck teeth. He stood over a grill, wearing a floral pink apron and humming happily to himself as he tended to his grilling, a tall glass of lemonade in his free hand. The dog leaned over, reaching for the curly, twirling straw in his glass while keeping his eyes on the grill. The straw dodged and spun out of his reach with every flap of his tongue and lips, and the dog leaned further and further sideways...

"Hey, Dad!" Called Max Goof from behind his dad, poking his head out of the home's back door. Goofy turned there, his drink forgotten.

"Yeah, Maxie?"

Max held up an empty plastic bottle that had a thin spatula sticking out of it. "You're out of ketchup. Do you just want mustard?"

Goofy frowned in deep concentration, and finally shrugged. "Fine by me. Oh - Max! Don't forget the peanut butter!"

"Yeah, I got it - peanut butter?!" Max stopped, spinning back around and staring at Goofy with wide eyes. "Dad, you're grilling hot dogs !"

Goofy, stumped, looked down at the grill that stood before him, and the round meat packages on them. "Oh, right!" he giggled, and then frowned, turning back to Max and waving his empty lemonade glass at the pup. "Well alright, mister, so you don't want peanut butter! But at least grab the mayonnaise!"

Max blinked at his dad, and then shook his head and slipped back inside. Goofy turned back to the grill and resumed his song, whistling an old tune about "high hopes" while carefully rolling the hot dogs around. Then, the wind picked up, whipping Goofy's long ears and apron around violently. A shadow loomed over him from above, and Goofy looked up with a frown. He held out one hand, palm up.

"Hmm, wasn't s'posed to rain today…" he muttered.

"Excuse me!"

"Yipe!" the dog cried, leaping into the air and spinning around, waving his glass and spatula around like they were weapons. Hovering in the air above him was a giant, metal robot, jet engines sprouted from his back and kicking up a small gust around him.

"Is this the residence of -" frowning, the metal duck said in a quieter voice, as if speaking to someone else, "really? That's the name? Are you sure?" With a shrug, he addressed Goofy again, "... of Mr. Goofy… Goof?"

They stared at each other for a moment, the soft hum of Gizmoduck's engines filling the silence. Then, Goofy grinned.

"Max!" Goofy called, straightening back up. He shouted over his shoulder and turned back to the grill. "Your friends from the movies are here!" To Gizmoduck he asked, while holding up a plate of hot dogs organized in a smiling face, "Would you care for a weiney, Mr. Robot?"

"'Movies'?" Max repeated, pushing his way through the sliding glass door, carrying two plates of open hot dog buns with various condiments spread over them. Then, seeing the flying metal duck, who waved at him, he stopped. Goofy grinned at him too, holding the plate of hot dogs high. Max's face wilted from an expression of shock to one that was largely unimpressed. "What did they do now?"

Chapter 2: The Chapter Where Literally No One Has A Good Time (Except For The Bad Guys)

Chapter Text

Unconscious came back to Gosalyn unhappily. The first thing she felt was heat, reminiscent of the many fevers she had had as a kid, like burning from the inside out. Then, like a flash in the pan, it was gone, and there were murky distant voices calling her name instead, poking at the absence she felt all over her body and under her skin.

"Wha…?" the dame slurred, pulling her eyes open. They were heavy and sticky, and all she saw was soft blurs leaning over her.

"Gosalyn!" said a voice she recognized as Launchpad, followed by a sharp "shh!" The big pelican’s beaming grin faded a little, and Gosalyn strained to lift her head and roll over to glare at whoever had upset him - but she froze when moving sent a spike of pain through her muscles.

"Take it easy, Gos," Launchpad practically whispered, and Gosalyn felt his big hands as he gently helped her sit up and steadied her by the shoulders. She swayed a little, reaching up and scrubbing at her eyes and face. With a grunt, she sagged forward and leaned against Launchpad’s shoulder.

"Wha’appened?" the dame slurred, mushing her cheek against the leather of his coat. It was refreshingly cool to the touch.

"We’re not sure," Launchpad replied, rubbing deep circles in her back like he usually did after one of her asthma attacks, and she felt herself relax into the touch. "But you were out cold!"

"After you exploded!" hissed Henri, and Gosalyn blinked before dragging her head off Launchpad's shoulder and swinging around to stare at the chick. Henri looked petrified, curling her hands into fists, her hair was a mess, and her eyes wide. Gosalyn wasn’t sure what - then, like someone had snapped a rubber band, it all came back.

Panicked, the dame turned to her wrist, seeing the red veins spread outward from the WaddleMaker and towards her elbow and over her hand.

"Honker!" she shrieked, mashing her finger and then her fist against the device’s screen. "Chickpea! I’m - oh God, Honker didn’t stop her! I’m -!"

"Gos!" Launchpad cried, grabbing her hands in his massive ones and tugging them away from her. "You’re okay, Gos! You’re still you!"

"I’m not!" The dame wailed. "I'm her -!"

"No! You're okay, Gos! You're fine!" Launchpad tugged on her arms, yanked gently on the panicking dame before him. She blinked up at him, eyes still a little unfocused. Launchpad continued, voice slow and serious. "The Honkman did stop it - whatever it was. You're still you! We got you, Gos, we got you…"

Slowly, the warmth from Launchpad’s hands and steadiness in his voice seeped into her, and his grip covered the veins from view. Gosalyn’s eyes slipped closed and she sighed a shaky breath, letting herself sink into Launchpad’s hold. It began to fill in the hole in her chest with warmth -

But then, Henri spoke up again.

"But then you passed out!" Henri wrung her hands together nervously, her face switching rapidly from fear to fury. "And we didn’t know what to do, and those transformed people were everywhere, and Launchpad and I ran for it! And now we’re stuck here, hiding, and we don’t know what to do!"

Gosalyn watched the chick’s meltdown with an unimpressed arch of her eyebrow, and then rolled her eyes. Reluctantly, she pulled her hands out of Launchpad's grip and pushed herself backward towards the nearest wall. It was the first time she got a chance to look around at their hiding spot, not that it was much to look at. A tiny, well lit room with beige walls, a small bench, a hook on the wall with metal hangers hanging on it, and a full length mirror on one wall.

"Launchpad," Gosalyn smirked up at the pelican, "did you hide in a … changing room?"

"Eh," Launchpad chuckled shyly with a grin, scratching at the back of his neck, "it’s the first place I could find! I figured no one would bother us here."

"But really…" Gosalyn rose gingerly to her feet and inched closer to the mirror, not that she was worried about what she would see or anything like that. "A changing room?"

"What? Too soon?"

Shaking her head, Gosalyn took a steadying breath and stepped up to the mirror. Big green eyes peaked back at her when she opened them, warm tan feathers with a few freckles covered her, and even her shirt, letterman, and sneakers were the same. The only thing that wasn’t, however, was a stripe of gray, silvery hair running down the length of her curly bangs.

"Wow," Henri muttered as Gosalyn inched closer to the mirror and poked at the silver strands, "you’re like a supervillain now."

The dame shot her a quick glare, and when the chick slunk shyly out of sight, she turned back to her hair, unsure what to make of it. "It’s probably just leftovers from this," she indicated her WaddleMaker again. "Honker was just a little, teeny-tiny-bit too late to stop it completely, is all…"

"Sure," said Launchpad, stepping up behind Gosalyn and smiling down at her reflection. "I like 'em!"

She smiled back at him.

"Okay, team!" Gosalyn puffed her chest up and spun around to face the others, her fists planted on her hips. "Let’s pull ourselves together! We’ve got a city to save, mysterious makeovers or not!"

To say Gosalyn led the others through the city at a breakneck speed would be an understatement. She kept her head low, her eyes sharp, and her feet moving. After a few blocks of ducking behind cars, skirting around groups of Knights - the red marks all over their bodies gave them away - and snapping at the others for moving too slowly or loudly, Gosalyn hardly looked up until Launchpad finally managed to catch up to her.

"Gos!" he hissed, and yanked the dame behind some outside diner tables for cover.

"What are you doing?!" Gosalyn hissed at him, yanking her arm free. Henri crouched under a table, looking horrified and out of breath. Even Launchpad looked worried. "We have to keep moving, we’re almost there!"

"Uh, sure but," Launchpad swallowed nervously and ducked his head again, "where exactly is ‘there’? You sure aren’t leading us out of town!"

Gosalyn blinked at him, and the irritation growing in her chest flickered. "What do you mean?"

"We’re in the middle of downtown!" Henri snapped, throwing her arms outwards to the towering skyscrapers around them. Gosalyn followed the motion and gasped. It was true, she had led them directly to the foot of Canard Tower, which meant City Hall was just around the next corner.

And the center of Knight activity was thoroughly surrounding them.

Whatever progress they had made while trying to drive out of town before everything began to go wrong had been undone. The trio was practically back where they had started.

"I -" Gosalyn shook her head, "I don’t know why…"

"Shhh!" Launchpad pressed his big hands onto Gosalyn and Henri’s heads, pushing them down as a troop of Knights walked past. "Okay, no need to panic," he added quietly, barely audible. "We just retrace our steps and get the heck out of here before we’re spotted!"

"Or worse!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Gosalyn ran her fingers through her thick curls and shook her head. She had thought that leading them to Posiduck would have been the safest bet, but Posiduck was on the other side of town. She'd completely missed it, and until Launchpad had interrupted her, she hadn't suspected anything. Nothing about the course they'd taken had raised a single red flag. Wherever they were headed, some part of her had been determined to lead them there...

It made her hands shake, and she curled them into tight fists. "Launchpad, you’re in charge. Get us out of here!"

"Me?!" the pelican gasped. "Why me?! I’m not the 'calling-the-shots' guy, Gos, I’m really more of the 'sidekick' type!"

Gosalyn gasped at him, and snarled. "You are not a sidekick! Besides, clearly I can’t be trusted anymore and Henri -"

"Don’t look at me!" the chick put her hands up quickly, "I just want to go home!"

"See?!"

"We trust you, Gos!" Launchpad argued, and Gosalyn practically shouted at him.

"Well you shouldn't!" The others blinked at her in shock, and Gosalyn sighed, reaching up to tangle her fingers in her curls again. The fire in her chest was back, and she felt her whole body flush with heat. "I'm just - I need you to do this, LP. We need you."

Launchpad stared at her, looking the dame up and down a couple times, no doubt seeing the shakiness she was trying desperately to hide. He looked nervous, a few beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, which he pulled his baseball cap off and quickly dabbed away.

"I - I'm not sure about this, Gos," he muttered, but then he glanced at Henri. She was watching him with large, sparkling eyes, and Launchpad felt his back straighten. "Alright. Alright, I'll try!"

Gos and Henri gave him appreciative and relieved grins, and Launchpad ducked his head and crawled out from under the table, poking his head over the edge and scanning as much of the street as he could see. "Okay, LP," he whispered to himself, "what would DW do...?"

The last time he'd been on this street was when Steelbeak had called out Darkwing, and then used his chance to reveal the existence of the Knights - and the Mallard's darkest family secrets - to the whole world. The street, sidewalks, and standing room had been packed with DWCon cosplayers, fans, and merchants, as well as the press, civilians, and everyone in between.

Now, as he looked up one side of the street and then the other, it looked more like a ghost town.

Then, Launchpad heard voices from inside the corner bakery across the street, and he ducked low as a couple Knights emerged through the store's front doors. Before them they were escorting - more like pushing and shoving - some civilians out of the bakery and into the street, jeering at them.

"What do you want with us?" A panicked looking bird asked. "Please, just let us go!"

"No way!" A Knight laughed, shoving a doughnut into his mouth from the large box of them he carried. He spit out crumbs as he shoved the bird from behind. "Haven't you heard? We run this town!"

"Although," his buddy muttered, glancing up at the shop behind them, "I don't remember this being a bakery..."

Launchpad sat back down and frowned.

"Well?" Gosalyn asked, and the pelican turned to her.

"The Knights are rounding up everyone who wasn't transformed," he reported, shrugging as much as he could under the table.

Henri leaned forward, her eyes wide. "And doing what with them?!"

"I don't know, but maybe that's how we can get out of here! With that," Launchpad pointed to the marks all over Gosalyn's arm, and she looked at them.

"Sure," she replied, "but what about you two? We can't let them separate us!"

Launchpad frowned in thought, and sat back. Then, slowly, he glanced at Henri. "Hey, how about it, Henri?" With a big smile, the pelican nudged her with his elbow. "You feeling up to making some more art?"

Henri frowned up at him, confused, and her gaze slid to Gosalyn, who looked just as confused. Then, she glanced down at Goslayn's marks as the dame scratched at them. Slowly, Henri smiled.

It only took a few moments for the trio to creep out from under the table and to the nearest alley way, and for Henri to dump the arsenal of aerosol cans from her pockets. She carefully selected a few colors, had Launchpad remove his pilot's jacket, and quick as a flash she covered them all with red, branching veins, even convincing Launchpad to let her paint over his busted wrist watch so it was white like the WaddleMakers.

The others were, needless to say, impressed, and were ready to face the Knights.

"Launchpad," Gosalyn said, creeping to the end of the alley, "you go first."

"Me?!"

"They might recognize me, and Henri's just a kid!"

Launchpad looked back and forth between them, and they seemed sure. He smiled, straightened his back, straightened his shoulders, and turned, marching out of the alley and into the street with a high-knee march straight out of marching-band. Behind him, Gosalyn and Henri swapped a confused look, and then rushed after.

When Launchpad emerged from the alley, the other two Knights looked in his direction, confused.

"Hello, fellow Knights!" the pelican greeted, stiffly waving his arm at the elbow in a very robotic motion. "We are normal Knights like you, doing, uh, normal Knight things!"

While the Knights stared at him, Gosalyn smacked a hand across her face.

"Oh, really?" Doughnut-Knight asked, slinking closer, his eyes narrowing.

"Uh, yeah!" Sweat began to run down Launchpad's neck and he thrust his arm forward. "See! We have the same marks as you! They are very real and definitely not painted on!"

Gosalyn could feel Henri begin to tremble beside her, see Launchpad's grin become a little more strained, and see the Knights' skepticism grow. Lifting her head - and making a mental note to apologize to be big guy later - she stepped -

"Well, well, well," cooed a voice from up the street, and the sound of it made Gosalyn's blood run cold. "What have we here?"

"Portia Featherly!" Doughnut-Knight cheered, and a green duck wearing too much makeup, elegantly flipping her long, bleached-blonde hair, turned to him. "We found these civilians in the bakery, and this lot just came out of nowhere!" Behind Portia was a line of ever more Knights, like she had a private entourage.

Launchpad and Henri - who was tucked behind him - watched Portia slink closer to them.

Gosalyn realized that her racing heart was the only part of her that could move. Portia hadn't changed a day, and was even wearing the same lavender suit she wore the last time Gosalyn had seen her. It was an ironic color, she realized for the first time, since the last time she'd seen the duck Gosalyn had been busy falling to her death through DW Studio's shattered skylight while Portia was getting away in an S.C.P.D. helicopter.

Distantly, she felt her hands curl up into fists.

"Hi - hi!" Launchpad greeted, lifting his arm to wave again. "We are normal Knights, just like -"

"We're just trying to get out of the city!" Henri shrieked suddenly, pushing past the stunned Launchpad. "You can't keep us here!"

" 'Leave the city'?" Portia gasped, pressing one hand to her chest, "but why would any self-respecting Knight want to leave the city? It's everything," Portia slunk closer, purring down at Henri, "that a Knight could possibly want! We've certainly given up enough to make it so. Isn't that right, Gosalyn?"

Hearing the duck purr out her name in that sing-song, pitchy voice that made her sound like Portia was babying and pitting someone at the same time was a splash of ice over her already frozen nerves. But as soon as it hit, the shock melted away with a flame of cracking rage. Gosalyn shoved past Henri and Launchpad and glared down at Portia, claws longing to tear that smug grin off her bill.

"Go screw yourself, Portia," the dame hissed, and Portia laughed. "This just means that now I get to kill you myself!"

"Gos!" Launchpad gasped from over her shoulder, inching closer tentatively, but Gosalyn didn't care. She was shaking with fury.

"Gossy, Gossy, Gossy," Portia tutted her tongue, "such a nasty temper! I guess it does run in the family. Tell me, have you heard from dear, sweet Uncy Dive lately?" Portia's grin twisted at the corners and she practically winked, "I hear prison can be one Hell of a place."

Gosalyn's eyes popped up, gasping, before she shrieked, throwing herself at the short duck. Launchpad, also gasping, flew forward and caught Gosalyn with both arms, and Henri screamed.

"Gosalyn!"

"Well," Portia laughed at the trio, having barely flinched at the whole sequence, "it looks like the ruse has lifted! Portia Featherly," she offered her hand for them to shake, "and you are?"

"Let me go, Launchpad!" Gosalyn hissed, practically radiating fury, "I’ll kill you if you touch Uncle D!"

"Gos!" Launchpad called, straining and hauling her backwards a step, "Don’t be like that!"

"Like what, Launchpad?" Portia sashayed forward and for a second Launchpad considered letting Gosalyn loose, "the rest of her family? They're all dirty killers, what difference do you think some paperwork makes? After all, which is superior: nurture, or twisted, rotten nature?" Portia laughed at herself, like she'd told the most hilarious joke, and Launchpad felt Gosalyn grow warmer with rage in his arms.

"Shut up!"

"Gosalyn," Portia tutted her tongue, looking up at Gosalyn sadly, as if she had the reporter's pity, "you haven't realized by now that one way or another -" suddenly, Portia lashed out and grabbed Gosalyn's jaw with her claws, "your blood is Knight! Be it Uncle, Daddy, or dear, sweet Grandpa Thaddeus, you belong to us -ACK!"

Portia screamed suddenly, hand flying from Gosalyn's face and upwards to protect her as she scrambled away from them. Launchpad and Gosalyn, blinking, turned to see Henri step closer, a can of green spray paint aimed and spraying the suit-wearing duck. She drove Portia backwards, who shrieked and wailed, and finally stopped long enough to stare in rage at the green paint covering her perfect, flat-ironed hair.

With a roar, Portia glared at Henri, her eyes bulging with blood.

"Sorry," Henri smirked, shaking her can and preparing it for another attack, "I just saw your face and got inspired! I've always wanted to try abstract art!"

"YOU BRAT!" Portia shrieked, lunging at Henri with her claws drawn.

"NO!" Gosalyn cried and - throwing Launchpad's arms off her - threw herself at the shorter duck - but Portia grabbed her by the face and spun, throwing Gosalyn through the air and sending her skidding across the asphalt.

"Gos!" Launchpad cried, and Portia blinked down at her hands. The veins scrawled around them pulsed, and the runes displayed on her WaddleMaker glowed and spun.

Slowly, she laughed, and again swept her hair behind her shoulder. "Well look at that! It seems I’m not only back, but I’m better - stronger - than ever!"

While Launchpad and Henri stared at her, the Knights behind them looked at their own hands. Doughnut-Knight, stuffing the last of the pastry in his hand into his mouth, spun and flew the doughnut box through the air, and it soared over the heads of the trembling pedestrians and down the block.

"WOO!" he cheered, and his pal turned and kicked at a trash can, his foot effortlessly puncturing the metal siding and emerging through the other side.

"That’s not good," muttered Launchpad, corralling Henri further behind him.

Gosalyn, several steps away, groaned as she sat up, and gasped as a burning feeling sparked across her side and back. Road-rash, she recognized the sensation instantly. Grinding her teeth together and breathing through the pain, she rolled over and stood stiffly to her feet. At least now her skin felt as hot as the fever that filled her, and Gosalyn felt herself sway a little, her vision rippling like she was staring outward through a fire.

She recognized that sensation too.

Portia turned to Gosalyn and her grin grew. "You may have Knight blood, but you’ll always be a helpless, pathetic, scared little - what is wrong with you?"

Portia paused as Gosalyn pitched forward, digging her hands into her hair and swaying unsteadily back and forth.

All the dame could manage was to stutter, and she clutched at her chest, hands digging in and winding up her jersey and feathers as if there was something inside her she had to dig out. She couldn't breathe, as if she had been pumped full of ashy smoke, as if the cords wrapped around her were being drawn tighter and tighter with every second.

"Gosalyn?!" called Launchpad, and the whole street turned to her.

All Gosalyn could process was that this - whatever it was - wasn't an asthma attack.

Her vision blurred - everything in her body was so damn tight! - and Portia swam before her. Gasping, Gosalyn collapsed to the ground, her legs a twisted knot under her, and screamed.

Her skin cracked and like she was made of molten gold and her skin was flaking away. From those cracks shot out red beams of light in random directions. The others dodged them with a few startled cries, but a lamppost, the pink glazed doughnut hanging over the front doors of the bakery, and one pigeon pecking at the discarded doughnut box weren’t so lucky. They all began to glow, energy pumping into them, and as Gosalyn screamed, her lungs emptying, the cracks expanded and her whole body was engulfed, another blast of white light exploding outwards when they met and covered her completely.

It blinded everyone, white light washing like a heat wave over their skin. Gosalyn was left drained, buzzing, her skin crawling and every muscle sore and sporadically twitching as the spasms faded. She fell forward, old athletic instincts pushed her hands out to catch her before she fell face-first onto the road. Her arms shook, barely able to support her weight.

"Gosalyn!" Launchpad called again and sprinted for the redhead.

"I…" Gosalyn breathed, voice raw and dry, and squinted up at him, "don’t think… Honker stopped it…"

Henri, left where she stood, squeaked when the stunned Knights turned back to her, looking menacing. Henri threw out her arms, one spray can in each hand.

"Stay back!" she hissed, eyes screwed shut, "these are - are locked and loaded and I’m not afraid to use them!"

The Knights, unimpressed, stepped forward with hands outstretched, ready to grab her. Henri’s grip on the cans tightened and trembled, and she pressed on the nozzle at the top - but then, suddenly, the Knights stopped, their skin paling.

"What is that?!" "Are you seeing this?!" "Look out!"

Henri, confused, peaked one eye open and glanced at them, just in time to see the cowardly group turn and run in panic and terror past Portia, Gosalyn, and Launchpad, and for the other end of the block, practically tripping over each other.

Thoroughly perplexed, Henri dropped the pose before glancing at the spray cans in her hands. "That … worked? It worked! Hah!" Leaping up, Henri aimed the cans at the trio, who stared at her with wide eyes. "Take that, you mindless sheep! No one messes with the Featherlights!"

Behind Henri, rising higher and higher, a shadow began to loom, hissing low and gravely. Gosalyn, Launchpad, and Portia stared wide-eyed at it.

One of Henri’s eyes opened and she peaked at them, and then her shoulders hunched up, the feathers on the back of her neck standing on end.

"It’s behind me, isn’t it?" she whimpered, and they nodded. Frozen stiff, her eyes wide, Henri slowly inched around…

"COOOO!" roared the beast, a massive, balding creature with pink, leathery skin covered in patches of gray feathers, tentacles emerging from its body, and bulging, yellow eyes rolling around on opposite sides of its skull. It was a giant mutant …

… pigeon?

Henri screamed and spun back around, sprinting for Gosalyn and Launchpad, who was already on his feet, arms outstretched to catch her. He helped pull Gosalyn up and swept them both behind him, staring up at the monster in confusion.

"What is that thing?!" Portia cried, and glared at Gosalyn. "What did you do?!"

"Me?!" the dame cried, tucked safely behind Launchpad, "you’re the magical super-zombie here, not me!"

The monster cooed again, the ground vibrating with the cry, and began to wobble around, its tentacles slapping and groping the street blindly. A car was parked nearby, and one tentacle landed on it, the beast turning to it. It grabbed the car with his limbs, and strained - the car didn’t budge. Pausing, the monster blinked down at it with one eye at time, and then spotted a nearby stand-up sign. Roaring again, it heaved itself forward, grabbed the sign, and flung it halfway across the narrow street.

It flung its head backwards and roared again.

"Not very bright, is it?" Launchpad asked, and Gosalyn threw one arm in its direction, her other wrapped around her road-rash.

"Well, it is a pigeon!"

Then, they heard metal creaking, and looked to the pink doughnut above the bakery’s doors as the various sprinkles on its surface opened up into differently colored eyes, glaring at the pigeon across the street. The metal bars attaching it to the building groaned and snapped as the monster hauled itself forward, the teeth that emerged from its edges hooking the building, and it rolled down the surface and onto the street, rolling in circles as the pigeon lashed a couple tentacles at it.

As the group watched the exchange, stunned, a lamppost began to shudder and snap, bending into shape as its long, metal body twisted and lowered to the ground, its lamp-head shining a light on the other monsters like a spot light.

"Okay," Gosalyn said, "that one looks kinda cool."

Simultaneously, all three monsters froze in place, and in unison, they turned towards the group.

Gosalyn cringed. "Oops."

"RUN!" shrieked Launchpad, and he scooped up Henri and Gosalyn onto his shoulders and sprinted down the street. The doughnut and lamppost immediately chased after them, wheeling and slithering along the street.

Portia watched them pass, and on her wrist her WaddleMaker buzzed. She lifted it up and spoke into it. "Rocky! Everyone! This just in: I found Gosalyn Waddlemeyer! We’re downtown outside the Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice Bakery!"

The St. Canard police station was bustling with activity. Plenty of transformed-cops were buzzing around, organizing things. Their innocent ex-partners were being corralled into the back corner of the building, and radios and walkie talkies were chirping loudly.

The front doors to the bullpen opened with a bang, and everyone turned to see a tall, black-feathered rooster proudly standing in the opening. As he sashayed forward, smiling his mangled beak, he tore off the orange jumpsuit and replaced it with his normal blood-red suit jacket someone handed him.

"Mark!" the rooster bellowed, and one officer pointed to an interrogation room in the back as the sea of cops parted.

Behind Steelbeak was Bushroot, the leafy feline looking unsure of herself, her ears pinned back and arms hugged around herself, and a short mole, also wearing an orange jumpsuit and squinted up around him through thick, round glasses.

Steelbeak’s WaddleMaker buzzed, and he lifted his wrist. Before he could speak, Portia’s voice shrieked through it.

"I found Gosalyn Waddlemeyer!"

Steelbeak stopped in his tracks suddenly, and Bushroot nearly bumped into his tail feathers from behind. Screaming, he swung a large arm at her - which she barely dodged - and yelled. "QUIET!" The whole precinct got quiet, and as Bushroot stared at him with wide eyes, the rooster turned back to his watch. "Portia - you WHAT?!"

"I told you," Portia hissed, climbing atop a nearby car and kicking one high-heel at the attacking lamppost monster, "I found Gosalyn!"

An mob of any size is often loud, and the mob of cheering and jeering orange-clad inmates was no expectation. They were gathered in the center of the St. Canard Maximum Security Prison’s inmate tower, in the open air arena. They circled something, and cheered whenever it was struck.

At the edges, flanked by the prison guards in full riot gear, stood Slick Adder, grinning at the chaos before him. His wrist buzzed and he frowned down at the device, before Portia and Steelbeak’s voices came through. Slick rolled his eyes and grinned, sweeping his handsome curls back into place.

“Portia, darling,” he said, “stop screaming! Steelbeak will send someone to your location to pick the little brat up. I certainly can’t do it, I’m all locked up!”

The guards beside him laughed, and Slick glowed under the attention.

"Zip it, Slick!" Portia bit, growling when the monster grabbed one of her shoes and began to peck at it, "you’re not the one being attacked by monsters!"

"Monsters?" Steelbeak breathed, and the others behind him blinked. Snarling, Steelbeak stormed forward, straight for an interrogation room, and kicked the door open. Mark was inside, and squawked up at him in surprise.

“Rocky!” he gasped, “when did you -?”

But Mark was ignored, and Steelbeak descended onto the duck handcuffed by the wrists around a table-leg, and kicked one foot into Darkwing’s side. Darkwing grunted and came - abruptly and painfully - back to consciousness, coughing and wheezing. His red-rimmed eyes found Steelbeak almost instantly, and he yanked on the handcuffs and hissed up at the rooster.

“Rocky!”

"You," Steelbeak hissed at him, grabbing the front of Darkwing’s mangled, ripped coat and lifting him, yanking on the handcuffs and jostling the table the duck was chained too, "tell me exactly how your good for nothing daughter isn’t transformed like the rest of them!"

"What?" Darkwing started, his rage forgotten in an instant. "Gos is okay?!"

"Not for long she’s not!" Throwing Darkwing back down with such force the table itself shifted, Steelbeak turned back to his watch. "Portia, I’ll send someone to clean up this mess! You just keep your eyes on the girl!"

Portia rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder in the direction the dumb-looking pelican had carried the others. Snarling, she shook her wrist and the call ended.

The call ended, and Slick smirked proudly. “Just like I said he would,” the ferret purred, and strode forward towards the mob. His guards descended and forced and beat the mob aside for him as he strode towards the center of the circle.

The sun was hot on his back, casting his long, dark shadow down onto the bloody mess spread out across the concrete.

Slick took a deep breath, and sighed happily. "I love the smell of blood in the morning," he grinned at the crowd around him, inmates and guards alike, "don’t you boys?"

They cheered, and Slick - mindful of the blood and feathers, knelt next to the wheezing lump in the center of the ring. He grabbed a fistful of long, sweaty, striped head-feathers, and yanked.

"You hear that, Dive?" he sang with a grin, "Portia found Gosalyn! Yep, the little twerp is being rounded up as we speak. Soon, we’ll have the whole collection! I just hope they save me a piece. Wonder if she screams just as pretty as her uncle.”

Unsure if Diver could even hear him, that blow to his temple was looking pretty gnarly and the duck’s face was twitching in pain, Slick dropped the duck into the pile of his own scattered feathers and blood, and stood.

Slick put out one hand wordlessly and a guard handed him a baton, already wet and dripping with blood and matted fathers.

"Last time I saw your brother," Slick said, plucking feathers off the baton one at a time and flicking them off his fingers, "he had a scar on that stupid looking bill of his, probably put there by some shenanigan you decided to pull in your ‘Quest for Vengeance’. Well I say, since we’re about to complete the set, you should all be matching!"

Slick swung down the baton, flinging blood and mucus all over himself and the crowd, and on the fourth blow Diver’s bill shattered.

He woke up screaming.

Darkwing was still struggling to catch his breath after multiple tasers to the system, his nervous system locking up and every muscle seizing. It reminded him vaguely of a certain rooftop where a bullet had torn through him, but he seized those thoughts and shoved them downward into a deep, dark closet somewhere. His head was feeling a little too cloudy for his liking, and as another spasm passed the duck curled his hands into fists and settled a hard glare on the back of the door Steelbeak and Mark had left through.

No way in Hell were they going to get their hands on his baby girl.

No way in Hell.

Chapter 3: The Chapter With The Start Of A Plan

Chapter Text

It was the first time Max had ever been to the Money Bin - or Duckburg for that matter. When the doors to the lab slipped open and Max saw the massive space for the first time, he whistled.

"Quite the secret hide-out you’ve got here, Giz," the pup said, and the lab’s occupants turned to them.

"Max!" Chickpea cheered, and flung her arms up around his neck.

"Hey, Chickpea," he smiled, hugging the hen with one arm. In the other he held a picnic basket aloft for all to see. "My dad sent snacks."

The thankfully condiment-free hot dogs were quickly passed out to everyone, since Chickpea and Honker hadn’t eaten since the previous night, and Quackerjack in … he wasn’t sure how long and it was impossible to tell from his fantastical speeches.

Scrooge moved forward, declining the offered snack, but motioned to them.

"Tell your father ‘thank you,’ Mr. Goof," he said, and Max shuddered.

"Please don't call me that." As Scrooge moved away, the pup looked around, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. "So, who's threatening the world this time?"

"Same people," came the reply.

"Cool. What do you need me for, again?"

Chickpea smiled and tossed Max a white and blue ships hat, putting her hands on her hips. "Because we need a captain!"

One floor above the bi-level lab was the garage, a giant space filled with every conceivable vehicle money could buy - and that an adventurer might need. Some had wings, some had wheels, some had propellers, and some had a crazy combination of all three.

"Wow," Max said, eyebrows raised. "Guess being the richest duck in the world pays off."

"These arnne for luxury, m’boy," Scrooge argued, planting his fists on his hips, "the McDuck family has a long, rich history of adventuring, globe-trotting, and exploring! These just happen to be some of the tools we use for that."

"Were they cheap?"

"Of course not, I’m Scrooge McDuck! I might be the most ornery penny-pincher the world has ever seen but I keep my family safe!"

"Uh huh," Max nodded, a gleam in his eye. As he wandered around the rows of vehicles, neck craning backwards to look up at the bigger ones, the others spread out, browsing through the collection.

"I wonder if Launchpad has seen these," Honker muttered, and Scrooge barked loudly at him.

"He most certainly has not! Not now, not ever! Not if I want to keep them in one piece!"

Max chuckled and shook his head, and continued to walk. But then, when he turned a corner, a gleaming, red vessel stood proudly before him on a metal rack, and Max froze in his tracks, his eyes blown wide and filled with stars. "Woooow…" he breathed, and jogged towards the ship and stared up at her, the others gathering close.

She was easily the most magnificent speedboat any of them had ever seen - probably that had ever existed. She was sleek, smooth, glinted a bold crimson with a white belly, and had two massive motors on the back with sharp, gleaming propellers. Multiple antennas rose from her helm, where there were untouched buttons and a mast made of dark, stained wood. The deck was wooden and shined in the garage lights.

"This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!" Max gasped, running circles around the vessel and running his hands over his smooth, flawless surface. "The coating, the stern - two motors! She’s got to clock in at 60, 70 easy!"

"83, actually, is the record!" Fenton clucked proudly, coming to stand among the group as Max scrambled up the ladder and on board. They stared up at them both. "This, everyone, is The Waveripper! Twice the size of an average speedboat, three times as fast, and four times as safe! I should know, a good friend helped me design her. He’s something of a sailor himself." Max turned back briefly from where he caressed the helm.

"Who, Donald Duck?"

"Actually," Fenton cheered, "yes! The Waveripper is virtually indestructible too, with a titanium alloy hull and advanced radar jamming making her untraceable - she’s just really fast and really safe."

"She’s perfect," Max’s head popped up over the edge and he hung over it with outstretched arms as if he could hug the ship. "Utterly perfect."

"Quite a step up from the Quill Clipper," teased Chickpea, climbing the ladder on the side of the boat and smirking at Max. He, sitting up, frowned at her.

"Quill… Quill… who’s Quill…?"

Chickpea snorted at him, rolling her eyes.

"Lad!" Scrooge called. Max sat up and turned to him. "Do you think you can operate this big hunk’a metal monstrosity?" Fenton gasped loudly.

"‘Operate’?" Max repeated, shooting upright. "If I could, I’d marry her! Wait, if I say ‘yes’ can I take her for a spin?"

Scrooge and Fenton swapped a look, and shrugged.

"Sure," they said.

"Then yes!" Max replied.

"Good enough for me," the old duck shrugged, heading back to the lab.

"Alright," Chickpea clapped her hands, "let's get her in the water!"

That stopped Scrooge in his tracks, and he spun around.

"Pardon?"

"Uh, I said we better get going." The hen pointed to the garage opening, beyond which was a dock and the surface of Silverfish Bay. "The sooner the better!"

"Lass, are you daft?!" Everyone paused and turned to Scrooge in shock, and Chickpea glanced at them.

"Um, no?"

"Well you could’ave fooled me," Scrooge huffed, crossing his arms. "Yer not going anywhere near that death trap, none of you!"

Instantly, the group voiced their protests, Chickpea leaping from The Waveripper and to the garage floor just to be closer as she did. Scrooge's feathers ruffled, and he slammed the cane against the floor.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, and the group was silenced by the crash. "Galloping Galoots - I cannea hear myself think!"

"We have to go back to St. Canard!" Honker argued desperately.

Chickpea stepped forward. "My little sister is there, completely alone with a lynch mob after her for all we know!"

"I dinnae say we were not going to St. Canard," said Scrooge with the patience only someone related to any member of the Duck family could possess. "... but we’re not! Not until we have a plan! You cannae just walk back into that city and expect things to go well. You're outnumbered, you're going in blind, and you've no way of contacting anyone for help. I'd rather face a saber tooth tiger with both hands tied behind my back than go anywhere with those odds! Actually," Scrooge paused and his face scrunched up in thought, "I think I have."

Properly chastised, the adventurers blushed, their heads dropping. Scrooge looked them over, and sighed. He continued, more gently.

"As a fellow adventurer that I know very, very well once put it: there is always another angle."

The others frowned thoughtfully, glancing at each other. Honker spoke up first, the most energized the others had seen him all day.

"So… we don't take the obvious route."

"Exactly!" Fenton added. "If Steelbeak is expecting anything from us, it's that we charge in head first! That’s what Gizmoduck would do!"

"But Darkwing," Chickpea turned to the others, "would wait in the shadows for his perfect entrance, and then pounce!"

"With a smoke bomb!" Honker cheered.

"And a long-winded catchphrase!" Fenton added.

"Yes," Scrooge grumbled, "how … strategic."

"If you want to turn the tables," Quackerjack stepped forward and grinned, "you don't go to the Big Top dressed like a clown!"

"And if you want to rewrite the script," Chickpea's blue eyes sparkled at Scrooge, "it helps to be in the room with one of the writers!"

Scrooge frowned at her, and then when the realization hit him, he backed a step away, shaking his head. "Oh no, lass, don't go thinkin’ of me like that! Just because I dabbled with Knights business in the past doesnae mean I can think like them!"

"What?" The hen shook her head. "No! I'm talking about Dr. Waddlemeyer's research!"

"Of course!" Fenton, joining the group, snapped his fingers. "Morgana was going after one of Dr. Waddlemeyer's formulas in order to make the Rift work! If that device is the one who brought Diver back and the Knights and Mark Beaks are using the same kind of technology to transform an entire city, they're going to be using the same formula, and maybe there's something in Dr. Waddlemeyer's research that can help!"

Gasping, Chickpea spun to Honker. "I knew all those weird symbols in the WaddleMaker’s code looked familiar!"

"That's right!" Fenton turned to Chickpea excitedly, "you broke the Knight's alphabetic code! If anyone can decipher the late doctor's notes, it's you!"

"If we figure out a way to reverse this," Honker added, "I bet I can send it out to every WaddleMaker at once, just like how Mark did! I made a copy of his entire WaddleMaker system, I just need some more time to figure out what I'm dealing with, and I bet that supercomputer of yours can help!"

"Wait," Fenton blinked at him, "you stole a copy of his entire WaddleMaker system?"

Honker shrugged. "I'm a collector. You should see my scrapbooks!"

"Then," Max spoke up for the first time, still onboard The Waveripper, "when Wavey and I get past the barrier and into the city, you’ll be able to use it!"

Scrooge planted his cane on the floor and his fist on his hip, his face shining. "Now we have a plan!"

"Alright, crazy adventurers," Max said again, laying across the side of The Waveripper and stroking it with his hands, "you go off and do the boring book and hacking stuff, I’ll be here."

"Did we mention," Chickpea spoke, "that Steelbeak also kidnapped Roxanne?"

"WHAT?!" Max shot to his feet, hands gripping the boat. Then, he vaulted over the side and was already walking by the time he hit the floor. "Well, come on, chop chop, the world isn't going to save itself!"

Honker and Quackerjack, left out of Max's herding effort, blinked after them.

"Sheesh," the clown mumbled, "that emotional whiplash was even faster than mine!"

"He's in love," Honker shrugged. "I think. Or they're just friends? I'm not sure. But," he glanced at the gander beside him, "you probably shouldn't mention that you're the one who did the kidnapping." Offering an apologetic smile, Honker caught up with the others, but Quackerjack just blinked after him.

"We did?"

Darkwing grunted as a boot connected with his middle, and if they hadn’t driven the taser prongs even further into his chest, he could have laughed it off.

Although being able to breathe would have helped with that.

He clenched his teeth together and coughed, still not used to the feeling of his lungs being forcibly emptied. Exhaustion had taken grip of his muscles, and his vision was starting to blur. If their goal was to wear him out so he didn’t stand a chance at fighting back, well, they got an "A" for effort.

Another kick, and Darkwing groaned again, straining against the handcuffs.

Okay, make that an "A+".

The transformed officer with the big boots laughed down at him, his voice echoing off the confines of the interrogation room.

"Come on, Terror! Flap!"

Darkwing glared up at him from his one eye that hadn’t swollen shut yet, and spat on his boots.

"HEY!"

"Hey," a second Knight stepped forward, and Darkwing found himself tracing the red veins all over their body, "without the mask I bet we could get the other eye to swell shut too!" Giggling, they turned to him, and reached forward.

Darkwing bared his teeth and sat back, ready to kick - of bite if he had to, but the door to the interrogation room swung open with a startling bang.

In the door frame slumped Mark Beaks, draped against the wall with his mouth hanging open.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh," the macaw whined, the two Knights turning to him after swapping a look of barely concealed annoyance. Mark lifted his phone above his head and stumbled around the room, the officers grunting and moving out of his way as he swayed and swung. "Whoever’s genius idea it was to cut off the cell signal from the outside world was a - a … what’s the opposite of genius? Hey Darky," pausing, the macaw leaned over Darkwing with his hands on his knees, "how do you identify? Intellectually, I mean. That’s kind of the level I’m going for." Mark laughed and stumbled backwards, but Darkwing ignored him.

Instead, he stared past the macaw and for the open door.

Mark snorted unpleasantly, and then stopped, glaring at the two Knights over his shoulder. They, annoyed, laughed as well, thin and fake, and Mark laughed again. "Okay, that’s enough," he muttered, cutting a hand lazily through the air and cutting the others off. He swung around back to Darkwing. "But seriously, Dark, any idea -"

Mark paused, blinking. The Knights, frowning, stepped closer, also looking at the empty spot by the table leg, where a pair of handcuffs laid.

Darkwing Duck was gone.

"Uh oh."

The plan had been to stick to the plan. Darkwing was supposed to stay put and keep an eye on Mark, figure out his role in this and be there to stop him when he had to.

The problem was, he’d already failed that part. Mark had, after all, managed to hit the doomsday button and had taken half the city with him, including Bully. Bully - Slick now, had laughed his way out of Darkwing’s field of view and then vanished, off to terrorize the city.

Darkwing’s city.

So, Darkwing figured why not go all in, and throw the full plan out of the window.

Diver would just have to get over it. Besides, if he knew Gosalyn was the one they were after, he would have done the same.

Maybe.

The door to the police station’s break room opened, and a few Knights stepped through it, carrying bagels and coffee mugs. The one in front - spotting the masked mallard that stood in the middle of the bullpen, surrounded by unconscious Knights - froze.

Darkwing glared back at them over his shoulder.

"Hey!" they called, and stepped closer, "you’re not supposed to -"

But Darkwing wasn’t feeling very chatty. Instead, he sprang up into the air and flipped, landing on one Knight’s shoulders, propelling him forward and into another, jumped off, spun, and brought his foot down into the center of another’s face, and when he hit the floor Darkwing tossed a Knight running for him over his shoulder, held him there, and spun, kicking someone with his captive’s legs, using the captive’s face to block a punch, and then rolled forward, dumped the body, and sprung up off his hands, twisted, and landed that much closer to the center of the room, a pile of bruised and battered Knights behind him.

Behind him, the door to the interrogation room he’d barricaded with a chair flew open, sending the chair clattering across the floor and bumping over a few bodies. The Knights inside, their tasers drawn, stampeded out, weapons raised. Mark stumbled out after them, spitting and snarling.

When he spotted Darkwing, their eyes met.

"GET HIM!"

One Knight raised their taser and fired at Darkwinig’s chest. But the duck was already moving before the trigger was pulled, and he rushed forward - one purple blur - grabbing the gun and throwing himself against the Knight, tearing the weapon from their grip and knocking them backwards and into the corner of the doorframe. They grunted and slumped to the floor, and Darkwing drew the taser and fired at the other, nailing him in the chest and bringing him to his knees. All that was left was Mark, and Darkwing tossed the empty gun aside, stepping over the bodies and zeroing in on the macaw.

"Wait - wait, Darkwing, baby! Pal! Come on, we can talk about this!" Mark stumbled backwards, tripped over a body and fell to the tile floor with a panicked shriek. Darkwing lunged for him, but the front doors to the building swung open, and Darkwing spun that direction.

Before the newly arriving Knights could process what was happening, Darkwing pulled a metal canister off a fallen Knight’s belt, pulled the pin out of it, and tossed it into the center of the bull pen. Thick, grayish yellow smoke poured out of it, quickly filling the room.

"What - tear gas!"

The Knights were thrown into chaos, some of them rushing and pressing further into the room and others scrambling back the way they had come to escape it. One Knight grabbed a trashcan and covered the canister with it as they coughed and wheezed, waving the smoke free and looking around. The few that had flashlights used them to cut through the haze in fuzzy beams. All they could see were unconscious bodies and overturned furniture.

"What happened here?" "What is this stuff?" "Where did he go?"

Mark, still huffing and wheezing, pulled his hood over his beak and stumbled and pushed his way through the room and out the front doors. He angrily wiped away the tears that poured down his cheeks and waved the smoke clear, stumbling to the station’s front steps. Everywhere he looked, up and down both sides of the street, there was no sign of a purple-clad duck.

The veins in Mark’s already red eyes bulged, and he shrieked between huffing coughs.

"DARKWING!"

Gosalyn had just kept getting taller and heavier with each year, so Launchpad couldn’t carry her as far as he could have had a couple years ago. After putting quite a few blocks between them and the ugly, mutated beasts - and also those weird monsters - Launchpad couldn’t do it anymore, and had dropped her and Henri to the sidewalk and doubled over his knees. They’d made it quite some distance, and as the group caught their breath and crouched behind a car, Gosalyn looked around.

"I know where we are. Come on. For real this time, no weirdness."

With only a single skeptical look being swapped between them, Launchpad and Henri followed her. Pretty soon they rounded a corner and were met with the smell of grease and a giant, concrete hippo.

"The Hamburger Hippo?" Launchpad asked, and Gosalyn hissed at him. She nodded them forward, leading the others in a job towards the hamburger joint.

Hamburger Hippo was, as the name would suggest, a hamburger and fry joint, known for its extreme flavors and wild combinations of food types. They also had pretty good milkshakes. The whole structure was open-air, and the facade was a massive, purple hippopotamus head, half emerged from the ground like it was breaching a serengeti watering hole. Its bottom jaw was a round bar that guests sat at, its teeth the squeaky, cracked stools, and near the back - where Gosalyn steered the others - was an employee entrance. The door, of course, was locked.

"Oh, come on!" Henri whined, barely above a whisper. "Those creeps could be chasing us!"

"Don’t worry!" Launchpad said, and grabbed the door handle with both hands, shaking it. The lock didn’t budge, and he pulled back, lowered one shoulder, and prepared to ram it -

"Wait!" Gosalyn hissed, waving her hands before her. "Are you trying to make as much noise as possible?!"

Launchpad glanced at the door, glanced at Gosalyn, and blushed and dropped the pose.

"Bobby pins," Gosalyn said, putting her hand out. The big pelican perked up, quickly untied his jacket from around his waist, and fished in the pockets for two metal bobby pins. He handed them to Gosalyn and she bent over the lock, inserting them into it and quickly and silently unlocking it. She straightened and pushed the squeaky door open.

The others blinked at her.

"Well, hurry!" she hissed, waving them inside.

The restaurant was quiet, seemingly abandoned in the chaos. Friers sat there with baskets of soggy fries in them, a box of frozen patties was sitting out thawing, and a few order tickets hung by the pick-up window. Gosalyn crept closer to it and peered outside over the counter, looking up and down the street for any signs of life or power. There were none.

Behind her, Henri had spotted the take-out bags, which were leaking their own grease onto the counter, and gingerly peaked inside one of them. "They’re still full!" she whispered, sinking her arm into one and yanking out a tin-foil bundle.

"What are you doing?" Gosalyn hissed as Henri rushed to unwrap the food. "I thought you were a vegetarian!"

"I’m also starving!" the chick bit, tearing into the sloppy mess she unwrapped. "Besides, we can’t let perfectly good food … we can’t let food go to waste!"

Slowly, Launchpad reached for a bag over her head.

"Launchpad!"

"What? She’s got a point, Gos! I don’t think these people are coming back for these!"

"Ugh, whatever!" the dame grumbled, rolling her eyes. She looked up, catching sight of a busted light on the underside of the hippo’s mouth, and as an idea formed, stepped slowly away from the counter. "Stay here. I’m going to have a look around."

"You wan’ome help?" Launchpad asked around a mouthful of burger and sauce, and Gosalyn shook her head, passing him.

"No, just stay here. And stay quiet!"

Launchpad nodded and took another bite.

Gosalyn passed him, and Henri watched her move, then pause, then step back, swipe the bag Launchpad offered her, and keep walking.

Hamburger Hippo had a secret, and that was that they used heavy whipping cream to make their meat sauces extra creamy. They also had a secret compartment inside the jumbo concrete and plaster Hippo’s head.

The space was cramped and dusty, not used for much else than storage of the joint’s seasonal decorations. Gosalyn moved and shoved a few boxes around in order to get to the eye-windows. They weren’t plaster and concrete like the rest of the hippo’s skin. The eyes were actually dyed glass settled into their own crannies in the wall, and as Gosalyn crawled closer, she folded herself into one of them, watching the empty street below through the morphed fish-eye glass. It was hard to see the dark street through the darker glass, but at least she was keeping something of a watch.

Her dad had told her rumors about the storage space, and that every Hamburger Hippo employee denied it. It was like they had been sworn to secrecy or something. But after insisting that it had to be real, and that if mutant zombies ever broke out and attacked the city, it would be their personal safe house: secure, elevated, and filled with as much grease as they’d need to hurl onto the heads of the zombies. Or eat.

Drake had, while laughing, agreed.

"Well, Dad," the dame whimpered, hugging her knees more tightly against her chest, "here we are. Zombies and all. Don’t think I can pour boiling oil on these zombies though - no matter how much I’d like to…"

Silence was her only reply, and though her stomach ached, Gosalyn couldn’t bring herself to eat. She doubted it was hunger that was twisting her all up in knots, anyway.

Headlights were the only warning she got before a police patrol car pulled into view then, slowly, and Gosalyn felt her feathers stand on end. Normally, she was thrilled to see cops. But these days, nothing was as it seemed. She sat up and ducked out of the window, staring outward as far as she could see. Slowly, the vehicle rolled closer, the windows lowered and flashlights aimed outward. Gosalyn’s heart began to pound against her chest, her muscles frozen in terror. If Launchpad and Henri didn’t see them, if they made some noise, if they let themselves be seen -

The car sped up suddenly, speeding down the road, and Gosalyn scrambled from her spot, tumbling and crawling across the attic and to the other window, mashing her face against it and catching the car’s bumper as it vanished. She faintly heard the sirens turn on and a cat alarm begin to blare from somewhere down the block, but couldn't see any of it.

A breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding rattled its way out of her, and Gosalyn gasped, leaning forward against the window and dropping heavily to her knees. She leaned against the smooth glass, pressing her palms and forehead against it, and waves of tension swept over her.

Gosalyn wasn’t much for crying, but she did find tears in her eyes, her face screwed up and flushed with what was no doubt an ugly color. But she didn’t care, she couldn’t stop shaking.

Her stolen take-out bag had been knocked over, and lay there, forgotten.

She didn’t move to retrieve it. She didn’t move at all. Not after she’d dashed away her tears and sagged, limp back against the window. Her breath fogged up the glass, a tired, thin rhythm.

Several long, heavy minutes passed. A few other cop cars were rushing around the neighboring blocks, but they'd all chased something away some time ago. The evening had grown quiet again, but Gosalyn couldn't find any comfort in it. It was like knowing an alarm would sound, but having no idea when.

At some point she'd managed to stop obsessing over the marks on her arm.

Something on the other side of the attic squeaked like an old hinge, and Gosalyn caught sight of movement in the fog she’d breathed up. A flash of purple had her heart racing.

"Gosalyn?"

Instantly, her body responded to the voice before her mind did, and Gosalyn’s tears sprang forth. She hiccuped and sobbed, and Darkwing appeared like a purple pillar in the storm. He knelt and pulled Gosalyn up and off the glass and against his chest, his arms wrapped around her and squeezing tightly.

If Gosalyn could physically get any further into his embrace, she would have, and Drake would have pulled her in even further than that.

Eventually, Gosalyn settled down. She’d smelled the electric scent of charred feathers on her dad as he’d held her close, but hadn’t needed to ask him what had happened. He didn’t have to tell her. His face was a mess, and Gosalyn had dug into her paper bag for some napkins - had unconsciously shoved a few cold fries into her mouth at the same time - and tried to wipe him up. He peeled off the mask and focused on his swollen eye, which was starting to look a little better. Gosalyn munched on fries and wiped the paint off her arms, which mostly just smeared it across her sweaty feathers.

The hatch to the compartment eased open, and Launchpad’s red hair and dirty ball cap appeared. "Gos?" he whispered, and - seeing Drake - gasped. "DW!" Launchpad vanished and Henri appeared instead, quickly climbing into the crawlspace skeptically, and Launchpad followed. Slowly, they picked their way to the Mallards, crowding close.

"Hey, LP," Drake greeted hollowly, offering his hand for the pelican to grip. "Thanks," the mallard sighed, and Launchpad shook his head.

"I’m just glad you’re back! Now you can be in charge again!"

Drake frowned at him, and then saw the paint all over their feathers. "LP, you don’t even have a WaddleMaker."

"That’s my doing!" Henri chirped, "so we could move around without getting caught!"

"Very clever," Drake nodded, "and very realistic looking."

While Henri beamed, Gosalyn sat backwards with a huff - and hiss as she irritated her road-rash, snatching the paper bag and pulling it into her lap. "Not that it worked! We got spotted downtown."

"I heard," Drake nodded, sorely shifting his own weight. "By Portia, it sounded like."

Gosalyn just grunted in response, her face dark.

Launchpad leaned closer. "Who was she, DW?"

Drake looked up at Launchpad quickly, confused. He glanced at Henri, who was watching him expectantly. "Neither of you know, do you? They were all gone before you came around." With a sigh, Drake settled back, his arms crossing. "Portia Featherly used to be the city’s favorite reporter, and was a leading Knights member, not that any of us knew that back then. She and a detective named Slick Adder were involved in Diver’s plan to get revenge on me for how I treated everyone during Darkwing. Portia’s part was to spread slander and turn the whole city against us. Seems to be a pattern of theirs…"

"Ohmigosh," Gosalyn shot upward suddenly, grunting through the pain in her side, and turned her wide eyes to her dad. "Uncle D! Portia mentioned him, asked if I had heard from him lately, said ‘prison can be a hell of a place’! Dad, I think they’d done something to him!"

"Of course they are," Drake growled, his teeth baring as he curled forward. "Diver’s locked up! If Portia is out here running around, then that means …"

"Slick," he and Gosalyn snarled.

"Damn it," Drake spat, "he’s a sitting duck in there. Slick used to run the criminal element of this city, of course he’d consider the prison his old stomping grounds! Argh, we never should have split up in the first place!"

"Well, we should get him back," Launchpad said, straightening up and pointing at Drake. "And you get to decide how!"

"Me?" Drake frowned.

"That’s how this works," Gosalyn said, "now that you’re back you can be in charge. Because I’m some kind of a magical time bomb thanks to this, and he just thinks of himself as a sidekick."

Drake turned to Launchpad with a gasp. "What?!"

"So please," Gosalyn turned to her dad and clasped her hands together, "please come up with a plan so we don’t have to!"

Drake stared at her, baffled. That didn’t sound at all like his daughter, who was always scheming and sneaking around.

"I thought the plan," Henri said, "was to stick to the plan!"

"That was before everything went belly up," Drake replied, pulling his gaze from Gosalyn and to the others. They continued to stare at him, looking scared and desperate. Drake sighed, rubbing the bridge of his bill before putting his hands up. "Alright. The new plan is that we get everyone back together, where they belong, and then we figure out how to reverse this whole mess. I should have never let Dive separate us."

"It made sense at the time," Gosalyn shrugged. "And it’s not like he could have known this -" she waved her arm at the city, "was going to happen!"

"I know," Drake grumbled as he stood, stiffly, to his feet. He pulled Gosalyn up next, hunched over as they were, who scowled at him.

"Dad, you can’t be suggesting that you still don’t trust him!"

"Of course I trust him!" snapped Drake, putting his hands on his hips. "He was a Knight, he's going to know how they think better than any of us."

"He was never a Knight," Gosalyn argued, "he told us so himself!"

"Okay, whatever. The point is, he's a liability to them, and in more ways than one an asset to us."

"Not to mention family," Gosalyn grumbled, her arms crossing, and Darkwing shot her a quick glare.

"... Which is exactly why you and I are going to risk life and limb to…" he sighed and hiked his shoulders up, grumbling into his turquoise turtleneck, "... break my brother out of prison."

Chapter 4: The Chapter With That One Guy Everyone Hates

Chapter Text

If there was anything Gosalyn was known for it, it was being bold and loud. If there was anything she wasn’t known for, it was being sneaky.

As she followed her dad across town, ducking around corners and sprinting across roof-tops, Darkwing occasionally giving her quiet instructions or curt hand-signals, she realized just how little she knew about being stealthy. It made her wonder how she and the others had made it as far through the city as they had.

Even with being as sore as they were, they made great time. The city lights were off, not that they were necessarily needed with the barrier glowing on all sides as it was, and Gosalyn explained that they guessed Megavolt had blown the city’s power plant, which is where they had been heading when everything happened. She also filled him in on what Chickpea, Honker, and Quackerjack had been up to - or at least as much as she knew from their brief call.

Taking full advantage of the shadows, they managed to avoid any unwanted attention with relative ease. Darkwing explained that he had seen Bully and Roxanne transform, as well as half of the precinct, but had lost track of them both. That is, until Portia made had made herself known.

They had no idea where the rest of the city's population was, or where the civilians the Knights did catch were being rounded up to, but agreed it wasn't worth loosing a team member to try to find out. Their best strategy was getting back together, and then hitting the Knights were it hurt - straight in his stupid metal beak.

The hardest part of the trip had been getting to City Hall and breaking off the tire boot that had been put around Diver’s motorcycle, since the family car was unaccounted for and wouldn’t have been nearly as helpful.

Darkwing had strictly forbidden Gosalyn from repeating any of the knowledge he passed onto her while breaking the boot or hot-wiring the motorcycle - for which he was going to owe Dive big time. He was very attached to his bike. Gosalyn had sworn she wouldn’t - with stars in her eyes and two fingers crossed behind her back, of course.

By the time they made it to the St. Canard Maximum Security Prison, the sky - what little of it they could see past their glowing, pink shell - was dark, and the whole city was bathed in a gentle, eerie wash. It vaguely reminded Gosalyn of the harsh, red neon lights hanging outside KDUK, and as the polished motorcycle under her glinted back the light, she thought of how Uncle Diver’s Glock had glinted in the same way.

Uncle D had tried to stop her a half dozen times from triggering the trap, he had done everything he could to get them out of there and keep the Fearsome Four away from her, and even though he had frozen up in panic - as she was learning he was prone to do specifically when her life was in danger - he had tried.

It certainly wasn’t lost on her how his plan had sent her as far away from the more obvious threats as possible right before the full force of the Knights descended, not that she had objected.

As they crested the hill and overlooked the marooned monolith that was the prison, Gosalyn tightened her grip around Darkwing’s waist.

Now was her chance to return the favor.

But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

"It’s dark," said Gosalyn. "Is that because of the power plant blowing?"

Darkwing pulled up the visor of his helmet and sat back a little. "I wouldn’t think so. I’d think the prison would have their own generators. Something else must have blown."

"And - now this is me assuming - you’ve never even been inside the prison, right?"

"Yes," Darkwing turned back to scowl at Gosalyn, "and I’m glad that was your assumption."

"So, you have no idea how it’s even laid out."

Darkwing shook his head, but then his WaddleMaker buzzed, and he checked it. The device blinked to life and displayed a floor map of the prison.

"Oh, come on," Gosalyn whined, "there’s no way we’d get that lucky."

"Hey," Darkwing pulled down the visor and grabbed the handlebars again, "you know what they say about prematurely counting your chickens and eggs and such."

"Or gift horses," Gosalyn muttered as they headed down the hill and towards the coast.

It wasn't clear what was making the prison so dark until Darkwing was scaling the walls: every inch of the prison's blocky prison’s exterior was covered in a thick vines. It seemed that yes, Steelbeak had managed to break out Bushroot.

Now to help Diver do the same.

Diver had always liked climbing more than Drake, being smaller and lighter, but Drake had had the height advantage. And unlike the last time the older Mallard had faced off against some unhappy thorn bushes, this time he was wearing his thick Darkwing coat. The thorns didn’t stand a chance against lightweight Kevlar.

After scaling the wall - Darkwing stopped a few times to consider adding a climbing wall to the Posiduck gym, he was getting a heck of a work-out - and climbing the vines up and past the barbed wire spirals that lined the prison walls - because if any prisoner was going to make it that far unassisted they’d certainly be stopped by a little wire - Darkwing paused for a moment to catch his breath and assess the situation.

He had to break into St. Canard’s Maximum Security Prison to break out his brother. And, he had no idea what condition he would find Diver in, if Diver was going to be able to walk out, or if he was walking into a trap. Slick had been oily enough to plan a trap when he was alive the first time; Darkwing wasn’t about to assume he’d lose his chance to do so again now that he had the second chance, and the perfect motivation.

Looking to the coast where he'd left Gosalyn one final time, Darkwing took a deep breath, stopped stalling, and leaped off the fence and to a nearby rooftop, silently tumbling and sliding his way to a window and then slipping inside the building.

He figured, as he paused long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, that all in all the situation sucked. Very much so.

But hey, they were used to this kind of stuff, right?

Only a few guards roamed the halls, heavy flashlights in one hand and even heavier batons in the other. Darkwing took note of their arsenal and kept creeping along, trying to keep track of just how many guards he had seen. When he saw a pair of inmates, wearing orange jumpsuits, utility belts, and patrolling alongside the guards, he felt his mental cogs sputter. Inmates - prisoners! - were roaming around on patrol? Armed? And the guards were okay with this?

Knights, Darkwing figured, they had to be Knights or connected somehow. There was no way Diver had been the only Knight errand boy, and the cult had had to fill his void after the studio fire anyway. So if inmates and guards with Knights connections were running things, then that meant that a certain ex-St. Canard Police Detective couldn’t have been too far.

Because of course Slick would actually be there. Yes, Darkwing had predicted it, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. He would have preferred any other Knight was locked up with his brother instead of the weasel that Diver killed. And the Knight that had dug his boot into Drake’s back and nearly shipped Gosalyn off to juvie.

Gritting his teeth and keeping still until his heart stopped hammering in his ears loud enough to block out the few noises around him, Darkwing pushed onward, steeling his mind to focus on the task at hand, not the task he wished he could be on.

Slick wasn't the only one with the perfect motivation.

Darkwing could feel his skin begin to crawl with anxiety the further into the prison he crept, and when the door he slipped through opened directly into the square, open-air yard in the center of the prison’s cell block tower, his heart began to hammer again. In the darkness he could make out some faint outlines of workout equipment on the far side, and for miles and miles above him, on all sides, were cells. Cells that were - he was willing to bet - unlocked and filled with blood-thirsty prisoners. He glanced up and looked at the pink dome, like a gemstone in the sky, blocked off on all sides but the walls that towered above him. The thought of this being a trap returned to Darkwing with all the subtlety of an airhorn, but he threw rational thought aside, ignored it completely, and ran further into the yard.

Darkwing scanned the collection of scattered benches and dumbbells as he approached, their murky forms becoming only marginally more clear the closer he got. He stopped a few steps away, searching desperately for any signs or a glimpse of anything that looked mildly Diver shaped, or even like a WaddleMaker, but it was still so hard to tell. Ducks weren’t known for their low light vision, and Darkwing tiptoed forward, his ears perked and feathers bristled. A few benches were in front of him, but not much else.

Then, like a truck, the smell hit him. It was blood, he’d recognize it anywhere. Darkwing’s blood ran cold, and he glanced down. He almost squawked out loud at the sight: blood, far too much, dotted the concrete in smears, footsteps, and splatters, and feathers - alabaster feathers with charcoal stripes - drifted through the air with every step he took.

Those that weren’t stuck in the blood.

A small, wheezing whistle sound met his ears, and Darkwing didn’t hesitate, he darted a few feet ahead and closer to the half circle of metal benches -

Oh God.

"Diver," he breathed. He hadn’t seen much - couldn’t see much, the way Diver was curled up tightly, tucked under one of the benches and clinging to the metal legs, his back facing out. His faded red t-shirt was ripped and torn, and Darkwing could spot the racing stripes that crossed his brother’s coat through the shredded garment.

He still smelled blood, and rushed forward, kneeling by the bench and ducking low to look under it, his hands hovering over Diver’s trembling body. Even from inches away he could feel the heat that radiated off him, see the goose bumps that covered his exposed skin.

The many, many patches of raw, red, trembling, exposed skin.

So that’s where all the feathers had come from. Darkwing saw red as his mind’s eye envisioned inmates, dozens of them, yanking out his brother’s feathers by the handful, and laughing as they did so. Laughing! Diver had always had sensitive skin, this was a torture worse than the beatings.

Another shallow wheeze leaned weakly against his spinning mind, and Darkwing gasped as the bubble of righteous fury popped. Shaking his head, the masked mallard sucked in a shaky breath to his tight chest, and when he opened his eyes, he frowned. It may have been his eyes adjusting, but he swore Diver looked curled up even more tightly than he had been just a second ago, as if that was physically possible.

"Dive?" the bigger mallard whispered, reaching forward and pressing his palm against Diver’s back. He felt every muscle in his brother flinch, and before Darkwing could stop him Diver had spun around and propelled himself backwards, clumsily scrambling from under the bench and kicking and clawing away.

"Dive!" Darkwing hissed and leaped over the bench, landing on top of Diver and pressing his back into the ground. He grappled for Diver’s wrists and pressed them against his own chest. "Hush! Shush! Diver it’s me! It’s Drake!"

Diver continued to struggle, but the part that made Darkwing’s adrenaline spike was the whimpering. Diver wasn’t yelling or cursing, or even growling, he was whimpering from his throat like a kicked dog. Like a beaten, cornered, scared dog.

Again, Darkwing saw red.

"Diver," Darkwing said firmly as his brother began to still, "it’s Drake! Open your eyes, if you can. It's just me!"

A coat of sweat covered Diver, running into his eyes as he slowly stilled, and he blinked them and shook his head uncomfortably. Darkwing snatched a corner of his cape quickly and - climbing off Diver and pulling him gently upwards - began to rub at his face. Diver slapped the hands off him, scooted away a few inches, just out of arm's reach, and scrubbed angrily at his face himself. The tears helped clean them out, and he panted for breath through swollen, clotted nostrils. Darkwing waited, letting Diver sort himself out.

It took a long moment.

"Here," Darkwing inched closer - he paused when Diver flinched - and gently pressed Diver’s head down towards the ground while pinching one nostril closed with the tip of his thumb, "blow."

Diver did so, and after a few tries thick clots of bloody mucus splat onto the ground. Diver screwed his eyes closed and swayed slightly, Drakwing’s hands keeping him upright.

"Next," Darkwing said, but Diver slapped his hands off once more. "You’re not getting out of here if you can’t breathe," Darkwing hissed, and Diver glared up at him with swollen, bloodshot eyes. One was flooded with red, and it reminded Darkwing of the version of his brother he’d seen at the Studio whose face was covered in burns and scars.

Diver’s bill - which was caked in blood - curled into a snarl, and he flinched at the movement. His hands shook as his fingertips hovered over his bill, aching to touch it and rub the pain away and all too aware of the consequences of doing so. His glare was about as weak as the rest of him looked, shoulders slumped and muscles trembling from exhaustion, and Darkwing reached for the big stain of dried blood and knotted feathers on the side of Diver’s head. He paused again when Diver flinched, and waited until the smaller Mallard stopped shaking before delicately brushing his finger tips against the wound.

Darkwing tried to pull a few feathers clear to look more closely at the damage, but Diver hissed when he tugged on some that were dried in place, and Darkwing pulled his hand back quickly, already uttering an apology.

"Concussion?"

Diver nodded, which left him battling a wave of nausea as his head throbbed. He gripped it, his eyes closing.

"Broken bones?"

He hesitated, but shook his head.

"Breathing?"

Diver glared up at him.

"I can’t be jostling you around with a punctured lung," Darkwing argued, putting his hands on his hips if only to keep them to himself. "Trust me, I know how bad they can get with just a little force!"

Diver blinked up at him, and then through the haze he remembered the studio fire, when Darkwing wouldn’t stop coughing up blood.

"We’re even," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oh, don’t start with that," Darkwing rolled his eyes and stood. Diver’s eyes snapped up to him quickly, and he watched with no small amount of relief as his brother unclipped his cape from the snaps on his chest and tucked it gently around Diver’s shoulders. The pressure and warmth were a small but welcome change. "We’ll compare scars once we get home. Come on. Lean on me and I’ll try to keep us steady."

Diver gritted his teeth, turned his head and spat out blood, and then took Darkwing’s hand in his own. Darkwing hauled him up and against his chest, where Diver clung and swayed. Darkwing lowered his arms to wrap around the shorter duck’s shoulders, and could feel Diver's muscles tremble as he took slow, measured breaths.

He spat out more blood, which was rapidly climbing up Darkwing’s list of worries. Blood usually stayed inside the body, and if it ever left, ideally, it would be through the skin due to a laceration or broken bone, maybe. Blood leaving the body through the mouth was never a good sign.

"Okay, let’s go," he said softly, desperate to keep his mind from counting all the different forms of internal bleeding. He’d had one himself once, and would rather Diver not be going through the same experience.

Together, slowly, they made their way across the yard and to the door Darkwing had slipped through. He guided Diver through first and then followed, but when he moved to lift Diver’s arm over his shoulders again, the shorter duck pulled away.

"Dive!" Darkwing hissed, "I don’t think I should need to point this out, but we need to keep moving!"

Diver’s face had taken on an unnatural shade of green, and he sagged heavily against the wall. More blood dribbled over his chin and he spit it out, before finally prying his jaws open with a sickening cracking sound. Tears formed in his eyes when he did, and he let them slide down his matted cheeks.

Darkwing stared in horror, realizing Diver’s bill had been coated so thoroughly in blood it had actually dried shut.

He hoped that explained the whimpering.

"We need," Diver wheezed, swaying through the pain, "pick up…"

"Gosalyn is waiting outside," Darkwing said, "to drive us out -"

Diver shook his head, and then gripped it sorely. Darkwing waited anxiously for the nausea to pass and Diver muttered, a little more strongly than before, "pick up… from inside… Steelbeak took two, I … hid the other."

Darkwing stared at him, and then shook his head. He stepped forward as he talked, pulling up short when Diver's shoulders tensed and his bill curled. "Steelbeak broke out two people? Bushroot and who else?"

Diver raised one hand and pointed down the hall, and Darkwing sighed and nodded. He pulled Diver’s arm back over his shoulders, keeping the cape in place, and they moved that direction.

The further into the prison they moved, the darker it got. Darkwing’s WaddleMaker had begun to shine like a flashlight, which helped, but the duck was still antsy. Diver was moving well enough considering Darkwing still didn’t know the full extent of his injuries, and it seemed the more they tiptoed along the easier it became, but exhaustion was just around the corner and they both knew it.

Suddenly, as they turned a corner, Diver froze stiff. Darkwing tugged on him, but Diver didn’t budge, his eyes blown wide. Every feather that was left on his body stood on end in a ripple, and a shiver covered his skin. Then, he shifted violently, throwing his whole weight against Darkwing and shoving them both clumsily against the wall and into a shadow. Darkwing grunted as Diver pinned him down, and his instincts to fight back kicked in before he could stop them. He threw Diver’s arms off him and grabbed them, switching their places and pinning Diver against the wall instead.

"Stop!" Diver hissed, barely audible, but it was enough to snap Darkwing out of it. He released his brother but in the same second heard voices nearing them from around the corner Diver had just diverted them away from. While Diver caught his breath, and radiated heat, Darkwing searched the hallway for any nook or cranny they could hide in, but all he saw were empty cells and barred windows. He hurried to one, dragging Diver after him, and paused in front of the door for just a second before his WaddleMaker flashed an open padlock at him, and the door unlocked with a clang.

A very, very loud clang.

The voices stopped at the noises, and Diver’s heart rate doubled in speed.

Two guards hurried around the corner, their flashlights and batons lifted, and scanned the hall. One stepped up to the first of the empty cells and scanned it with his flashlight, thoroughly checking every shadowy corner. Finding nothing, he moved on down the line to the next, and began again.

Finally, he moved to the unlocked cell, and his flashlight beam swept into it -

"Well?" called a voice from down the hall, and the guards turned. From where he hid, tucked between Darkwing - who wore his black cape to shield them - and the bars in the window, Diver began to tremble violently the second he heard the voice, and dug his fingers into his bill to keep it closed. His eyes screwed shut and he held his breath, or else he’d start hyperventilating. Darkwing blinked down at him in concern, but when he recognized the voice, rage erupted in his own chest.

A night like this was murder on his cardiovascular system.

"Nothing, sir," the guard reported, and Slick Adder turned the corner, his arms tucked smugly behind him. He rolled his eyes and suddenly slammed the guard’s helmeted head into the bars, bending them under the force and shattering the helmet. The hollow clatter echoed down the hall and made Diver jump. He gasped, and wrapped his arms around his chest to try in vain to stop the tremors that racked him.

Pulling the guard away from the bars, Slick shoved his head downward and against the floor, grinding the helmet into the concrete.

They were only a few steps away from the Mallards at this point, standing even with the window they were hiding in, and Darkwing could smell Bully's cologne.

"Do you think it’s nothing now?!"

The guard peeled his still spinning eyes open, and saw on the floor inches from his face a small spot of blood. He followed it down the hall, and stammered, "there’s - there’s blood, sir. Going that way!"

"So there is," Slick muttered, releasing the guard and standing. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his trousers. "Would you like to investigate the trail of blood?"

"Yes - yes, sir," both guards nodded adamantly and then hurried further down the hall. Slick sighed and smoothed his hair back into place before he drew a pistol from his belt and aimed it at the window next to him - the window the Mallards had hidden in. He fired three times. Dropping the pistol, he then scooped up a discarded flashlight and inspected his work.

All he saw were metal bars and green vines with a few bullet holes in them.

Slick raised one eyebrow and glanced behind him back the direction he had come. He saw nothing, so he holstered his pistol and began to follow the others. He checked the cells as he passed them, just to be sure.

Darkwing dragged his brother as far as he could as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the ex-detective. His vision pulsed with red dots, unbridled fury towards the ferret acting as a beacon urging him to turn around and pummel the ex-detective senseless, and then beat him some more.

Finally, he stopped running, and steadied Diver against the wall as he caught his breath. Diver leaned against it heavily, gasping for air with wide eyes.

"Stay - stay here," Darkwing commanded, and then looked around the hallway. Now he was completely turned around, and when he raised his wrist his WaddleMaker brought up the map one more time. It took him a moment to orient himself the way his whole body was still burning with emotion and his hands shook. "Okay," he panted slightly, "where did you stash this stowaway of yours?"

When Diver didn’t respond, Darkwing turned back to him. Diver’s chest was bobbing up and down far too quickly, and his mouth was opened almost as wide as his eyes.

"Dive?" Darkwing hurried back over and put his hand on Diver’s shoulder, but he got no response. "Diver! Hey, talk to me, what’s wrong? What’s going on?"

Still nothing, and still Diver panted for air and his eyes darted around blindly. His hands were clawing at the wall behind him, and suddenly his knees buckled, dumping him to the floor.

"Woah!" Darkwing fell with him, scrambling to catch Diver before he jostled himself around too much. "Diver! Dive, look at me! It’s me, Darkwing!" Darkwing grabbed one of his brother’s clammy, trembling hands and pressed it against his own face. "Come on, Dive, just breathe!"

His mind raced, overloading him with different scenarios. Maybe Diver had punctured a lung and couldn’t breathe, maybe he had a cramp, maybe something else had ruptured and he wasn’t thinking clearly past the pain, maybe the concussion had gotten worse and it was affected his senses, maybe -

Darkwing blinked, and sat back onto his heels. He looked down at his brother again, at every detail from his blood and sweat covered racing stripes to his deep, richly brown eyes, his dull-colored bill still caked with blood, and the way Diver's other hand reached, desperately, out for him.

Again, he thought back to the Studio roof. It was the only other time in his life he'd ever seen his brother frozen in terror.

"Dive," Darkwing said softly and settled down onto his tail while grabbing Diver’s other hand and squeezing it, "I don’t know if you can hear me but… I think you’re having a panic attack."

Diver didn't respond, he just continued to gasp for air.

Darkwing looked around again, as if he’d find something that would help. He turned back to Diver, who was still shaking, wearing himself out as he slumped forward into Darkwing's hands, and Darkwing pressed his shoulders back against the wall.

"Diver," he spoke slowly and was grateful his voice didn't tremble too much, "if you can hear me, you're okay. You're probably in pain right now, but you have to try to get your breathing under control. Try to think!"

Diver was making no response, and his eyes were glassing over. Darkwing swore under his breath.

Desperate times, he whined in his throat, before shouting suddenly.

"DIVE!" Before he could talk himself out of it, Darkwing threw one arm back and slapped his brother across the face. Diver cried out in pain, his hands flying up to cradle his bill and throbbing head.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" he roared back after a moment of dizziness, glaring up at Darkwing. Before he could object, Darkwing yanked the shorter duck against his chest for a moment, and that stunned Diver far more than the slap had.

He didn't immediately object, however. Nor did he object after clearly realizing what was happening, nor after his breathing finally began to even out. Darkwing decided to sit there for several moments more, just to be sure. He could feel his brother begin to slump forward heavier and heavier, the adrenaline of the rescue and exhaustion from the whole rotten, sickening, unfair mess settling in.

Darkwing decided to sit there a couple moments more before finally speaking.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and felt Diver's whiskers tickle his neck as his attention perked up a little. "For hitting you." Slowly, Darkwing removed his arms from around Diver and pushed him backwards. He steadied his younger brother by his shoulders, holding him in place.

Diver gave him a look of mild confusion and a little concussion-induced helplessness. Darkwing didn't stop the chuckle that came out of him, and it only made Diver look more confused. He really looked like a kid again.

Including the blood.

"Okay," Darkwing said slowly, and Diver looked up at him with slightly dilated pupils, "you’ve got a concussion, you’ve been tortured, and Slick is wandering around looking for us. Gosalyn is outside, probably ready to storm the gates since we haven’t come out yet, and you decided to make a detour and grab a fourth wheel. So," Darkwing stood, pulled Diver to his feet and pressed him by the shoulders against the wall to steady them both, "Diver, where the hell is he?"

Diver blinked at him twice, and Darkwing tightened his grip and soothed his own temper as he waited. It wasn’t Diver’s fault he was confused. And after a second, Darkwing's patience was rewarded. Diver awkwardly turned his head to a line of cells and pointed.

"Finally," said Darkwing as he stepped experimentally away and released Diver’s shoulders, "we’re making progress. Where, exactly, is he?"

Diver, whose temper was finally catching up with the situation, slapped Darkwing’s hands off him and began to walk unsteadily down the hall. He kept one hand on the surface for support, and if his brother hovering after him bothered him, he didn't mention it. Darkwing followed him to a random cell, which Diver yanked open and stepped inside of. As Darkwing watched, Diver put both hands on the toilet in the back of the cell and yanked. The device didn’t budge, and he leaned against it for a moment as his head pulsed before shooting an annoyed glance up at the taller duck.

"Don’t help or anything!"

"Oh," chirped Darkwing, quickly moving to Diver’s side and helping move the toilet. It slid, loudly, across the floor, and once it was clear Diver knelt down and stuck his arm into the sizable hole in the wall.

"I don't even want to know how you knew this was here," Darkwing grumbled. Ignoring him, Diver grunted and then stood. He hauled from the hole a short, rotund body in an orange jumpsuit with what looked like a pillowcase over their head. The figure was muttering and protesting loudly, and Diver hissed at them.

"Ah, shuddup!" He stood, bent over a little as he caught his breath, and motioned down to the hostage. "There’s your fourth wheel… Mr. Eager Beaver!"

"Who the heck is he?"

"Don’t know," Diver wound his hands up in the collar of the inmate’s orange jumpsuit, "don’t care." He yanked, paused as his head pulsed, yanked again, and paused again. "Didn’t have time… to ask between… stashing him… and making sure Steelbeak… took Camille instead… You," he paused and glanced up at Darkwing, "haven’t heard from her… have you?"

"No," Darkwing shook his head, "I've been busy breaking out of police custody and reuniting with Gosalyn and the others before heading here to break you out. You're welcome, by the way. If Bully finds out, I'll never live this down…"

"You’re a lot of help," Diver muttered, hauling the mole across the cell and out the door.

"Well, I’m sorry," Darkwing whined as he followed and shut the door after them, "but you’re the one who decided we should split up! Oh, for goodness - put them down!" Rolling his eyes, Darkwing stomped back into the cell, grabbed the bedsheets off the bunk quickly, wrapped the mole up in them, and threw them over his shoulder like a giant sack.

"Ho ho ho," Diver smirked at him.

"Yeah," Darkwing rolled his eyes, "and to all a good night! Shall we keep moving now, please?"

Diver shrugged and began to walk down the hall, and Darkwing followed him.

Outside, Gosalyn was pacing a rut into the dirt under her feet. She stalked back to the edge of the cliffs and looked down at the water below. The surface was still, almost completely motionless, and reflected the pink barrier up at her.

"That thing must go all the way to the Bay floor," she muttered, and then felt a shiver run over her skin. "Which means we really are alone."

Then, she heard a very distant bang, like the world’s smallest thundercloud had formed inside the prison, and quickly looked up. The bangs continued, and Gosalyn leaped back onto the bike - and then stopped.

She actually had no idea how to operate it.

Before she had time to debate which of the Mallard brothers would make a better motorcycle instructor, there was another, louder boom that exploded out of the prison, and Gosalyn spun around as a big, black, armored van burst through the front gates, shredding the vines that covered it, and sped down across the bridge and towards her.

"Woo-hoo!" she cheered, vaulting off the bike as soon as the massive van ground to a stop near her.

Gosalyn ran for the van - ducking past the bullets raining down over them - and Darkwing opened his door for her.

"Keen ride, Dad! Hey Uncle D!" Then, she spotted the hooded, orange wearing figure rolling around in the caged back of the van next to Diver, and frowned. "Who’s that?"

"A surprise for later," Darkwing said, practically yanking Gosalyn into the van and over top of him. "GET IN!"

"Is that my bike?" asked Diver as he pressed himself against the bars behind Darkwing and peered out the open door. Darkwing slammed it shut once Gosalyn was inside. "Was that my bike?!"

"Leave it!" Darkwing barked, and Diver laughed at him.

"Not on your life!"

Turning, he barreled into the van's back doors shoulder first and they flew open. Bullets began to pepper the inside of the van, bouncing off the bars and around the interior cabin.

"DIVER!" Darkwing shrieked, "GET BACK INSIDE!"

"Thanks for the ride, Dweebwing!" Diver, hopping out of the van, slammed the doors closed and dashed for his bike, which he threw himself across. "Hi baby," he babbled in a baby-voice, "Daddy missed you! Was my dumb, stupid brother going to leave you behind?"

"UNCLE D!" Gosalyn cried as Darkwing slammed down the gas pedal and the huge machine lurched forward, "MOVE IT!!"

Diver glanced after them, looked back at the guards and police that were stampeding for them across the bridge, continued to ignore the bullets that embedded themselves in the dirt around him, and sighed happily.

"Ah," he cooed, clasping his hands together, "my beautiful St. Canard! Now it feels like home!" Diver kicked one leg out, and his black helmet spun into the air, from which he snatched it, stuffed it onto his head, swung himself onto the bike and revved the engine. She growled happily for him.

"Come on, baby," Diver tipped the bike and turned her around, kicking up dirt and grass chunks as the wheels spun, and as he looked over his shoulder at the stampede and snapped the visor down into place, he grinned, "let’s give ‘em a show."

Chapter 5: The Chapter With The Gratuitous (But Cool) High Speed Chase

Chapter Text

Darkwing yanked on the wheel and the massive hunk of metal the prison used to transport prisoners groaned, tipping onto two wheels as it slid around a corner.

St. Canard sped by them in a dark, shadowy blur, the van’s headlights the only source of light in the whole city. Darkwing hunched over the massive steering wheel, eyes aimed through the windshield and flickering around constantly as he pressed down further on the gas pedal. Gosalyn had no possible idea where they were at this point, unable to recognize any passing landmarks or street signs. Darkwing, however, took another corner on two wheels with the confidence of a duck who really could navigate the city blind-folded.

Hearing a soft thump and the rattle of chain-link fence, Gosalyn turned and looked behind her into the back of the van, where their little round passenger rolled back and forth mercilessly, kicking and cursing unhappily through the pillowcase wrapped around his head.

"Seriously," she jutted one thumb over her shoulder and glanced at her dad, "who is this guy?"

"The real version of whoever Steelbeak broke out, beside Bushroot," Darkwing replied through gritted teeth, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly the leather squeaked. "Diver stashed the real one and sent Camille as a decoy."

"So he’s got Bushroot and Rollie Pollie Ollie too. Great, that’s good news for us. Wait," she smirked at Darkwing again, her eyes twinkling, "did Uncle D improvise?"

Gosalyn grunted when Darkwing slammed on the brakes suddenly, tossing her forward. She pushed herself up off the dashboard, fully prepared to offer him some honest feedback on his driving technique, when she noticed he was staring forward with wide eyes. She looked that way, and her eyes popped open.

"Oh."

The street ahead of them was blocked from one side to the next by a wall of cars that had been stacked on top of each other, and the massive construction crane responsible for the pile-up stood proudly behind the wall of dented aluminum and leaking fluids. Before it was a mob of people, two or three deep, carrying flashlights, baseball bats, chains, and whatever else they could find for improvised weapons at a looted hardware store. The red marks all over their bodies pulsed gently in the darkness and blaring headlights.

"Talk about an angry mob," muttered Gosalyn, hands still pressed against the dashboard. Darkwing growled in his throat and pressed the gas, the engine roaring and jerking forward against the brakes. "Dad, you can’t run them over, there’s innocent people in there!"

Then, motion within the mob caught Gosalyn’s eye, and she saw Portia Featherly step forward, clearly the head of the group, and the dame’s hands curled into fists.

"Then again…"

Portia stared right at them, and slowly she began to clap. The rest of the mob stayed silent, and after a long moment someone handed her a megaphone.

"If it isn’t ‘the terror that flaps in the night’. Darkwing, how wonderful to see you again, thank you for joining us!"

"Trap," Darkwing spat and shook his head. "Of course it’s a trap! Drake you moron - that was far too easy!"

Gosalyn’s gaze slid back to the mob around them, and flinched when more mob members began to emerge from the dark stores around them, carrying their own weapons and looking eager to use them. "Daaad…"

Darkwing looked too, eyes scanning frantically.

"We’re sitting ducks," he spat as Gosalyn inched closer to him and away from the windows.

"Speak for yourself."

"I don’t think you’ll be able to get off on a technicality this time, kiddo…"

"Darkwing," Portia spoke again, her voice ringing loudly off the walls around them, "I know it’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other, so why don’t you and I sit down, have a chat? Get caught up? The way I see it," Portia glanced to her either side and smirked, "you’re good as caught anyway."

"Not yet we’re not," Darkwing hissed, and from his pocket he drew the gas gun, shifting the van into park.

"Wait - Dad!"

Ignoring her, Darkwing shouldered his door open and stood up in the gap between it and the van, aiming the gas gun directly at Portia. Porita’s grin split open and the Knights around her gasped.

"Relax," the duck rolled her eyes, and purred, "he’d never open fire on a crowd of civilians. He’s got too good of a reputation for that."

Drakwing snarled, his grip on the trigger tightening. Gosalyn looked back and forth between him and the crowd, and Portia’s grin curled at the corners.

Then, Darkwing lifted the gun. "You’re right, Portia. I do. But he doesn’t."

VROOOM!

A deafening roar filled the street and Diver’s motorcycle appeared, the armored van jolting as the bike shot over its roof and down the windshield and across the hood, pouncing onto the street as Diver yanked her backwards, spinning out and sending the Knights scattering. Some of them dropped their weapons as they fled, and Diver snatched up a crowbar, gripping it tightly and snarling directly at Portia.

As she stared into the shiny, black helmet, her grin grew even more twisted. "Hello, Ducky."

Diver’s bloody bill curled and he dropped the head of the crowbar against the street with a loud metal clang.

"Did someone say ‘fire’?"

The bike revved when Diver twisted the handlebar, spun in a screeching, smoking circle, and as Diver dragged the crowbar against the street, a tail of glowing sparks kicked up after it. The bike spun a final time and Diver yanked his arm up, sending the sparks flying and arching towards the dark puddles lining the wall of vehicles.

They were gasoline. He’d recognize the scent even if he was dead and buried.

Suddenly, mid-spin, something grabbed him from behind, and Darkwing eyes bulged as Portia grabbed Diver’s ratty red t-shirt by the handful and threw him - one handed - through the air and into the van’s windshield. The glass shattered and Diver rolled off the van and over the hood, crashing painfully to the road below. His bike skidded sideways, crashing onto the curb.

"DIVE!" Darkwing shrieked and launched himself from behind the door, but Portia was quicker. She snatched Diver up and hurled him over her head and slammed him into the asphalt. He skidded across it and left a streak behind, the visor in his helmet shattering at the force of the blow.

Darkwing lunged for Portia, claws bared -

BOOOM!

Finally, the fire that had crept up behind the mob, tiny at first, reached the molten pile of metal, and the whole thing ignited and erupted in an enormous mushroom fireball, knocking the Knights off their feet and blowing the cars upwards, shattering the nearby windows, and flooding the block with a wave of heat and smoke. Portia barely flinched as her hair and suit were flung backwards by the force, and she paused, staring at the flames. They licked and thrashed around angrily, searing heat and the acidic scent of burning gasoline washing over her.

It was enough of a distraction for Darkwing to pick himself up off the van's front bumper where the explosion had knocked him and swung the first piece of metal he found at Portia's head, knocking the duck sideways and allowing him to snatch Diver and sprint back for the van, dodging the scattering, panicked Knights as he dragged his stumbling brother after him.

"Gos!" he cried, and Gosalyn flung herself at her door and threw it open, grabbing Diver and hauling him inside. "Drive!" Darkwing snapped, yanking Diver’s helmet off - who hissed unhappily at him.

"Shoulder!" Diver barked through gritted teeth, clutching the shoulder that he'd landed on when Portia had thrown him. "Shoulder!"

Darkwing paused, surveying him quickly, and then grumbled and jumped up into the van. Diver half-turned to him as Darkwing squeezed between him and the van's dashboard.

"They're coming!" Gosalyn cried as Darkwing took a hold of Diver's shoulder with both hands and shoved against it suddenly. Gosalyn heard the joint pop back into place as Diver cried out, but Darkwing was already snatching up the discarded helmet and slamming the door closed after him before she fully processed the shiver that ran up her spine.

"Careful with my bike!" Diver called after him, still clutching his throbbing joint.

Portia, regaining her balance, glared at the retreating Mallards, and pointed at the van. "GET THEM!"

Gosalyn pulled herself into the driver’s seat and yanked on the stick shift. Knights swarmed them, banging on and clawing at the metal. She grinned wide. "Alright, Uncle D, hang on!"

"Oh God, not again," he whimpered, pushing himself backwards into the seat with a grimace and clutching at the stiff leather under him.

The van’s engine roared and Portia shrieked as the van screeched forward on smoking wheels, plowing the big hunk of metal through the partial hole blown in the barricade by the explosion. The stacked cars whined and groaned as the van’s massive tires squealed, kicking up smoke, and Gosalyn switched the pedals, reversed out of the knot of metal, and then charged forward once again. The fire was broken into pieces by the shattered windshield before her, a kaleidoscope of pain and heat straight out of her nightmares. Gosalyn took a deep breath of hot, acidic air that was tainted with the scent of her uncle's blood, and screamed as she plowed the van forward once more, busting through the wall and sending pieces of flaming metal and plastic scattering after them.

Darkwing pushed and shoved his way to the discarded bike, sitting it up and mounting, slamming the helmet onto his head and revving the engine.

Porita flung herself at Darkwing, clawing at the hole in the helmet’s visor, and he kicked her backwards.

"Tell Steelbeak," he growled, "that we’re coming for him. We’re going to bury him right beside the rest of you!" Darkwing revved the bike and sped out after the van, bowling through anyone who got in his way.

Portia picked herself up off the blanket of shattered glass and flaming debris she laid on, embers and flames falling around her and panicking Knights running around. Coolly, the duck lifted her WaddleMaker and spoke into it. "Mark," she spat, "you’re up. Try not to blow it this time!"

Elevator doors opened with a smooth ding, and behind them stood the smugly smiling face of Mark Beaks. He had a small head-lamp on his head, which he pulled off and tossed aside as soon as he entered the warmly lit hallway.

"Ugh, finally," he grumbled. "I do not do well in the dark."

"How come this place has power?" one Knight asked, turning their flashlight off. Mark, spitting, rolled his eyes and turned back to them.

"Because Canard Tower has its own generators, duh. Why else do you think Megavolt would attack here and not anywhere else on this crummy island? It's hard to take over a city when your supervillain blows the power!"

The Knight blinked after Mark as he strode forward once again. Up ahead, down the luxurious halls of soft carpet and fancy potted plants, was another group of Knights. In their grip was a trembling, terrified looking employee in a polo with a name tag that read, "Alexa."

"Hey, hey," Mark snapped as he approached, waving one hand around and pulling his headphones off with the other, "what’s the hold up?"

"This employee," one knight yanked on the poor songbird’s arm, another shining their flashlight into her face, "won’t give over the keys."

Mark blinked at her, and she did her best to growl back.

"Okay, listen here," he leaned forward to read her name tag, "Ah-lex-us, we’re kind of in a big hurry here and we kind of need you to use your teeny little key ring right there on your belt to open this teeny little door so we can keep taking over your teeny little city, okay?"

"No!" the canary bit. "I won’t help you!"

"Ugh," Mark’s shoulders sagged, "bore! Fine, whatever." Straightening, he snapped his fingers, and Knights descended on Alexis. Mark turned back to his phone and yawned as the group struggled and shouted, and after a moment, someone presented him with keys. At first, his eyes shined, and then he gagged, recoiling from the gift. "Ack - ew, are you crazy? I’m not touching those things, who knows where they’ve been!"

The Knight rolled their eyes, and turned to the door. Mark bounced excitedly next to them, and when the door was opening, he shoved his way inside.

At first, the flashlights from the hallway behind Mark was the only light streaming into the room. But as the macaw stepped past the threshold, the room before him began to light up. The whole ceiling was dark blue tiles, and the lights embedded underneath them glowed a fresh blue. There were LED strips running down the walls between the wracks of computers, wracks of Virtual Reality headsets and hand-controls, large monitors with glass shelves for gaming consoles and controllers, endless shelves of games in boxes, rows of cabinet arcade machines, dance floors, and more. There were posters too, of ancient games and new games, and a syntho-punk song began to play overhead. Mark's head bobbed along with the beat, and he stared around with wide, yellow eyes.

A robotic arm in a track lowered from the ceiling and swung towards Mark, aiming the mechanical eye on the end at him. He flinched, and looked over it curiously. "Welcome to the Cyber-seum, courtesy of Canard Tower," it said in a smooth, feminine voice. "Where would you like to begin?"

Mark looked around the room and tapped his beak, his eyes pinching into narrow slits in thought. "Hmm, I'm not sure, there are so many good choices! Say, Computer, what's the best thing you've got here for tracking down some renegade ducks who are trying to stop you from taking over the city?"

The eyeball optical narrowed as the computer thought, before it zipped down the track and towards the back of the room where a massive, dark window stood. "That would be Canard Tower’s arsenal of elite, Magnum-Powered Quasi-Propelled All-Purpose Drones." Beyond the thick glass, rows of lights began to flick on, one after the other, revealing a hangar with a full drone army. The sleek, black machines were large, practically bigger than Mark himself, with four arms and black and yellow striped propellers. Mark staggered closer, reaching for them, stars filling his eyes.

"But ... the Mangum-Powered Quasi-Propelled All-Purpose Drones -" the lights shut off just as Mark reached the glass, "are reserved for authorized personnel only."

"Oh," Mark giggled and swung his head upwards towards the mechanical arm as he lifted his phone, "I think you'll find that I'm an authority - official - person - whatever you said." Mark tapped twice on the screen, and it displayed a blue arrow, pointing upwards. With a tongue-out wink, he flicked it towards the mechanical arm, and the electric optical dilated as the whole arm began to spasm and shake. Shocks covered in, and the lights in the whole room flickered. The other Knights looked around at them, and back to the arm as it deflated, hanging limp from the ceiling.

And then, the little eye began to glow blue, and the computer lifted its head.

"Welcome, Mark Beaks," it said in a deep, distorted voice. Mark's smile grew and he giggled, before turning back to the window. Once again, the lights began to turn on, and the drones began to buzz in neat rows, lifting gently into the air. "Your army," said the computer, "awaits."

Mark motioned to the window with both arms, cackling. The mechanical arm descended and placed a headset with a thick, electronic visor on his head, touch-pad control panels emerging from the wall and underneath his palms. "Now this is why I love this city!"

Diver groaned as he was bounced, repeatedly, up and down, the armored van plowing forward, shoving and bouncing abandoned cars out of its way.

"I’m beginning to think," Diver bounced again and gripped his head sorely, unsure which part of him - his throbbing head or the road-rash running down his back - needed the most attention first, "that you’re hitting them on purpose!"

Darkwing followed, and - once they reached an intersection - shot ahead and passed the van. After taking the lead, he slowed and turned back to Gosalyn, waving her after him. Gosalyn glanced down to fiddle with the various knobs and levers, and Diver squawked and lunged forward to yank the wheel to one side before she ran them straight into another power pole.

"Ah-ha!" the dame cheered, and flicked the high-beam headlights at Darkwing. He, rolling his eyes, turned back forward -

Darkwing yanked on the handlebars suddenly and the bike tipped, crashing through some trash cans and skidding across the street and sending Darkwing tumbling after it.

"Drake!"

"Dad!" Gosalyn slammed on the brakes, and they screeched angrily as the big hunk of metal came to a grinding stop.

Diver shouldered open the door first, and was halfway out when he stopped. Buzzing, like hornets, filled the air, and Diver looked up. Screaming, he vaulted back inside the van seconds before something crashed into the open door, shredding the metal and tossing flames and heat into the compartment. Diver and Gosalyn cried out and covered themselves, and when the flash faded Gosalyn looked around frantically.

"What the heck was that?!"

At the same time, they looked through the shattered windshield, to where Darkwing groaned and picked himself off the asphalt. Garbage surrounded him, and half a dozen drones - practically the size of Diver’s bike - began to hover, weightless, around the duck, pinning him on all sides with their blinding, white spotlights.

"There are drones now?!" Gosalyn shrieked.

"There are drones now!" Diver hissed.

Darkwing shielded his eyes from the light since the visor wasn’t doing him any good, pushing himself back onto his heels and glaring at the machines around him.

"Well, well, well," echoed the voice of Mark Beaks from all sides, and Darkwing’s feathers bristled, "who’s the weak link now, huh? Oh wait -" from the drones’ bellies emerged large, sharp claws on mechanical arms that snapped at him, "it’s you!"

Diver, snarling, crawled for the gaping hole on his side of the van, but stopped short when a drone lowered into it, aiming its light and massive claws at him and Gosalyn.

"Not so fast!" Mark giggled at them, "I’m supposed to bring you all back! Course," the claws snapped closed a few times as they inched closer, "they didn’t say you had to be in one piece!"

"HA!" Diver barked laughter in Darkwing’s direction, "I told you he was in on this!"

" Wait a minute, you," the drones snapped back to Darkwing, "knew I was involved the whole time?!"

"Mark," Darkwing muttered, "of all the evil villains I’ve encountered you’re easily the least evil of them all."

"Or subtle!" Gosalyn added.

"Or focused," Diver growled, and lunged off his seat, directly onto the drone’s black framework. He narrowly dodged the propellers, glad for the first time in his life to be so tiny.

"HEY!" Mark cried, and the drone began to bob and weave and try to shake Diver off, lifting in panic away from the van and into the open air, "GET OFF OF THAT!"

The other drones, seeing the commotion, turned, and Darkwing drew the gas gun from his pocket and fired a grappling hook at one of them. The hook collided directly with one of the propellers, and instantly the cable began to tangle in the whirling blade. It yanked the gun out of Darkwing’s hand, and as the drone tipped sideways, the gun flew back and forth - barely missing his head - and collided with another drone, knocking it backwards and into a third. The original drone tipped and crashed into a fourth. The fifth, spinning back around, received a flying trash can lid directly into it, and Darkwing grabbed one arm, hauled the whole thing to the ground, and lodged the lid downward into the propellers, which rattled and beat against it before shattering. One fragment caught Darkwing just under the seam of his suit, and the rest flew random directions into the night.

Gosalyn, after the drone that hovered out her door moved swiftly to help the one trying to buck Diver off, scrambled across the seat and out the hole. Diver was lifted higher and higher into the air as he wrestled with the machine, and Gosalyn glanced over her shoulder at the van.

"Uncle D!" she cried as she ran for the back doors, threw them up, and dragged the prisoner out of it and to the ground, "in here!"

"You assume -" Diver grunted and climbed back aboard after one particularly violent spin, "that I can control this thing!" Glancing down, Diver caught sight of an open convertible - he loved dumb, rich people - and reluctantly released his grip and fell tumbling through the air. He aimed for the convertible, for the nice, leather seats to cushion his landing, and landed directly on the hood, smashing it under his weight and instantly blacking out.

The drone, freed, straightened itself and looked around, the second drone joining it. Then, a paper take-out cup hit it. Both devices turned towards Gosalyn, who waved her arms over her head.

"Hey, you over-sized can openers!" she cried, "I’ve seen more impressive flying from Gizmoduck!" She hurled another piece of trash at them and the drones took the bait. They dive bombed her, arms raised and claws snapping, and Gosalyn backed against the van. At the last second, the dame ducked. The machines soared over her head, crashing into the back of the van, and Gosalyn slammed one door closed. Darkwing appeared next to her and shoved the other door closed, locking both drones inside. The drones, which barely fit into the space together, began to thrash and jostle around, and the screeching and tearing of metal filled the air, the whole van bucking back and forth. Finally, everything got quiet.

Tentatively, Darkwing and Gosalyn peaked open the swinging doors, checking the destruction. The drones laid in pieces, tangled up together in a big knot - suddenly one arm lashed at them, clawing and snapping. The Mallards shrieked and Darkwing hurled a nearby trash can lid at the beast, which embedded itself directly into the drone’s body. It began to spark and hiss, and Darkwing and Gosalyn swapped a nervous look before scrambling to slam the doors shut once more. Seconds later, the drones inside exploded, the whole van bouncing up into the air and landing with a crash so loud the car lining the block began to shriek and wail.

"Gah!" Gosalyn gasped as she covered her ears quickly, having fallen to the road when the van went airborne.

"You okay?!" Darkwing called, grabbing her, and she nodded.

"Yeah, you?"

"I’ll be better once we’re out of downtown," he responded, and then hurried to the crushed convertible to retrieve Diver - again - while Gosalyn grabbed the hooded hostage and dragged him back towards the van.

"Diver!" Darkwing barked, pulling his helmet off and shaking his brother by the shoulder. "Come back to me just enough to haul your lazy butt back into the van so we can get out of here!"

"Better not have scratched my bike…" Diver grumbled as surfaced, unhappily, from unconsciousness. Every part of him throbbed, or burned, or both, and he groaned as Darkwing pulled him off the hood and practically carried him towards the van. Gosalyn met him and they pushed Diver into the seat.

"I might hurl on you," he mumbled to Gosalyn as she climbed into the driver’s seat and yanked the stick shift into place.

"Don’t worry about it," she grinned at him, "it’s a rental."

"INCOMING!" Darkwing cried from where he lifted the bike back onto its wheels. "Here comes Phase 2!"

"Woo! We’re home-free now, boys!" Gosalyn reached forward and cranked up the radio to max volume, and slammed on the gas. Diver looked at her, a little disturbed.

Darkwing let her pass by first, the van kicked up trash and garbage as it split the sea, and then spun the bike and followed, snatching the gas gun off the street as he passed.

Darkwing was a thoroughly trained motorbike operator - he’d had plenty of experience and ample excuse during filming - but, like most physical things, his brother was better at him.

And, like most physical things Drake ran across while filming, he wished his brother was handling it instead of him.

The bike swerved again as Darkwing aimed the gas gun at another drone, and he over-corrected, costing him priceless speed and firing time as the bike swerved and slowed. He pushed her even harder to catch back up to the van, swearing under his breath as yet another drone landed on the machine and clung to it with strong, metal claws. They were swarming the vehicle, several of them hovering nearby while their metal companions pierced the body with their claws and began to rip and tear the van apart.

"That’s probably not good," Gosalyn muttered, the sound of screeching metal filling the compartment.

"You got a real knack for pointing out the obvious," Diver grumbled as he dumped the contents of the glove box before him all over the floor.

"It runs in the family," Gosalyn replied and spared him only a fleeting glance. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything even remotely useful!" Diver snapped, slammed the box closed and scanned the scattered items, which bounced and jostled around each time the drones yanked on the van. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear out the visual echo he was getting, but when it didn’t work he growled and climbed down to the floor. God, he hated concussions. From the floor, tucked between the glove box and the seat, he snatched a pair of handcuffs on a chain, a flare, and scooped up a handful of take-up containers and various papers and maps.

"Find anything?"

"Guess we’ll find out." Diver climbed out of the cranny, leaned out of the hole next to him where his door had once hung, and whistled. "Hey Beaks - fetch!" He hurled the trash at the drone, which scattered all over it, but the machine didn’t flinch.

"Ha!" Mark laughed, "now you’re a litter-er as well as a criminal!"

But when the trash screen passed, Diver was gone.

Darkwing, following close behind, caught a glimpse of white feathers and a red t-shirt as Diver hauled himself onto the van’s roof, dragging his junk with him.

"Now what is he doing…" he grumbled, and steered the bike closer to the van’s rear bumper.

Diver, clinging to the roof and barely able to keep himself upright, growled at the drone that turned to him, and lit the flare with his teeth. It came to life in a shower of glowing, hissing sparks, momentarily blinding the drone’s mechanical eyes. Diver lunged, clipping one shackle around a drone’s plastic arm and another around the drone opposite of it in the same way, and yanked. The drones swerved together, but pulled back inches from collision. They hovered there instead.

"Running out of ideas?" Mark asked, and Diver smirked at him. Still holding the chain in his hands, he jumped forward, pulled the chain tight and dropped over the edge of the van, yanking the chain with him and yanking the drone together. They exploded upon collision, and Diver landed on the hood of his motorcycle, Darkwing dodging and swerving as debris rained down on them.

"Brilliant," Darkwing muttered, managing to steady the bike and standing up on his feet on the seat.

Diver blinked at him. "What are you doing?!"

"Trade me!"

Without waiting for a response, Darkwing leaped from the bike’s seat, flew over Diver’s head, and landed on the back doors of the van and clung to the handles.

"You call me crazy!" Diver cried, scrambling into his bike’s leather seat and swerving the machine back and forth as she bucked unhappily under him.

Finally finding perch, Darkwing yanked and turned the handles and the door swung open, carrying Darkwing with it.

"Whoa!" Diver ducked and swerved to avoid decapitation as the thick metal sheet swung for him, and scanned for any signs of his brother. Darkwing, clawing, inched around the edge of the door and climbed to the inside, clinging to the tears and rips in the metal. Then, he twisted around and lunged, tumbling into the bed of the van, knocking aside various drone pieces as he did.

Diver nodded, impressed, not that he’d ever admit it - he grunted suddenly when a spotlight of white hit him from above. The rest of the drones were crawling closer, their clawed arms closing the van doors, and aiming their blinding lights at him.

Diver growled and ducked his head, spots filling his vision and making his head pound unbearably. He could feel the bike swerve under him and struggled to keep her upright, piloting blind, the van’s red tail lights little more than pulsing blurs as the edges of his vision bubbled with black spots. His bike, just like the rest of them, was about at the end of her rope.

The drones crawled and hovered closer, claws snapping and reached for him and Diver’s grip on the handlebars tightened -

BANG! Both van doors swung open, tossing drones to the street and into passing objects, and Darkwing stood there, holding up one drone body and aiming its spotlight at the others.

"SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!" Darkwing bellowed, and when he smashed a button with his fist, the flashlight lit up, and then the beam narrowed into a thin, angry lazer.

"Nerd!" Diver called, ducking when the lazer swung over his head and into the other drone’s cameras, blinding them. They, their mechanical arms flailing, spun off course, colliding with everything around them, from the back of the van to parked cars to each other. Diver swerved around the damage and swore, coming to a jostling, shaking stop as the bike spun out under him. Diver leaned heavily on the handlebars as tremors wracked his body, and panted for breath. Every movement drilled pain into his skull, and he screwed his eyes closed, deafened by the pounding in his ears.

The van stopped too, not far away. Darkwing, in the back and up to his ankles in debris, also panted for breath. He tossed the drone aside and jumped out of the bed as Gosalyn climbed out after him. Darkwing’s knees hit the pavement and he pulled the helmet off, his cheeks flushed and sweaty.

Gosalyn walked to them both, shaking the soreness from her arms and shoulders, and glanced between them.

"See," she shrugged, "that wasn’t so bad!"

Both Mallards glared at her.

In Canard Tower, the screen in Mark’s headset went dark with a burst of static, and he looked around in confusion.

"Wha - wha - what happened? Hey!" Squawking, Mark began to wander around, the surrounding Knights watching him and moving out of his way when he tugged on the headset's controls. The cords yanked him backwards and he spun, staggering, and yanked it off his head. "Phew," he sighed, his head feathers plastered to his head with sweat.

Then, they bounced into their normal, perfectly groomed position.

Mark blinked, and turned back to the empty hangar before him. "Computer! Send out more drones!"

"Negative," it replied, "there are no more drones remaining."

"What?!"

"They've all been destroyed."

Stunned, Mark sat back, blinking. "Oh. Uh-oh. That's probably not good..."

"What, exactly ," asked Portia behind him as the Knights parted for her entrance, "is that supposed to mean?"

Mark spun around to the green duck and tossed the headset out of eyesight. "Portia! Doll! Nothing's wrong, everything is awesome!" He quickly dug out his phone, hit a button, and the device spat out a pinch of confetti. He cheered. "Yay!"

Portia raised one perfectly painted eyebrow at him.

Mark's smile faltered and he tugged on the collar of his polo. "You know, actually, I was thinking..." he rushed Portia suddenly and grabbed her shoulders, ushering her out of the room, "we've both been kinda whiffing it so far."

Portia slammed on the brakes in her high-heels and spun around on him. "WHAT?!"

Mark recoiled and put his hands up. "Hey, toots, relax! It's nothing to be ashamed of! Look at me, I'm handling it like a champ!"

"The only thing you'll be handling, Beaks," Portia snarled, "is a pair of cement shoes!"

Mark blinked at her, and frowned. "Ew, why? That sounds terrible."

Portia's eye twitched.

Mark rolled his eyes and waved his hands, his voice turning serious. "Look okay, so here's the thing: all of this elaborate trap was made possible by one thing and one thing only."

Portia crossed her arms, but it was clear Mark had her attention. Begrudgingly. "Our ability to predict the Mallards' movement."

"Exactly! We knew they'd show up to spring out the grumpy one, and why is that?"

Portia huffed, flinging her blonde hair - still streaked with green - over her shoulder, and crossing her arms. "Because if we know anything about them, it's that the Mallards are positively obsessed with each other. It’s why I suggested we kidnap Gosalyn all those years ago! I knew Drake wasn’t going to risk it all just because he was called out! But now they’re together, and hiding who knows where! We can’t do anything to break them up!"

Mark waved one finger at her, and lifted his phone. "Nuh-uh-uh, not all of them. This whole fiasco is a one big Knights reunion, right? Well, how’s about you and I…" Mark stepped forward and turned his screen towards Portia after scrolling on it, "go out and find the missing piece to this meddling family tree?"

The second Portia’s eyes hit the face of an older, gray-haired duck in a wrinkled lab coat, a grin split her face.

"After all, they’ll do anything for one of their own."

Chapter 6: The Chapter Where Drake Proves That He's A Massive Nerd

Chapter Text

Between the bike and the armed van, the trio had just enough gas to putter their way down the gravel, worn out road way and passed the rotten, wooden sign depicting a cartoonish pair of possums. The van came to a rolling stop, and Gosalyn put it in park before jumping out and crossing to her dad, who was back on the bike and pulling the helmet off.

The poor thing had been scuffed and scratched beyond repair. Rather the helmet than their heads, though.

"Dad, this is your hideout?!" the dame cried and motioned with both arms to the sign, "the Possum Bottom Trailer Park?! Don’t you think this is the first place Slick is going to come looking for us?"

"Gosalyn, Gosalyn, Gosalyn," Darkwing smoothed his sweaty head feathers out of his eyes, "this trailer park is the safest place in the city!"

Gosalyn gawked at him, watching as Darkwing parked the bike and turned to see Launchpad and Henri hurry towards them.

"You made it!" Launchpad cheered. "Well, did you make it? All of you, I mean?"

"More or less," grumbled Diver as he eased himself, gently, out of the van and to the ground. He leaned against it, and gripped his head with one hand, cradling his busted shoulder gently. "What’re you gonna do, cry about it?!"

"Good to see you’re feeling better," grumbled Darkwing as he headed towards the back of the van. "Launchpad, I need you to dump this thing somewhere no one is going to find it for the next two or three days. Henri, help Diver. Gosalyn, I need you over here."

"You need more help than just mine," Gosalyn grumbled, but walked over anyway.

Henri, apprehensive, inched closer to Diver, but he just glared at her before pushing himself reluctantly off the side of the van and staggering to his bike. Henri followed, but not before pausing and staring wide-eyed at the gashes and tears in the big, metal vehicle.

It took Diver a few times to hit the right kickstand attached to his busted, torn up bike, but once he did, he pushed the machine back onto her wheels and began to walk her further into the park.

Henri followed him, and he paused and glared at her. She paused too. He took a step, and she followed.

"He told me to help…" she muttered, and Diver blinked at her.

He glared, and then tossed his helmet at Henri. "Here, carry this or something."

Henri caught it with a small squeak - it was heavier than she thought! - and followed. Diver was still covered in blood, and now shattered glass, smoke, engine grease, and a few other stains and fluids, and Henri couldn’t help but stare. His helmet, which felt heavy and rock solid in her hands, was busted through, his bike was barely keeping itself together, and she'd seen the blood running down Darkwing's side and the carnage done to the giant prison van. Diver's t-shirt had been shredded, and her eyes on his back made his skin bristle.

She saw patches of bare skin, feathers ripped out and skin torn raw from the road, and shuddered.

"Hey!" Diver snapped at her suddenly. "If you’re such a fan of Slick’s work why don’t you go hunt him down and ask for his autograph? I’m sure he’d love to share it!"

"Sorry," Henri peeped, hiding behind the helmet. "I just…" She blushed, and turned away, and Diver would have rolled his eyes if it wouldn’t have knocked him completely off balance, and kept walking.

"Does it hurt?" peeped Henri after a few moments of silence. "I mean - can I help?"

Diver glanced back at her from the corner of his eye, watched for a moment, and then grumbled, "no. Just stop staring."

Henri nodded, kept her eyes down, and hurried to catch up.

Diver neared the only trailer he recognized, fairly certain it was yellow, but with the way his vision was swimming and with the persistent pink shade on everything that he figured was probably a brain bleed of some kind, it was hard to be sure.

The figure who stood on the front steps, however, he did recognize, and paused. Darkwing, Gosalyn, and Launchpad came up behind him, and he said, "Clovis?"

"Hello, sir," said Clovis in her usual, bored tone. The group looked at Darkwing, who strode through the group and limped up the steps as Clovis stepped aside and handed him a large, metal house key.

"Everything up and running, Clovis?" he asked while fitting the key into the lock, and she nodded. He paused where he stood, and the group thought they saw a small glow come from the key in his hand, scanning his thumbprint.

"Yes, sir." Looking to the rest of them, Clovis lifted one eyebrow. "I assume everyone present is acceptable?"

"Clovis," Darkwing turned around, "these are my family members -" he nodded to Henri, "and friends, of course they’re acceptable."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Gosalyn grumbled, and Launchpad blushed.

"No, no, it’s not a measurement, Gos," Darkwing shook his head, "it means you’re allowed inside."

"Inside our own trailer? I thought you sold this thing years ago!"

Darkwing crossed his arms and tutted his tongue with a fond smile on his face, "Gos, don’t you know by now: a good artist always has a few tricks up their sleeve." Sweeping to the side, he pushed the door open and motioned for them to enter the trailer, and the group swapped a look.

Diver, looking wholly unimpressed, staggered forward and stomped up the steps and flipped on the lights. He hissed when the light flooded his vision. Gosalyn followed, and then Launchpad and Henri, and Clovis was last, shutting the door securely behind them.

The trailer looked exactly like Gosalyn had last seen it, but with less clutter. The cupboards were stained and dented, ragged dish towels hung on the front of the dirty oven, the sink faucet leaked, and one of the curtains over the windows that surrounded the round table at the end of the trailer was falling off its railing.

"Wow," Gosalyn grumbled, "really love what you’ve done with the place, Dad. I feel so much safer here than in the armored van."

"Gos, why do you have so little faith in me?"

"Don't worry, Dad," Gosalyn crossed her arms and scrubbed angrily at the marks still etched into her arm, "it has nothing to do with you."

"Fair," Darkwing sighed. "But I do wonder: Gosalyn, if you were to give us a two-word catch-phrase of some kind, what would it be?"

"I can think of a few, but there’s a kid present."

"I’m not a kid!"

Diver grumbled, rubbing his head. "Is this going to take long?"

"That depends on if Gosalyn wants to play along or not."

Gosalyn sighed loudly. "I don’t know, I’m too tired for games."

"Gosalyn!"

"Fine! Keen gear!"

Instantly, the trailer went dark, and then filled up, bit by bit, with light. First was a thin strip that circled the floor along the trailer’s edges, and then a few overhead lights that were much, much softer than the previous ones. Then, everything began to move. The doors to the cupboards rolled away and were replaced with thick glass that revealed the boxed and canned food contents that stuffed the shelves to the brim. The table to their right raised and vanished into the ceiling, revealing a metal rack stuffed with clothing and various outfits hanging on metal knobs. The sink faucet vanished down behind the cupboards and three more, smooth, took its place. The bunk beds in the back revolved on a conveyor belt, and freshly dressed bunks rotated in, lights popping out over them on small arms. Even the closet-sized bathroom sunk into the floor and a first-aid station emerged, packed with supplies straight out of an intensive care unit. Metal screens covered the windows, and the front door locked loudly behind them - thrice.

Everyone stared, their eyes bulging.

"Now who’s ‘paranoid’?" asked Darkwing, scooting his way next to Gosalyn.

"You," she said, her eyes roaming, wide, across the entirely new trailer that surrounded them. Darkwing gawked as she wandered away, hands numbly reaching out to touch every sleek, new surface.

"This is something else, DW," Launchpad said, "not even Mr. McD has something this nice!"

"Mr. McD," Darkwing stepped to the cupboards and pulled out a mug, and then turned one of the faucets and poured himself a mug of hot coffee, "doesn’t appreciate his employees. Mainly one Doctor Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera."

"Fenton?" Gosalyn spun on him, and Darkwing handed Diver the mug, as well as some pills he’d pulled out of a drawer, who took them greedily, "that nerd did all of this? Wait, actually… yeah, that makes sense."

Henri moved closer to the elevated closet, her eyes shining. Darkwing raised his hand and brushed it aside, and the rack spun obediently.

"Wow," Henri breathed, and when she repeated the motion, the rack spun. "Wow!"

"It wasn’t all Fenton," Darkwing shrugged and stepped closer to Clovis, "Clovis is the one who organized all of this and made it possible. I just gave them a few ideas and they went wild."

"Seriously?" Gosalyn stared at the cow, stunned. "Didn’t know you had it in you, Clovis!"

Clovis shrugged. "What can I say, Miss Waddlemeyer…" from her pocket, Clovis pulled a fedora - but hers was cream colored and it matched her ascot, and put it on, "I’m a Darkwing fan. That, and Mr. Mallard has become increasingly bored since you left for college."

Instantly, Darkwing’s cheeks flushed pink. "Hey!"

"Aw, Dad," Gosalyn batted her eyelashes at him, "you do care!"

Diver, from where he sipped on the coffee with a pained scowl, blinked when a flash of faded purple passed his vision. He turned and pushed Henri away from the spinning closet. After waving his hands around for a moment fruitlessly, Henri stepped back forward and waved her hand, and the rack spun. Diver jumped onto the platform and pulled the suit he had seen off the hanger.

It was pale purple, and was little more than a t-shirt cinched around the middle with a leather belt. A green cape and mask cut from an old bed sheet hung with them, and when Diver saw the faded newspaper byco*cket hat sitting on the shelf above where the costume had hung, he gawked. He cradled the outfit gently in his hands, and turned slowly to Darkwing.

"Where did you get this?"

"What is that?" Gosalyn asked, stepping forward. "It’s tiny."

"It’s mine," Diver replied, looking again at the suit. "From when I was a kid."

"When you were ‘Quiverwing’?" Gos asked, and motioned to the large "Q" drawn on a piece of paper and pinned to the chest, which had faded and wrinkled with age.

"‘Quiverwing’?" Launchpad asked, and Diver sighed. He returned the suit to the rack, staring at it. He traced the "Q" with his fingers, rubbing at a corner of the fragile paper.

"Drake was Darkwing and I was Quiverwing, the sidekick. Was." He shot out a sharp look at his brother. "Again, why do you have this?"

"I’m sentimental," Darkwing shrugged. Diver didn't believe him, but turned back to the rack anyway. Among the collection he spotted a flash of hornet-yellow, and gasped. He spun the rack towards the suit and yanked it off the hanger, waving it in Darkwing’s face.

"And why do you have this?!"

"No, no!" Darkwing rushed forward and leaped onto the platform, his hands waving frantically. He snatched the suit and cape from Diver and hung them back up. "Put that back, those aren’t ready yet!"

"‘Ready’?!" Gosalyn asked, appearing behind Darkwing and pulling a dark green suit off a hanger. "Dad!"

"No!" Darkwing took hers away too. "Fenton got a little ambitious with this part of ‘Project Keen Gear’, and they aren’t operational yet! Leave them alone!"

"Operational?" Diver frowned. "They’re suits! How ‘operational’ do they need to be?"

"The operating parts aren’t operational, but of course you can wear the rest of it!"

"So, let’s do it!" Gosalyn snatched the suit again.

"NO!"

Diver went to grab the yellow-suit, but frowned when a very odd feeling rushed over his body, from the bottoms of his feet and to the top of his head. He glanced down at his hands, and they felt a million miles away. The rest of his body was quickly following.

"This place is fortified, right?" he muttered.

"Oh sure," Darkwing puffed his chest out, pausing from his mad scramble to take the suit away from Gosalyn. "It’s completely off the grid, totally reinforced, and has 360 degrees of advanced intruder detection. No security measure was -"

"Good," Diver said, and promptly passed out cold.

Chapter 7: The Chapter Where Max Makes Some Waves

Chapter Text

The Duckburg team had a plan, alright. Honker had been introduced to - since when did you have to introduce someone to a computer, anyway - and set up to work on W.A.N.D.A., plugging in his laptop, putting on his headphones, and typing away. Chickpea and Scrooge had run off somewhere to read some old books, chatting excitedly about the Knight’s more historic work. Fenton had sat Quackerjack down on a bench and was running a few tests on the gander, who seemed happy as a peach to comply. Once Honker had hacked his way into the WaddleMaker system, once Scrooge and Chickpea found some kind of a spell that would reverse the transformations, and once Fenton had geared up and donned his super-suit, Max and The Waveripper would carry them all - somehow - through the magical barrier surrounding the island and go charging in, ready to save the day.

And Max didn’t have squat to do in the meantime.

He glanced again at his phone, re-read the encouraging texts from his dad, and then groaned loudly and sat it aside next to his abandoned mug of coffee. The pup sat forward and put his head in his hands, and found his gaze wandering upwards towards where he knew the vehicle hangar was. He could probably operate about half of them, he figured, which is why he’d been brought along in the first place. If only -

"Eureka!" Fenton cried suddenly, drawing Max’s attention. Quackerjack sat next to him on a table, kicking his feet happily and sucking on a lollipop. Fenton hunched over a microscope that was almost as big as he was, and when he rolled his chair away and hit a few buttons on a nearby keyboard, a large monitor attached to the device powered on, displaying the petri dish inside. Max dragged himself to his feet and sauntered closer, looking up curiously at the image. It looked like two strings of strange, round shapes, linked together and curling around each other. "I can’t believe what I’m seeing!" Fenton cried again.

"What are you seeing?" Max asked, and Fenton spun around to face him, his eyes shining.

Before he launched into a long winded tirade, the duck paused, took a deep breath, and began to speak in a much more calm tone. "Okay, uh, let me start at the beginning. As you may not know, I received my doctorate in genetic engineering, specifically studying genetics that undergo some kind of trauma. This image here," he spun his computer mouse in circles and circled the image on the screen, "is a normal strand of DNA belonging to a gander of Quackerjack’s age and breed. See how the pieces are all aligned correctly, and everything seems to be in order?"

"Sure," Max shrugged, vaguely able to recall some ancient knowledge about genetics from middle school.

"Well, this…" Fenton clicked forward to another image, and Max’s eyes popped open, "is Quackerjack’s current genetic structure."

The first word that came to the pup’s mind to describe what he was seeing was "chaos." The basic structure of the DNA was there, but there were atoms and strands that were positively bouncing around the image, zig-zagging and darting in every direction at random. It was impossible to follow one part or count them all, the colors of the DNA particles creating orange and blue burrs around the screen.

"Why is it… blue?"

"That’s the natural colors!" Fenton squawked. "I haven’t digitally enhanced the colors at all! Whatever spell Mark managed to put Mr. Bates through…" Fenton waved to Quackerjack, who pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and stuck it in Fenton’s wildly circling hands, "changed him down to his very genetics!" While Max looked up at the image, Fenton noticed the candy in his hand and frowned at it.

"So, he’s…"

"Something new," Fenton said, setting the candy aside and turning back to the keyboard. "And at the same time, something very familiar. While I was in school, I developed a program that can read DNA, even a partial strand, and construct what the DNA’s source looks like, as well as identify various possible trauma-sources, outside influences on the DNA’s source, and so on. If I extract the code from Quackerjack’s genetics and plug it into my program and create a simulation…" Fenton typed again, and a new image appeared, a 3D model of a gander that resembled Harlan down to the exact feather. "It builds none other than Mr. Harlan Bates himself. The genetic code that I showed you earlier isn’t actually from a random gander, it’s from Harlan. Somehow, the DNA has been mutated, but the code itself remains the same!"

"Woah," Max and Quackerjack whistled at once. Max jumped, not realizing the tall gander had slipped up next to him. Quackerjack, his eyes still glued to the screen, reached forward slowly and swiped his lollipop from where Fenton had laid it, and stuck it happily back into his mouth.

Fenton watched him the whole time, and then shook his head. He pointed at the clown's chest.

"Harlan is still inside there, which, yes, has already been proven in theory by Honker when he managed to track down the Four’s individual personalities, which Bushroot and Quackerjack both seem to have memory of, even if it is repressed. But this here is the scientific proof! None of these changes are permanent! And more importantly…" Fenton sorted quickly through a few digital folders, bringing up a new pair of DNA images, one of which looked normal and one of which seemed to glow, "thanks to the DNA donated by Drake and Diver Mallard after Diver came back to life, I can cross reference the three results and tell you exactly where the mutation in Harlan’s DNA came from. It's, actually, nearly identical to the trauma my program identified as the mutation in Diver’s DNA."

"Let me guess: magic," Max muttered, "since it was these magic-welding coots who did all of this."

"Yes, of course. But the two trauma-sources do differ in the slightest ways," Fenton replied. "Which means that the spell that caused the Rift and brought Diver back and the spell that turned Mr. Bates and the others in what they are now are very closely related, but have been altered just a little."

"Can’t replicate this magnificence," Quackerjack cooed, swinging his hips.

"It also means," Fenton giggled, "that if we remove the magic that caused these mutations, they will revert, and we can turn everyone back! They’ll be saved!"

"So," Max started to sound a little excited, "you mean this whole thing is actually possible?"

"I believe so," Fenton muttered, looking at his monitor again. Then, his gaze shifted to a card that stood up next to the screen, with the Gizmoduck logo embedded on the front, and his shoulders straightened. "Yes. Yes, based on my research, it is possible. We will save them!"

"Then let’s go do it!" Max cheered, rushing for the door.

"Where are you going?" Fenton called, he and Quackerjack blinking after the pup. "We can’t do anything without the spell and the hack -"

"Fenton," Max whined, "we still don’t even know how we’re going to get past the barrier! Those things won’t help if we can’t get into the city to use them! You brought me here to be a captain," Max stepped closer to them, his voice getting serious, "so let me be a captain. And the two of you, I thought you were heroes. So come and be heroes!"

Stunned, Fenton and Quackerjack swapped a look.

It took Max a moment to get used to The Waveripper’s controls, Fenton barking nervous instructions and tips in his ear before Max pushed the throttle, and the duck was thrown off his feet.

"I think I can handle it," Max smirked over his shoulder, and Fenton sat up, rubbing his head. He glanced up at Quackerjack, who was wearing yellow, inflated floats around his waist and upper arms, with duck heads on them, and a snorkel and goggles on his head. He grinned down at Fenton.

"Safety first!" he said, and Fenton snorted at him.

Max sailed The Waveripper smoothly and quickly out of Silverfish Bay, and turned towards St. Canard. With the speed the vehicle was capable of, and the speeds at which Max was capable of, they’d make the short trip in record time.

"So," Fenton stepped next to Max, his head feathers whipping around in the sea breeze, and he tugged on his life jacket, "what’s the plan once we get to the barrier?"

"See if Quackerjack can bust it open," Max shrugged, eyes aimed forward into the darkness of night. "You said he’s running around with a magical mutation in his genes, so maybe he can interact with this thing. Because if he can't," Max slowed The Waveripper as they turned the corner of the Bay and the giant, pink bubble around St. Canard came into view, "I don't know what can."

Fenton turned to it and gasped, and Quackerjack waddled up behind him, also staring up at the barrier. It was even bigger in person, towering up into the air so far the top of it vanished behind the clouds. It glowed softly, twinkling like the surface of it was covered in stars. There was hardly any part of St. Canard visible beyond the barrier, the whole city was dark.

The Waveripper slowed again as they neared, and Max pointed towards the Audubon Bay Bridge - or rather, what was left of it. There were a few police boats and coast guard vessels in the water just like W.A.N.D.A. had said, searching for survivors. Fenton felt a mix of fear and anger stir up in his chest, and he nodded Max closer to the barrier. They approached slowly, sliding up against it.

The Waveripper bobbed, nearly hitting the barrier broadside as the waves beat against it. Fenton, moving carefully to the edge of the vessel, gripped the railings with one hand and reached the other outward. Quackerjack stepped up behind him, watching intently.

Fenton’s palm hit the barrier, and he gasped.

"Well?" called Max from the helm.

"It’s - I can’t feel it," Fenton called back, glancing up as Quackerjack echoed his movement. "I can feel the resistance, like there is, in fact, a barrier there, but I’m not getting any texture or tactile sensation from the barrier itself. Fascinating!"

"Smooth like ice," Quackerjack said, and then shrugged, "or a balding writer."

"Quackerjack," Fenton turned to him, "can you interact with it in any way?"

Quackerjack blinked back up at the barrier, craning his neck so far back to try to see the top he nearly toppled backwards. "Hmm," he hummed, hopping backwards and crossing his arms, one hand stroking his chin. Then, he snapped his fingers, and from his pocket he drew a massive, wooden mallet that was nearly as big as he was.

"WOAH!" The others cried out as Quackerjack swung the mallet over their heads and towards the barrier.

BOING!

It bounced off the pink surface and spun the clown backwards, the mallet flying out of his hand and soaring over the opposite edge of The Waveripper where it splashed into the Bay. Fenton and Max both yelped and ducked under the tool, glaring at the dizzy gander.

"Well, that was a lot of help!" Max bit.

"Oh sure," sneered the clown, throwing his hands into the air, "everyone’s a critic! Maybe you think one of these -" Quackerjack began to pull out masses of various items from his pockets, quickly filling the deck, "would work better!"

"Woah - woah!" Fenton squawked, ducking under a rubber chicken Quackerjack tossed through the air. Max ducked when a fake banana flew over his head, and turned back with a glare - then he stopped, one ear perking up.

"Shh!" he cried. "Hey! SHUSH! CUT IT OUT!"

Quackerjack, mid-temper tantrum, paused, blinking at the pup. Max squinted, listening, and turned to the far edge of The Waveripper, the one opposite the barrier where the mallet had been thrown. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Fenton, pulling an old sock-turned-hand-puppet off his head.

"That!" Leaving the helm, Max tiptoed past the various objects and to the edge of the vessel, leaning over. "It sounds like -"

"Surprise!" a voice cried, and WOOSH! A giant wave knocked against the side of The Waveripper, knocking the passengers off their feet and slamming the ship against the barrier. A column of water rose out of the Bay, looming over them. "Look what I caught in my Bay!"

"LIQUIDATOR!" Fenton and Max cried. Max lunged for the helm and yanked on the throttle, The Waveripper’s engines roaring to life and swirling the water. Liquidator cried out as the turbines chopped up his watery body, and Max yanked on the helm, steering it away from the barrier.

"BUBBLES!" shrieked Quackerjack, rushing for the back of the ship and reaching backwards for the otter. "Wait, go back! Go back!"

"Go back?!" Max cried, yanking on the throttle again as the surface of the Bay began to churn and boil on all sides. The passengers grunted as the vessel came to a sudden stop, a pillar of water lifting it upwards, high above the Bay’s surface.

"Bubbles!" Quackerjack called again, leaning over the edge of the ship and waving his arms frantically. "Bubbles, it’s me! It’s your favorite clown! Please!"

Liquidator’s face appeared in the pillar water, frowning up at Quackerjack. "QJ?"

"Yeah, buddy!" Quackerjack whooped. "Wait - wait a second, don’t go anywhere!" He zipped out of view and Liquidator frowned. A random assortment of items flew over the edge of the ship before Quackerjack reappeared and hung over the side, shaking a pink plastic bottle over his head. "Bubbles! Bubbles - here! Catch!"

Tipping the bottle around, Quackerjack squeezed it with both hands, and pink syrup dribbled out of it. It hit the water’s surface and Liquidator frowned at the substance, a circle of water around it beginning to spin. As the two liquids mixed, pink suds appeared, and bubbles began to float gently into the air. A bubble drifted all the way up to Quackerjack, and he popped it with one finger, giggling happily.

Max and Fenton swapped an uncertain look, and then another voice started laughing. The Waveripper bobbed, falling back into the Bay as Liquidator discarded the vessel in favor of playing and laughing in the bubbles, mixing up more and blowing the tiny spheres into the air. The passengers grunted as they hit the surface, rocking wildly before the ship settled down.

"Bathtime, bathtime," Quackerjack sang softly, pulling himself up and leaning over the edge of the vessel again, "time to clean off dirt and grime!"

Liquidator yawned then, sinking into the Bay and floating closer. His head bobbed up and down out of the Bay, bubbles floating up around him like a halo, and Quackerjack reached down to pat him happily. He yelped, however, when Liquidator's eyes slipped closed, and he slipped below the Bay's surface and out of reach.

"Bubbles!" he cried, scooping both arms into the water and taking hold of the otter. Fenton gasped and lunged forward to keep the taller gander from plunging over the edge. "Stay with us! Hey, peanut gallery," he snapped over his shoulder, "a little help!"

Max blinked then bounded to help, grabbing onto the slippery otter and hauling him into The Waveripper, Quackerjack’s junk sloshing around the deck. He collapsed with a splash, his form oozing outward and filling the deck in a layer of water.

"What’s wrong with him?" asked Fenton as he climbed carefully to his feet, and Quackerjack began shoving his piles of items out of the way and stroking the otter’s head. He knelt, pulling Liquidator’s head into his lap, holding it close and stroking it with small, soothing motions. "He's all washed up, poor guy." Liquidator melted into the touch, unable to keep his eyes open. Quackerjack looked up at the others, his eyes shining with desperation. "We’ve got a place to take him, right?"

"Take him?" Max barked. "He just tried to capsize us!"

"Please!" the clown pleaded, lowering his voice. "It’s not his fault! I’m the one who dropped a hammer on his head!"

"We can take him back to the lab," muttered Fenton. "I’m sure we have something we can do to help him get his strength back."

"Again," Max said more softly, leaning his hands on his knees and looking at the otter more closely, "are we sure we want to?"

"Supervillians or not," Fenton gestured to Quackerjack, "they were still people once! And they’re still living beings! Of course we’re going to help!"

Max’s buckteeth emerged as he smiled, and he straightened and put his hands up. "Okay, hero, don’t bite my head off over it! We’ll take him back to the lab."

"Yippee!" Quackerjack cheered, ripping off his suit and puffy sleeves to reveal a blue and white sailor’s uniform. "Let’s set sail, lads!"

Chuckling, Max splashed back to the helm and eased up on the throttle. The Waveripper began to purr forward obediently, and he steered them back to Silverfish Bay. Fenton padded with high-steps to Quackerjack’s side, squatting next to him and gently poking at the blob of water he held in his lap. The water churned slowly, and a face appeared, blinking up at the duck. Yelping, Fenton stood and stared down at it, and then smiled gently and waved. The face grinned a little back, and Fenton knelt down again.

"My name is Fenton," he said, "and we’re going to help you!"

Despite what his appearance might lead one to assume about his music tastes, Honker loved old pop - the louder and noisier the better. He pumped up the volume, successfully blocking out all other distractions, and continued to type and scan the massive monitor before him.

The techno-synth continued to blast, and as Honker bypassed firewalls and ran some codes, he was completely oblivious to his name being called as two drenched heroes, one water otter, and one soaked clown exploded into the lab behind him.

Liquidator was up and moving, and unhappy about finding himself back in another lab. He threw water fists and tried to splash away, and it had taken all Fenton, Max, and Quackerjack had to keep him from escaping - or tearing the lab apart.

Max leaped onto the otter’s back and wrapped his arms around Liquidator’s next, hanging on as Liquidator bucked and swung around. He yelled at Fenton, who picked himself up off the ground and ran to a switch on the wall, pulling it. The giant pedestal in the middle of the room opened and a glass tube rose up out of it. When he saw it, Liquidator’s eyes bulged, and he turned his body around, glaring at Max who had just a moment again been hanging over his back, and was now hanging over his front. Max gave him an apologetic grin and let go, dropping to the floor as Liquidator lunged at him. Quackerjack appeared and yanked on the cord to a party popper, confetti exploding out of the thing and covering Liquidator’s head and shoulders. He shook them and growled at the duck, just as he and Max barreled into his chest with their shoulders. Liquidator stumbled, staggered, and as Fenton yanked on the switch again, the glass tube was picked up by a metal arm, swung around, and scooped Liquidator into it. It zipped back into place and another arm emerged from the ceiling, screwing a lid onto the top of the tube, and then punched a few holes into it for air.

The arms vanished, and the three soggy heroes collapsed, panting and spent.

A notification flashed up on W.A.N.D.A.’s screen which read "CONTAINMENT PROCESS COMPLETE," and Honker turned with a frown away from it. He recognized Liquidator at once, and yanked off his headphones as he leaped out of his chair and ran for the tube.

"Liquidator!" the canary cried, pressing both hands against it. Liquidator was little more than a miserable puddle in the tube, glaring at him weakly. Honker turned back to the others, grinning widely. "You found Liquidator? Where was he?!"

"In the Bay," Max panted, leaning on his knees. "Where do you think?"

"He’s weak," Fenton added, walking to the pedestal and typing in some commands to the keyboard and monitor that emerged. He paused for a moment and shook the water out of his long head feathers, smoothing them out of his face. "Being in the Bay for that long must have drained him."

"Sure," muttered the otter from behind the glass, "you try keeping your body together when you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean!"

"Liqui - I mean, Sean," Honker cleared his throat, "it’s so great to meet you!"

" ‘Sean’?" repeated Max as he and Quackerjack walked over, ringing water out of their clothes. Quackerjack pulled a small, hand held fan from his pocket, and when he aimed it at Max and pushed the button, the gust of wind nearly knocked the pup off his feet. Once it was done he straightened, his dark hair poofing into an afro. Quackerjack snorted at him and turned the fan on himself, which gently blew onto his face.

"Sure," Honker nodded, "Sean Ottoman. I found all of the Fearsome Four’s real identities by tracking down anything I could on -"

"Wait, hold up," Max smoothed down his hair and excitedly stepped closer to the glass tube, "you mean the Sean Ottoman? You’re the Sean Ottoman? Sean 'Riptide' Ottoman?"

"Bubbles!" Quackerjack cheered from behind him.

"Um," the otter blinked out at the pup and shrugged, "I guess?"

"Max," Fenton spoke up, "do you know Mr. Ottoman?"

"Do I?! What extreme sports fan doesn’t?! You’re a professional surfer," Max said to the otter, "you’re the youngest pro to ever win Nationals, and you’ve got more gold medals than the Duke himself!"

"I do?" Liquidator frowned, sitting up a little. "I… that does sound a little familiar."

"You don’t remember who you are?" Max asked.

"No," Liquidator shook his head, "I’m Liquidator! I was brought to this dimension to stop Darkwing Duck! I, uh, guess that doesn’t really make a lot of sense when I say it out loud, does it?"

"Just about as much sense as anything else that’s happened this week," said Fenton kindly after inputting a few commands into the computer. The metal arm in the ceiling emerged again, and unscrewed the lid, the jar tipping over and allowing Liquidator to slide out of it. "Apologies for the whole," Fenton waved his arm at the tube as it sank back into the floor, "but we weren’t sure how to handle all of … this." He waved at Liquidator as Quackerjack helped him to his feet.

"Are we really not the Fearsome Four?" he asked the clown quietly. "Is that right?"

"Don’t look at us," Quackerjack replied, and with a flick of his wrist produced a full deck of playing cards, "we aren’t exactly playing with a full deck!"

"Here," said Max, stepping closer and holding out his phone for the others to watch. It played a news story about Sean, outlining his third annual championship, and showed some footage of his surfing skills in action. The footage ended with Sean turning tail on a reporter in the middle of an interview and greeting a few of his adoring fans.

"Yeah," the otter blushed, "that does sound like me."

"It looks like you too!" Honker added. "Just, less water and more fur. But look at yourself! Same goatee, same strong tail, same everything!"

"Same guy," Liquidator uttered. "That’s me! It has to be! Look at us," he snatched the phone and posed next to it, "when was the last time you saw a face this handsome?"

"Yeah, it’s Sean," Max grinned, crossing his arms. "Ego and all."

"Wait a minute," the otter yelped, "Megavolt! Bushroot! They’re still in the city! Trapped!"

"Don’t worry," Fenton put his hands up, "we’re working on how to get into the city and help them!"

"You mean past the barrier?" Liquidator asked.

"I’m sure Mr. McDuck has a submersible of some kind," Fenton replied, but Liquidator shook his head, flinging small drops of water all over the floor.

"No, you don’t understand. That thing goes all the way to the bottom of the Bay!"

Chapter 8: The Chapter That Almost Got Left Out By Accident

Chapter Text

If it had been Diver's goal to hit the floor after passing out, he never got the chance. Not between Gosalyn, Darkwing, and Launchpad all being within arm’s reach - the trailer was, after all, still very tiny.

Besides, thoughts of if he had hit the floor or not were far from his mind when the burn of alcohol seared across his bill.

Diver groaned and lashed out, and it took him a second for his vision to clear and the spike of burning pain echoing through his body to weaken to a manageable level.

Drake - he had changed out of the costume at some point, probably for the best - was sitting over him, cramped close in a small space with Diver able to reach out in every direction and touch a wall of some kind, holding a wet, white wipe in his hand that was red with blood.

"... to get the dried blood off," he was saying, and then gave Diver a scowl. "It can’t be very comfortable."

"You scrubbing it with bleach ain’t helping!" Diver hissed, and Drake pressed a hand into his face, hissing at him.

"Shush! Everyone else has passed out by now!"

For the first time, Diver looked around, and past Drake’s shoulder. The strip lights around the floor and ceiling of the trailer were dimmed, glowing a gentle blue, and Diver could faintly make out the shape of a sleeping bag on the floor in the narrow hallway that led to the rest of the trailer. A crown of red curls poked out of the far end, and Gosalyn snored loudly. He himself, he finally realized, was in a very cramped bunk bed of some kind, with Drake squeezing in next to him, and various medical supplies scattered around.

He sighed, let himself fall backwards onto the thin mattress, and groaned as a deafening throb drummed against his head.

Right. Concussion.

A ghostly hand appeared in his vision as it reached for his bill again and Diver smacked it away, earning him a sharp gasp and glare from his brother.

"Would you like to do it yourself?" he hissed, and Diver sat up, snatched the wipe out of his hand, and hissed back.

"Yes!"

As Drake rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, muttering something about having never seen such a sensitive bill before, Diver applied the wipe to his bill and scrubbed. A portion of dried blood flaked off, and a current of fire shot though his head like a spike when the alcohol touched the wound underneath. He clenched his teeth and dug his claws into the blanket under him as his whole body tensed, unable to hear the groan that escaped him over the pain flaring up.

"Hang on," said Drake softly, and Diver more felt than saw him climb off the mattress. After a quick moment, he tiptoed around the sleeping bag and returned, handing Diver a wet, warm rag. "Try that first just to clean everything off. Turn around," he pulled a bag of bandage wraps and ointments closer, "I’m going to start on your skin. I’m sure that ratty old t-shirt isn’t helping things."

"It wasn’t ratty when I got to the prison," Diver wanted to argue, but instead found himself crawling around in a narrow circle and pulling his t-shirt off in the cramped space. Only a small huff escaped him in protest.

The truth was he hadn’t realized how much his skin - at least the scalped, featherless, road-rash covered sections - burned until Drake began gently washing, sanitizing, and spreading cool, soothing cream over them. The wet rag was a welcome change over the alcohol as well, and Diver scrubbed delicately at his bill, then the knot of feathers on the side of his head, and gave his hands and arms a quick scrub down just for good measure. His dislocated shoulder was still sore, so he used his right hand instead. When he asked for a wipe, Drake handed him one, and when he hissed and tensed up at the pain of cleaning the wound, Drake petted his remaining feathers until the pain passed.

By the end of it, Diver was yawning. Drake had wrapped him up pretty thoroughly, and told Diver to turn around and lay back, partially so he could stop developing a permanent kink in his neck from squeezing into the bunk, and partially so if Diver did pass out again, at least it would be onto his pillow and not over the edge and onto the floor.

When Drake climbed out of the bunk and turned around, he saw the damage done to his little brother’s bill for the first time. He couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him. The thing had nicks and cuts all over it, suggesting multiple, hard blows, and had a jagged, deep cut that ran straight up the middle. The blood that had dried and sealed his mouth shut hadn’t come from some internal bleeding or missing teeth, but from his fractured bill itself.

"Oh God, Dive…" Drake whimpered, and Diver didn't glare or curse at him. He just sat there, looking pained. His whole body was screwed up with it, shivering slightly. Drake turned away and deftly moved to the drawers in the small bathroom. He tried to catch his breath, focused on finding an IV, saline bag, and enough morphine to take at least a little of the edge off instead of his stomach churning. When he returned, Diver mutely extended his arm from where it had been bent to wipe tears away and let Drake administer the needles and drugs into the back of his hand. "I should have thought to give you this first," grumbled the mallard after reaching up to turn on the little light built into the bunk's ceiling.

"Don’t self-loath when you’re sticking a needle in me," Diver muttered, and Drake snorted. Diver was a touch dehydrated so it took a few times, but finally he was cleaning things up and applying tape over the small wound. "When’d you go to medical school?" Diver asked, laying back on the bed. His words were already blurring together as the drugs kicked in, and Drake could practically watch him relax into the pillows and blankets.

"I’m paranoid," Drake gave him a weak smile, which earned him a slow blink in return, "and I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever."

"Didn’t know they used morphine in the Woodchucks," Diver yawned, and Drake huffed again.

"You should try to eat something before you crash," he said, and by the time Diver digested the suggestion of food, Drake was waving a chewy, plain protein bar of some kind under his bill. His stomach growled and he reached for the bar. "Hang on," Drake pulled it away very unjustly, "I need to glue it, then you can eat."

"Eat first," Diver would shake his head if he had the energy. "Won’t jostle it."

Drake hesitated. He wanted the gluing to be done more for himself than anything - ever since the Beagle Boys had split open his own bill he was squeamish around bill injuries - but Diver had a point. If they did this first, the newly glued bill wouldn’t be moving much more for the rest of the night. Finally, he relented, and offered the plain bar and bottle of water.

Slowly, Diver ate and drank, and once he was done he rolled onto his sore back and Drake squeezed in next to him, glue in hand. He began by mopping up the blood that dotted the fracture with gentle taps, and then painstakingly made sure the two halves were still aligned. By some miracle they were. He wasn't sure what he would do if they weren't. With Diver’s dark eyes closed, and his breaths forcibly even, Drake began to apply the glue.

"Gosalyn was fine," Drake said softly, desperate to talk about the first thing he could think of that wasn’t this. He felt Diver’s attention perk up a little. "Just a little road-rash, but she didn’t mention where it was from. With that girl, who knows. Clovis helped her while I got changed."

"You smell like exhaust," Diver muttered, careful not to move his bill too much. Drake smeared a glob of glue along the crack with his thumb, filling in a small nick he'd found.

"I said ‘changed’, not ‘cleaned up’. And you," he shifted his seat a little, "are starting to look more like your old self. Well," Diver peaked one eye open at him in confusion, "your old Negaduck self. Your latest Negaduck self? The Negaduck that did all the kidnapping."

Both of Diver’s eyes were open by that point, giving Drake an incredulous look. It was remarkable he could still hand out that much attitude while high on painkillers.

And concussed.

"Don’t give me that look," Drake scolded with no real mirth, "you know what I’m talking about. Now hold still, I’m almost done."

Diver could feel where on his bill Drake was and knew better, but sat back and tried to relax all the same. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"That was a bad plan," Diver breathed, so quietly Drake almost missed it.

"It wasn’t entirely your fault," he argued. "You’re not used to working with a team this big, or bossing your big brother around for a change."

"I mean the Studio."

Drake stilled, and sat back. "Oh. Well," he rubbed the glue off his fingertips, "that wasn't entirely your fault, either. I do blame myself for a lot of what happened, you know. Maybe I didn’t light the match, but I certainly started the fire."

He glanced at Diver, but the striped mallard wasn’t listening. He had that haunted look in his eyes, the pinch at the corners of those dark feathers that he got sometimes which Drake would pretend not to notice and would bring up some random topic of discussion that he just had to have Diver’s opinion on.

He found himself able to handle most injuries, panic attacks, and a full range of personalities. But this… this he couldn’t do anything about.

"You were in a bad place, Diver -"

"I should have never trusted him - either of them." Diver’s hands curled up into fists. "He - I just should have -"

"Hey," Drake reached forward and took a firm grasp of Diver’s wrist, who looked up at him quickly like he'd forgotten his brother was there, "it’s okay. It’s over now. Well…" They both knew it wasn’t. "Look, I don’t plan on letting either of them anywhere near any of us again, especially not him. Either of them. Gosalyn nearly had a panic attack at the sight of her, and you..." Drake released his grip and offered a grin. "That is where your plan went wrong - this time, and where your plan went right the first time. If you want to make the Mallards lose, break us up."

Diver stared up at Drake for a moment with his big, dopey brown eyes, and then he blinked and chuckled a little. "I do make good plans," he muttered, "when I'm trying to kill you."

"They say the first step to overcoming a problem is admitting that you have one," Drake laughed, pushing Diver back onto the pillow and tucking him in. He was far too tired and high to raise a stink, and Drake was grateful for it. "And you, little brother, have plenty of problems. But I promise, Slick Adder won’t be one of them, not for much longer."

"Kay…" the striped mallard muttered, seeping into his pillow and blanket. Drake watched him, and Diver grinned and kicked him weakly. Giggling, Drake shook his head and went back to work patching Diver up.

In that moment, Drake decided that Diver would never want for anything ever again, no matter how many new lives he got.

It was sometime around dawn that Drake finally felt himself begin to succumb to exhaustion. He sighed, dropping the needle and thread he was using to stitch up the cut in his side from the drone’s propeller, and stretched his arms carefully over his head. The movement tugged a little at the stitches, and Drake sighed, returning to the work. He tugged the thread once more, tied it, and cut it off. Thankfully, the wound hadn’t been very deep, but it did sting.

Absently, he brushed through the feathers just a little lower on his hip, and found the scar from where he assumed Rocky had stabbed him back during the Rift. He could feel the scar on his abdomen from where the bullet from Slick's helicopter had ripped through him, and knew there was a matching one on his back far too close to his spine to think about very often, and that's not even mentioning the crack in the corner of his bill from Slick's Beagle Boys.

He was getting really, really sick of dealing with the Knights, no matter what generation they were from.

Brushing the bloody instruments, clipped feathers, and gauze wraps and cream for his own road-rash aside instead of properly cleaning them up, Drake stretched out over the table before him and crossed his arms across the surface. He sipped from his coffee mug, knocked back a palm-full of painkillers and antibiotics, and settled his head wearily into his arms.

His WaddleMaker shifted in and out of focus as his vision wavered, and Drake tapped on the screen. It came to life obediently, and the mallard scrolled lazily through his contacts - they had synced automatically to his phone, apparently - and pressed on the face of a cinnamon colored duck wearing a graduation hat.

"Hey," said Launchpad softly from behind him, and Drake peaked up at the big pelican as he tiptoed closer and pulled up a spare chair next to Drake, "I remember that day! Fenton was so shocked that someone had found out he graduated - or that we cared!"

"Yeah," Drake sighed as stared at the image, "that little guy is in every way exceedingly too humble for his own good. If I had a doctorate, well," blushing, Drake shrugged, "no one would hear the end of it."

"Mr. McD was shocked too! You know, it was his idea to throw Fenton the party to celebrate?"

"Really?"

"Eh, kinda. He mentioned it, among other things, mostly grumbling about how it meant a whole day off work that he was still paying people for, but me and the others took it and ran!"

With a fond grin, Drake sat back in his chair stiffly, stretching his back. "You know, that was actually the night Fenton and I first joked about Project: Keen Gear, about all this." Waving his hands in small circles, Drake motioned to the trailer around them. He rubbed at one eye, barely stifling a yawn. "Course, poor Fenton assumed I was pulling his leg and it took him weeks to follow up, but no, I was totally serious. With the way the Knights were getting more and more aggressive with their movements, and how everyone here was going to end up in the middle of things one way or another, it seemed inevitable. And kinda fun."

"And paranoid," teased Launchpad, and Drake shrugged at him again.

"You’re welcome."

Silence fell over the two, and their eyes drifted back to the little image on Drake’s WaddleMaker. Drake frowned then, and turned to Launchpad, staring at him.

Launchpad frowned and sat up expectantly. "What’s up, DW?"

"LP," Drake paused, and sighed, reaching up to comb through his head feathers, "about what Gosalyn said at Hippo’s…"

Launchpad sat up a little, watching Drake in confusion. Drake met his gaze, and sighed again. He turned towards the pelican, motioning with his hands.

"Launchpad, you’re one of my very best friends," the mallard began, which only confused Launchpad even more. "You’ve been the pillar in the storm of this family ever since you joined it, and you’ve saved my life. You’ve saved me and Gosalyn’s relationship, you’ve made having a production company again even remotely possible."

"Aw," Launchpad blushed and scratched at the back of his neck, "it wasn’t nothing, DW. I just like helping out!"

"Exactly!" Drake turned to him. "LP, I hope you know that you’re not some measly ‘sidekick’ to us, to any of us! You’re a member of this family! You’re my personal assistant, the only person I trust with Posiduck besides - well, more than anyone. You’re the glue, you’re -"

"Hey," Launchpad raised his hands and gave Drake a patient smile, "it’s okay, DW, I like being a sidekick!"

"But you’re not! You’re so much more than that!"

"I don’t really think so," the pelican chuckled, blushing. "You probably think sidekicks are just the dorky guys who do all the dumb work to make the hero look good. Well to me, being a sidekick is about helping out, and I love helping people! More than anything! I’m not cut out to be calling the shots like you are, DW, I’m cut out to help! Assist! Be there for those I care about." Launchpad gave Drake his biggest, warmest smile. "I love you and this family and our crazy lives! And I’m perfectly happy where I am in it! I mean," he winked, "I get to keep an eye on my favorite heroes!"

Drake blushed and laughed, shaking his head. He put his hands on his hips - a move he quickly undid when he hit his new stitches - and pointed at Launchpad’s chest. "You’re a hero too, you know."

"I know," Launchpad shrugged. "It’s hard not to be around this family."

The wrinkles in Drake’s feathers softened, and he smiled fondly at Launchpad. The big pelican grinned back. "We love you too, sidekick," Drake said, punching Launchpad lightly in the shoulder. Then he shuddered, his shoulders shaking. "Sorry, it’ll take me a while to get used to saying that. Speaking of family…" Drake turned slowly around and glanced at Henri, who was curled up in the bunk over Diver’s. "Poor thing is probably worried sick about her sister."

"That’s why Steelbeak split us up," Launchpad grumbled. "He knows we’re at our strongest together. And half of Duckburg would come to our rescue if we called them!"

"Which we can’t," Drake grumbled, turning back to his WaddleMaker. It dialed Fenton's number, but then the call failed. "Nothing is getting in or out past that big barrier, especially not cell service."

"Heh," Launchpad giggled, "I bet it’s driving Mr. Beaks crazy right about now, not being able to do… whatever it is he’s constantly doing on that thing."

"Wait," Drake sat up quickly, his white feathers shining, "Launchpad! You’re a genius!" Drake stood and dashed to the closet, rotated it until his dirtied suit was in front of him, and he dug through the pockets. Launchpad blinked after him.

"I am?"

"Ah-ha!" From one of the pockets, Drake pulled a sleek, silver phone.

Launchpad watched him turn the thing over a few times until he found the power button. "Isn’t that Mr. Beaks’?"

"It was," Drake shrugged it off, "until I stole it. What?! He’s got so many he didn’t even notice. But here’s why… yes!" His chest puffing out, Drake turned the device around to show Launchpad the screen. It was a map of St. Canard, with a few scattered dots on it, the same tracking system Beaks had gloated about back at the police station. "Far before he upgraded to drones, Beaks was using this to keep tabs on us! He singled out our WaddleMakers the second they identified us, everyone he and the other Knights wanted to set aside for personalized vengeance."

Launchpad leaned closer and squinted at the screen. "That one dot doesn’t look so good."

Drake turned the device back around and scanned for the glitch Launchpad had indicated. One dot was darting all over the place, glitching like it had a bad connection. Frowning, Drake turned to glance at his WaddleMaker and then over his shoulder at Gosalyn. "The glitched one is probably hers, since Honker hacked it. It hasn’t been working since he did. See, those two must be him and Chickpea in Duckburg, here I am at the trailer park, and … wait, that’s not right. It’s saying Diver is in the center of town somewhere, but he’s not. He’s three feet that way."

Launchpad stood and followed Drake to the back of the trailer where the bunk beds were, whispering, "maybe it’s not working after all?"

Drake pulled the curtain separating the bunk aside and yanked the blanket off Diver, who grumbled and squirmed. Drake turned on the little overhead light next, and Diver hissed, recoiling and scrunching his eyes closed as Drake fished for his wrists, pulling them above his head. They were both empty.

"What the - hey!"

"You’re not wearing your WaddleMaker!" Drake cried, and Diver growled at him, rubbing his head. Blinking up at the light he punched it off, and then yanked the blanket back over his head.

"So what?!"

"Diver!" Drake yanked the blanket back off and tossed it to the floor, where it landed right in Gosalyn’s face.

"Ah!" she gasped, sitting up and yanked it off. "What the…?"

"What?!" Diver snapped at Drake, sitting up and glaring at him.

"Where is your WaddleMaker?! Look," he shoved the phone into the other duck’s face, who hissed at the light, "everyone else’s is accurate, me, Gos... kinda, Chickpea, and Honker!"

"Who?"

"But yours isn’t! Where is your WaddleMaker?"

"I gave it to Camille, alright?!" Diver shouted. "That bomb thing Steelbeak snuck in knocked out her phone and it was the next best thing I could think of to try to keep in contact with her!" Diver reached up into the bunk above him and yanked the blanket off Henri, who snored loudly in response. Wrapping the blanket around his head and shoulders with a scowl, Diver glared up at Drake, who stared at him. "What?! I improvised, get over it!" He turned away and curled against the wall, screwing his eyes shut and determined to stay there until he passed back out, no matter how long it took.

"Wait," Gosalyn yanked the blanket off her face and rubbed at her eyes, her red curls frizzy and reaching in every direction, "isn’t Camille with Steelbeak?"

Drake, blinking, leaped into the air and whooped loudly for joy. Henri, still snoring, shot upwards with a surprised cluck, and Diver grit his teeth and growled, yanking the blanket down over his face. He yelped when Drake grabbed him suddenly and pulled him upwards, wrapping his arms around Diver and whooping again.

"You improvised! I can’t believe you actually, improvised!" Turning, Drake released Diver and dashed back across the trailer, leaping over Gosalyn and dodging past Launchpad. Diver, staring after him, blinked at them both.

"... What?"

The lights in the whole trailer flicked on, and everyone - with a few groans - staggered into the main area as Drake pulled his chair back to the table he sat at and pulled down a false wall which hid a keyboard and computer screen.

"Diver, my acutely intelligent and fast-witted brother, had enough where-with-all in the face of mounting pressure and chaos to improvise !"

Diver came to a stop, and blinked. "Did he just call me ‘cute’?"

"In fact," Drake pulled a cord from the wall and plugged in Mark’s phone, "in doing so he may have given us exactly the secret weapon that we need to thwart these ne'er-do-wells and topple the single most advantageous advantage they’ve held over our heads all this time…!"

Spinning, Drake looked to his audience expectantly with a wide, crazed smile. But they stared at him.

"You said ‘advantage’ twice," Gosalyn pointed out, yawning.

Drake groaned loudly. "The fact that they’re one step ahead! With this," he waved to the screen, which showed the map from the phone on it, "we have a little bug stuck to the underside of Steelbeak’s shoe, and we can follow him exactly like how they’ve been following us!"

"I think," said Clovis, and the group cried out in surprise at her sudden appearance, "what Mr. Mallard is trying to say is that we now know, for the first time, exactly where Mr. Steelbeak is."

"Exactly!" Drake pointed at her and then spun back to the computer, typing away.

"Oh good," Diver muttered, stretching his back and side-eying the IV in the back of his hand in confusion, "glad to see he’s still manic on the weekends."

"You should see him when he’s had coffee," Launchpad replied.

"I thought the plan was to stick Camile with Steelbeak exactly for that purpose," Gosalyn said. "To know where he was going and what he was up to."

"Except that the whole city went bonkers," Diver replied, crossing his arms - at least he would have had there not been a thick plastic tube attached to the back of one hand. "When we’ve worked together in the past, she’d go in for a short look around, and get out and we’d meet up. That was the plan. Now, we can’t go five feet without being recognized, and she’s dropped off the grid. Meaning, wherever she is, she’s waiting for us to come find her. And we need to do it fast, she can’t stay disguised forever."

"Wow," Gosalyn crossed her arms, "you know this girl pretty well."

"And she’s taking an incredible risk for us," Drake glanced at them both. "So we need to get to her and get her out. Luckily, St. Canard is not a particularly large city real estate-wise, and since I happen to know its layout like the back of my hand -" Drake grunted when Gosalyn kicked the back of his chair, "fine, we collectively know its layout like the back of our hand…"

On cue, Diver yanked the IV out of his hand and tossed it aside, which caused Clovis no small amount of distress.

"... Once we precisely nail down his position I bet it won’t take us any time at all to figure out what, exactly, he’s doing!"

The crowd pressed closer as the digital map generated, and then, once it formed a 3D model of St. Canard down to its very last brick, the map swung downward and shifted to where the dot blinked from …

… underneath the city.

"Underground?!" The group chorused in confusion, and Drake lunged forward to mash a few keys uselessly. The image reloaded, and did the exact same thing.

He sat backwards and flung his arms at the display. "It’s - it’s underground? What is - how is that even possible?"

"But there’s nothing underneath the city," Gosalyn protested. "It’s bedrock! The entirety of St. Canard is sitting on one massive rock!"

"Or so we always thought," Drake muttered, and turned in his seat to glance at Diver. The duck - still busy poking at the gauze wrapped around him in confusion, paused, and shrugged at him.

"What?!"

"You don’t know anything about this?" Drake waved to the screen. "You’ve worked with the Knights for years, and they never mentioned anything that might be underneath St. Canard?"

Diver pushed his way closer and squinted at the screen as Gosalyn muttered, "besides all the rocks and dirt? Maybe St. Canard has tunneling, mutated, naked mole rats the size of buses that live under the city and have been kidnapping people for generations to feed to their young!"

Drake, Launchpad, and Henri all stared at her in varying levels of confusion - and terror.

"What kind of bedtime stories did Waddlemeyer read you, kiddo?" Drake asked, and Gosalyn shrugged at him.

"The cool kind."

Diver, however, was busy staring at the screen, as the little dot blinked at him like a beacon. Underneath the city. How could she …?

Then, like a spark plug igniting, something in Gosalyn’s words sparked in his drugged, concussed, sleepy mind, and Diver laughed before leaning on the table and turning around to the others. He smirked at them.

"As a matter of fact, I don’t know anything about it. But… I bet I know who does."

Chapter 9: The Chapter Where Things Get Considerably More Awesome

Chapter Text

Moliarty heard them coming from a mile away. It wasn't hard, he had a very refined sense of hearing and their stomping footsteps echoed loudly around the small, cramped space he'd been tied to a chair and then shoved into. He was getting tired of the pillowcase being wrapped around his head, but at least he wasn't behind a toilet anymore.

He also had a very refined sense of smell, after all.

Someone yanked the hood off none-too-gently and Moliarty hissed when light flooded his vision. Whoever stood over him aimed a lamp directly into his face, and he squinted one beady little eye open to try to catch sight of his interrogator.

The striped, angry mallard from the prison is the one who stood over him, Moliarty could tell by the scratched, husky sound of his voice and the dark stripes across his light feathers.

"Alright, you little mudwart, start talking! Unless," the duck leaned forward, shadowed in the backlight though his jagged teeth flashed, "you want to be shoved behind the porcelain throne again!"

"Humph!" Moliarty stuck his chin in the air and turned as far aways from the duck as he could get, tugging on the bungee cords wrapped around him and the wooden chair he sat on. "I think not! I have a personal policy to never converse with the… unevolved! Your 'stupid' might rub off on me."

The mallard blinked at him, looking confused, but then a second later his eyes flashed red and he roared into the mole's face, "WHAT?! I'll show you 'stupid' -!"

"Enough!" bellowed a new voice, and Moliarty flinched when a new figure rushed into his limited view suddenly, shoving the angry mallard off his feet and out of sight. This mallard, though he closely resembled the other, had flawless feathers and light eyes. He put his hands on his hips and glared after the other much like a disappointed mother. "That's plenty out of you, mister. If you want to break his bones, fine, but at least give him the chance to talk first!"

Moliarty squinted up at the new figure, but was unable to make out any details, and looked around with a grumble and roll of his eyes. The result wasn't much better, not without his glasses and with the light shining in his face. He couldn't make out any details of wherever these maniacs had stashed him, besides somewhere small and dark, which he had already known. There was something about the taller duck that seemed familiar to him, however…

"My, if it isn't Drake Mallard himself!" he cooed, and Drake turned to him in mild shock. "I'm a big fan of your entrepreneurial work! You could say that I'm a bit of a natural leader among men myself!"

"You couldn't make one man!" the other duck hissed suddenly, stepping back into the light. "Not if there were three of you stacked up in a trenchcoat!"

Drake rolled his eyes and shoved the other aside again. "I said enough! At least this gentleman knows civility when he sees it! Sorry about that, Professor," Drake sighed, grabbing the light and aiming it away from Moliarty's face, "my brother can get a little … excited."

"I don't think that's the word I would use for it," Moliarty grumbled, turning to glare at the duck that pouted on the edge of the shadows, "I think a more appropriate diagnosis would be 'unstable'! 'Feral', even!"

The mallard's eyes popped open, and he growled at the mole, his scarred bill curled in a snarl. Molitarty huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Well, so far we agree," Drake crossed his arms and aimed a glare at his fellow mallard, who growled back not unlike a rattlesnake. "You seem a rather perspicacious gentleman, Professor, so let's talk, man to man, as it were."

"Or mole to mallard," Moliarty huffed again, his pointy nose also curling as he looked Drake up and down in disgust, "referring to, of course, the substantial size differential between or cerebral cortexes. Mine, naturally, being far bigger thanks to a fortunate evolutionary tree."

"A larger mind," Drake raised one eyebrow, a perfect picture of intellectual patience and arrogance, "does not a genius make. After all, one could assume that a cavalier such as yourself would have never gotten caught and arrested in the first place. That would suggest a failing of one's rational judgment and analytical reasoning, the primary functions of the prefrontal cortex, wouldn't you say?"

"If you were to properly peruse my record," Moliarty sniffed, "you'd see that I plead innocent to all charges. Imagine the nerve of those bureaucratic hound dogs, accusing me, Professor Moliarty, of smuggling! Likening me to a simple pirate! I was so much greater than that, their peabrains would have never been able to fire up enough neurons to process my confession had I graciously opted to give it!"

"Oh," the other duck began to laugh from a shadow then, slowly circling behind Moliarty and to his other side, "so it's piracy, is it? Tell us, Professor, you care to take a chance on our neurons being able to process such a complex, and complicated confession as 'smuggling'?" The duck stepped fully into the light then, standing next to the other and fiddling, casually, with a sharp, toothed hunting knife the length of his forearm. Drake glanced at it, and raised one eyebrow in judgment, but didn't move to interfere. "I'd love to hear all about it. If not," he shrugged and jutted the knife over his shoulder, and for the first time Moliarty saw the toilet sitting in the corner of the room, "there's always Plan A."

"No," Moliarty shook his head and narrowed his eyes, "you'd never send me back there. You need me."

Drake shrugged and stepped forward. "Actually, we don't. But…" he kicked suddenly and the chair toppled backwards. Moliarty yelped before Drake snatched it by the back, dangling it and Molarity in the air. He leaned forward, a dark shadow with the light hallowing him from behind, and snarled. "... We're just dying to know why Steelbeak and the Knights Paddling seem to. So talk, rodent, or else you're going to wish we were good enough guys to send you back to prison."

Moliarty stared up at the duck, and glanced at the other. He grinned and glinted the light off the knife and into his eyes.

"I - I don't know who this 'Steelbeak' is," Moliarty grumbled, kicking his short legs and trying to shift his weight, "but I know quite a bit about the Knights you speak of, assuming we're discussing the same unholy flock."

"We are," the angry duck said, and Drake tugged the chair forward back onto its legs. He stepped back as the other stepped up next to him. "Except the Knights never smuggled things in or out of the city. They consider this place too ' sacred' to bring in outside filth. So, what did they have to do with you ?"

"I told you," Moliarty looked smug, "I plead innocent to those smuggling charges. What I plead guilty to, however, was trespassing and illegal dumping."

"You weren't bringing goods in or out of the city," Drake muttered, a frown bending his brow, "you were just hiding what was already here."

Moliarty grinned at him, wiggling his shoulders again. The angry one inched closer, his head lowered.

"What kind of stuff?"

"'Stuff'!" Moliarty laughed, "such an elementary term! I think the more pertinent expression here would be 'treasure'."

"'Treasure'?!"

"You heard me! But, before your little minds go racing and you start imagining textbook items of riches and glory, allow me to remind you that the Knights prefer to deal with an ulterior method of power."

"Magic," the angry duck said, and glanced at Drake. "They've got Morgana and all of Waddlemeyer's spells, you think they'd stop at that?"

"What kind of magic are we talking about here?" Drake turned to Moliarty and uncrossed his arms, letting his fists fall to his sides. "The 'turning dirt into gold' kind or the 'getting into people's heads and bringing old ghosts back to life' kind?"

Moliarty sighed, almost fondly. "All kinds. It was truly a magnificent sight in its heyday. The artifacts, and the Knights, of course, it is impossible to separate the two at this point."

"How many?"

"Endless," Moliarty grinned, and his beady eyes twinkled. "uncountable, innumerable even! The Knights have been building this isolated rock into their Crown Jewel for untold generations, and they're zealots if nothing else. Even if I could list the different artifacts in their possession, there's no way even someone with a mind like my own could comprehend the different powers and abilities they'd each possess. And, naturally, pass on to anyone with enough sense and skill to bear them. Or, should I more accurately say, unnaturally."

Stunned speechless, the two ducks glanced at each other, and Moliarty laughed at them.

"Look at yourselves! You pose yourselves as pillars of opposition, but you don't have any clue what it is you're dealing with! This isn't a Junior Woodchuck club, gentlemen, this is a veritable religion, with saints and apostles that these fanatics worship like gods, and with ample miraculous means to bring them to life. Magic, science, conquering and challenging, it's all the same to the Knights, and that is the one thing they understand: balance. All things in the universe must be balanced, gentleman, and that means there will inevitably be the conqueror, and someone else must, quite logically, be the conquered. When you wake up every morning and realize that your world is nothing like you thought it was, your own neighbors may be witches and wizards, and you're outnumbered by invisible armies who lurk and operate unchecked right under your very noses, tell me, which do you feel more like? Judging by the shock on your faces," Moliarty grinned, "I can venture an educated guess."

The two mallard's eyes were blown wide, and they stared at Moliarty. Then, the angry one growled, charged forward and swung, knocking the chair sideways and sending it and Molarity skittering and bouncing across the tile floor. Roaring, he slammed his fist into another wall, and finally stopped, huffing and shaking.

"The unevolved," Moliarty sneered from where he laid on the floor, blood leaking from his shattered nose and into his wide, crazed smile, "hold no fight in the march of evolution."

Then, Drake blinked, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes softened. He spun around to stare at Moliarty for a moment, who frowned back at him. "Let's go," he said to the other after a long moment, a twinkle in his eye, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Moliarty called, kicking and struggling to pick himself up, "You can't leave me here like this! It's humiliating!"

In the darkness, a doorway of light appeared as one of the ducks yanked it open, and Moliarty squinted, catching a blurry glimpse of a couple redheaded figures peaking inside at him.

"Don't worry, Professor," purred the angry one before he leaped through the door after the other, "we'll send someone back for you in five to ten years. In the meantime, you've got your very own throne to piss in!"

He slammed the door on Moliarty's horrified face.

"Well?!" Gosalyn asked, jumping off the front step of the empty trailer Drake had the keys for, for some reason, and hurrying after Drake and Diver across the lot, "how'd it go?"

Launchpad was with her, and also hurried along. "Yeah, DW, did he tell you anything useful?"

"Oh, he told us plenty, alright," Drake replied, taking the front steps to their own trailer two at a time and throwing the door open, "a lot of it little more than propaganda hogwash."

"And the rest was mostly insults," Diver grumbled. He stomped to the corner of the trailer and crossed his arms grumpily, watching as Clovis closed the door once Launchpad and Gosalyn were inside. She even checked to see if they had been followed. "But Drake did catch the scent of something."

"It was the last thing he said," Drake said, "about 'the unevolved'." He sat at the computer and began to type as the others crowded closer behind him.

"The what?" frowned Henri, looking around at the others. Behind her, Diver shrugged.

"Like he said, fancy sounding nonsense."

"Except this," Drake pushed back from the computer and the others leaned closer, "isn't propaganda, it's science."

Gosalyn inched forward and read the title off the webpage Drake had brought up. "The St. Canard Natural History Museum?"

"They just opened a new exhibit as part of Zan's renewal efforts," Drake scrolled down the page past images of dinosaur skeletons and fake neanderthals, and highlighted the final sentence in the exhibit's summary. "And take a look at this line from their official description."

"'The unevolved hold no fight in the march of evolution'," read the party aloud, and Launchpad glanced at Drake.

"He said that to you?"

"He wouldn't stop," Diver muttered as Drake stood and moved through the group to the rack of costumes. He began to spin it, pulling his t-shirt up and over his head.

"So, you think Steelbeak is at the Science Museum?" Gosalyn asked, hopping into place in the middle of the trailer.

"No," Drake shook his head and hung his t-shirt up on empty hanger, "but I think the route to get to Moliarty's alleged stash of magic items is."

The others paused, blinking at the mallard.

"Sorry," Gosalyn stepped forward, "his underground what-now ?"

"Oh," Drake glanced at her, "didn't we mention that?"

The whole party barked, "no!", throwing their hands up.

Drake shrugged, and turned back to the rack. "Oh. Well, according to the Professor, the Knights have been collecting magical items of untold power and abilities for generations and Moliarty was in charge of stashing them."

"Which is what Steelbeak is after," Diver said with a smile, crossing his arms. "It's like I said, he can't do a thing without his army. Or fancy toys."

"Speaking of," Drake turned to Launchpad, "LP, I need you to track down the rest of the Fearsome Four."

"Fearsome Three," Launchpad corrected, "since Quackerjack is in Duckburg."

"And the real Bushroot is with Steelbeak," Henri added. "So the Fearsome… Two?"

"Glad you're keeping up, because you," he turned to the chick, "need to go with him."

"What?!" the chick clucked.

Drake continued, calmly. "Diver was right, you know more about their real identities than anyone else here. You've started getting through to them already with that downtown mural. Now, it's time to finish the job."

Henri frowned at him, her hands twisting nervously. "Okay, but assuming we can even track them down, then what? You want us to make them good guys?"

"If nothing else, at least get them out of Steelbeak's pocket. That's one less piece on the board we have to deal with."

"Although," Diver grumbled, "some help would be nice."

"You got it, DW," Launchpad grinned and bumped Henri's shoulder with his fist, "we won't let you down!"

"Might as well try the power plant again," Gosalyn said, "since half the city is dark. I'd bet anything it was Megavolt." Launchpad nodded, tossing Gosalyn a bright, determined smile. She returned it.

"Clovis," Drake began to sort through the clothing rack again, "I need you to stay here and keep an eye on everyone. I'll take Mark's phone with us to track down Camille through Diver's WaddleMaker, but I've copied the map to the computer here. If you see anyone going in any direction they shouldn't, let us know. And see if you can get word to Duckburg somehow, to either Fenton or Scrooge, preferably. No doubt they're already trying to find a way to get in, it would be great if we could meet them halfway."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Mallard," Clovis nodded curtly, and sat down at the computer.

"So, this totally means Uncle D and I are going with you, right?" Gosalyn asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. Drake turned back to her. "On a treasure hunt to track down Steelbeak and find a treasure trove of magic items?"

Drake met her gaze, and he smirked. "Naturally." While Gosalyn cheered, Drake turned back to her and Diver, and in his hands he held two suits. "But, let it never be said that a Mallard failed to dress for the occasion."

The suits were nearly identical to each other, with small differences. They resembled Darkwing's coat, lightweight kevlar with big, shining buttons on the front, capes clipped over the shoulders, and white gloves. The sleeves and collars were darker than the bodies, which were hornet-yellow in Diver's case, and emerald green in Gosalyn's. The yellow suit had a long, black cape that was tattered and torn on the bottom, and the green one had a short tapered one that barely passed the shoulders. A torn, red fedora and black mask hung on the hanger with the yellow suit, and a black mask hung over the green suit.

Gosalyn and Diver both moved forward and took one suit in their hands, looking them over with starry eyes.

"Just remember," Drake pulled a purple suit off a hanger for himself, stepped away from the rack and hit a button on the wall. The podium lifted to the ceiling and revealed a cylinder covered with weapons and tools underneath. From it he pulled a long, black staff covered with dark circuitry, and held it out to Gosalyn. "The suits themselves aren't operational yet, but the rest of the gear is."

"What is it?" Goaslyn asked as she took the pole and gave it a few swings.

"We call it 'The Bō'," Drake said. Gosalyn handed him the staff back and Drake took it both hands and twisted. The circuitry began to glow purple with a gentle hum, and cleanly snapped into pieces. Inside the two halves was a thick cord, which began to glow and recoiled the two pieces back together. Drake summoned a grappling hook from one end, and then twisted at another segment summoning an archery bow with a glowing, shining string. With a grin, he returned the Bō to i's neutral form and offered it back to the star-struck dame.

Gosalyn's eyes were blown wide, and she took it in her hands in shock, turning it over. "Keen gear! Literally!"

Launchpad and Henri stepped forward like excited kids at a toy store, oohing and awing over the new tool. From behind them, Diver spoke up quietly.

"That makes you quite the quiverwing…"

The others turned to him and Diver glanced at the tile beneath their feet. Gosalyn laughed and looked at her Bō. "Yeah! I should get a cool superhero name too!"

Launchpad, Henri, and Drake glanced back and forth between the dame and her uncle, who rolled his eyes. He pushed off the counter he leaned against and stepped forward. Gosalyn, her back turned, swung the Bō again and spun around - she yelped when Diver appeared suddenly and grabbed the Bō in his palm. He looked up at her, arching one eyebrow.

"Oh! Sorry!" Gosalyn flashed an innocent smile and tugged the Bō back. When Diver released it, she found a tattered, green mask hanging from it. Gosalyn tugged the fabric loose, realizing with a small gasp that it had two eye holes. It was a mask. She spun around again to stare down at Diver, and thrusted the mask against his chest. "No, Uncle D, I can't be Quiverwing! He belongs to you, he's your Darkwing!"

"Kid," Diver pushed her fist away gently and crossed his arms, "I gave up the Wing years ago when I decided to start dressing like two-thirds of a traffic light."

Behind him, Drake snorted, slapping a hand across his bill.

Diver looked long and hard at the mask in his niece's hand before adding, with a shrug, "besides, green's more your color."

Gosalyn stared at him, and slowly withdrew the mask and clutched it against her chest. She smiled, unable to hide it, and then thrust her hand outward in Launchpad's direction.

"Bobby pins."

The big pelican perked up, and began to fish in his pockets for the clips, but Diver beat him to it. He offered Gosalyn two brass, bobby pins, identical to the ones from the Studio, and she took them with a thankful twinkle in her eyes. Leaning the Bō against the wall, Gosalyn pulled out her messy ponytail, redid it with the mask and let the tails hang, and then clipped her bangs up out of her face with the bobby pins. She wrapped the black mask around her face, and grinned, wide, at the others.

Diver grinned back. "Perfect fit."

"Alright, everyone," Drake stepped closer, her hands curled into fists, "everyone clear on the plan?"

"Plan?" Gosalyn mocked, putting her hands on her hips, "where we're going, we don't need 'plans'!"

"God," Diver shook his head, rubbing at his forehead under his long head-feathers, "you're both nerds."

"Gosalyn is right," Drake smiled, "partially. We do need a plan, though if it needs to change," he glanced at Diver, "it will." Diver mocked him quietly. "But what we really need," Drake ducked his head and put a purple fedora onto it, and smirked up at the others, "is just a little danger."

While the others cheered, Diver rolled his eyes.

He hated these people sometimes.

Illustrations by yours truly!

Chapter 10: The Chapter With The Case Of The Disappearing Apple

Chapter Text

The Money Bin had many different parts, from the underwater lab and massive hangar the group had already seen, to, apparently, a giant, secure library. By the time Scrooge led Chickpea through the endless corridors and hallways that all looked the same and to the library, her head was spinning.

"Here we are," the old duck said, stepping aside and sweeping his arm towards two massive, oak doors that stood before them. They were ornately carved, and Chickpea stared up at them in wonder. She thought she saw runes etched into the dark wood, and stepped forward to touch one of them - suddenly, Scrooge's cane swung before her, stopping her in her tracks with a small peep.

Scrooge looked at her solemnly and shook his head, and then took a deep breath. He let out an annoyed, weary sigh, and turned to the doors. He knocked on them, the sound echoing down the hallway on either side.

A moment passed as the duck stepped back and stood next to Chickpea. She glanced at him, and then back forward when one giant door began to creak, inching towards them. One large, glaring eye appeared in the darkness beyond the wood, and it glared skeptically back and forth between them. A loud, booming voice surrounded them suddenly, and Chickpea flinched, looking around.

Scrooge just rolled his eyes.

"WHO DARES DISTURB THE SANCTUARY OF KNOWLEDGE?!"

"Quackfaster, it's me," Scrooge sighed, "let me in."

The eye seemed to recognize Scrooge, but then darted to Chickpea, zeroing in on her.

"THIS ONE IS NOT A MEMBER OF CLAN MCDUCK -!"

"She's with me," Scrooge sighed again, waving one arm lazily at Chickpea. Chickpea waved.

"Fine…" the eye groaned, rolling backwards, and then it vanished and the door slammed closed. Chickpea watched, cringing as locks behind the door rattled.

More, and more, and more locks.

While waiting, Scrooge removed his top hat and dusted off the top.

Finally, the door opened, revealing a short, white-feathered duck with gray hair sticking upwards, pointy glasses, and a dusty cardigan. She glared back and forth between them, and then stepped aside, sweeping her arm behind her.

"Enter, Mr. McDuck… and guest… to the McClan Sanctuary of Knowledge -!" Quackfaster yelped when Scrooge brushed past her quickly.

"Yes, yes, thank you Quackfaster, I rest easy knowing my, er, 'sanctuary' is safe and secure in your hands. Come along, lass," Scrooge urged Chickpea onward with his cane behind her back, "we've no more time to waste."

Inside the library, Chickpea gasped. As far as she could see were towering, ornate cedar bookshelves, filled to the brim with books of every size and color. Giant, stained glass windows filled the far wall, filtering in soft, colored light into the expansive room. The windows, Chickpea excitedly drew closer, depicted adventures of the McDuck Clan, Scrooge himself with his three grand-nephews, a sailor, a pilot, and a duck in a green suit, fighting and battling glowing tigers and dragons and even -

"Are those aliens?!" Chickpea gasped, pointing to a large window that depicted blue and purple colored creatures and a giant, yellow spaceship. Scrooge stepped up next to her and cringed. He pushed on her again, heading back into the maze. Chickpea's neck twisted around to gawk up at the window as she walked.

They worked their way through the halls and around corners, and Chickpea swore she kept catching glimpses of the shifty-eyed librarian out of the corner of her eye the deeper into the maze they wandered.

Just as she turned to look, Scrooge led Chickpea around a corner, and stopped. She did too, and turned. Before them was a gap in the shelves, an empty area cleared out of all possessions - except for the large, square glass vault. Around the edges of the vault hung strings of garland and bags of spices - charms of some kind - and golden chains stretched between posts on the floor, encircling it. On the floor, Chickpea gasped, was a glowing circle made of runes and scripts, that spun idly.

The only thing inside the vault was a single cart with shelves on it. The shelves were filled with roughly a dozen thick, mismatched books.

Chickpea's big, blue eyes stared at the vault in amazement. Beside her, Scrooge removed his hat and sat it aside with his cane. He rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward, up to the edge of the glowing rune. It gravitated towards him, swinging gently back and forth like the hand of a compass. Scrooge took one deep breath and stepped inside the rune. The edges of him glowed brightly, and he was halloed as he strode up to the vault. He pressed his palm against the glass and a laser appeared, scanning it. With a flash of light, a rectangle appeared in the glass's flawless side, and Scrooge tugged the door open. He quickly retrieved the cart from inside the vault, and moved it out of the vault, across the circle, and towards Chickpea.

She stared at him with wide eyes, looking back and forth between the duck and the vault.

"What is that?" she swung her arms at the vault, and Scrooge turned to it with an annoyed huff.

"The most efficient magical vault in existence," he muttered with a hint of disgust in his voice. "Not that I appreciate having it in my Money Bin…!"

"And these?" Chickpea stepped to the cart and pointed to the books. She reached forward to caress the edge of one. Unlike the books around them, these were free of dust.

"These," Scrooge patted the collection and stepped forward, "are why that monstrosity is here at all. They're simply much too powerful to let fall inta' the hands of anyone who can wield magic."

"Dr. Waddlemeyer's books," the hen breathed. She pulled one off the cart and began to flip through it, mesmerized by the scribbles, shapes, and notes that flashed before her eyes.

Scrooge also caressed the books with his palm. "Aye, this's them. Thaddeus wasn't just a scientist, he was a leading member of those dastardly Knights. Anything he found and recorded in these could catapult those deviants forward - well, not even I know how far. But, Thaddeus made me swear to keep them safe and away from the Knights should anything happen to him. So, I have."

Chickpea glanced up from the old duck when he paused. His eyes were turned towards the books under his palm, and he sighed. Suddenly, for the very first time, she could see just how old Scrooge really was.

"Oh, Thad, if only you could see the mess they've made this time…"

"But with these," she returned the book and offered him a smile, "we stand a chance to stop it!"

Scrooge looked up at her, and slowly, and little color returned to his cheeks. "Aye, with these, and -" he picked up a book and jabbed it at her chest, "with you."

"Right," Chickpea took the book and flipped it open, quickly scanning the pages. "Because I can read the Knight's Code."

"Not only that," said Scrooge slowly, carefully watching the hen while Chickpea looked up at him, "but I have… a hunch." He grabbed a book off the cart, flipped to a specific page, and then handed it to her. "Here, read this."

Chickpea swapped the book for the one she held, slowly reading the gibberish written on it. " 'Transportation spell'? Is this real?" When she looked up, Scrooge was a couple steps away, shining a crisp, red apple on the edge of his sleeve. He sat it on the floor and backed a few steps away.

"That depends on you, lass. Here. Try the spell on the apple."

"Wait," Chickpea shook her head, her ponytail flopping around in soft bounces, "you want me to perform a spell? Do magic?!"

"Well, it certainly won't be me," Scrooge huffed, "I never touch the stuff!"

"Then why would I?!"

"Galloping galoots, lass," Scrooge planted his fists on his hips, "we're going up against the biggest concentrated attack the Knights have ever done! We're going to need someone to fight magic with magic!"

"Well, yeah, sure, but why - why me?"

"Because," the old duck added more softly, "I have a cooky hunch in my old age. Just, try."

Chickpea stared at Scrooge, and then glanced at the apple again, and then looked at the book in her hands. "I don't even know where to start."

"Everyone thinks sorcerers and magicians conjure their magical forces out'a nowhere. But in reality, magic is all around us. Those who are trained simply know how to gather it, and redirect it to do what they want. There's magic here in this very library, lass. You only need only to gather it up."

Chickpea continued to stare at him.

"... How?"

"That depends on you," Scrooge muttered, crossing his arms. "It's different for everyone, so I've been told. Emotional, physical, mental, whatever. However you feel best, use that."

Chickpea nodded, taking a steadying breath. She had always been an empathetic person, able to get a feeling of what those around her were going through, like she could skim the surface of their emotions and sample them for herself. Sometimes it was a gift, sometimes it was a curse, and sometimes, like right now, she was hoping it might actually prove useful.

Glancing at the spinning runes around the vault beside her, Chickpea focused on the slowly spinning shapes and tried to imagine what they might feel like. They weren't alive, of course, and didn't have emotions, but - Chickpea frowned, her head tilting. They did… feel. "Stoic," came to mind, like a sleeping guardian, patiently waiting and dutifully standing by, a little proud of their work. Chickpea tightened her grip on the book, and the runes and rough leather cover began to feel their own ways. She felt something swell up, affection maybe, and the exhilarated thrill of traveling to far off places. Youth, childishness, and a sweet taste spread across her hands and face, before suddenly, it was all gone.

Chickpea blinked and let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Then, once her eyes focused, she gasped.

Before her was a small, glowing circle, hovering in the air and spinning. Sparks flew off it like embers, and then, from the center, flew a shiny, red apple. Scrooge appeared and caught the apple mid air, staring at it.

"Scrooge!" she barked, laughing with wide eyes. "Scrooge!"

"Aye," Scrooge nodded, and his gaze pulled away from the apple in his hand and to the portal before them. Then, it began to fade, and the whole thing blinked out of existence. It left a chill in the air.

"What - what happened? Where did it go?"

"The spell ended," Scrooge said slowly, still in shock, "so the portal closed. Chickpea," Scrooge turned to her and smiled, his eyes shining, "I was right! You are a sorceress!"

Chickpea clutched the book against her chest. "I did it! I can't believe I did it! I -!"

Then, Scrooge's words sunk in, and she spun around to stare at him.

"Wait - what?"

Fenton, Max, Liquidator, Quackerjack, and Honker were surrounding the massive computer that sat against the wall when Chickpea came bursting through the doors suddenly.

"Everyone SHUT UP!" The hen shrieked, breathless, and the group turned to her in shock. "I'M A WIZARD!!"

They stared at her, and among them, Quackerjack's head popped up over the rest, wearing a shiny top hat and a silky, curly mustache.

"A magician?" he repeated, quickly pushing through the crowd and closer to Chickpea. He even wore a silk suit with long tails that flowed behind him.

"Yes! I'm a magician! Or a wizard! Or a sorceress, I'm not totally sure what the difference is, but look! Look!" She waved the book in front of them in hyperactive circles. "I made an apple disappear!"

Still stunned, the others leaned around Chickpea and glanced at Scrooge, who had just caught up to the hen, huffing and looking out of sorts.

"Lass!" he wheezed, leaning on his knees, "Quackfaster nearly had your head!"

Behind Scrooge, then, came a screeching war cry down the hall, and the gang caught sight of a short, mad looking duck, racing after them with a scimitar sword swinging over her head. Scrooge, gasping, quickly slapped his palm against the door controls, and they slid shut seconds before the crazed duck reached them.

"YOU'VE DEFIED THE SANCTUARY!!" she screeched, banging on the door. "NO ONE DEFIES THE SANCTUARY!!"

Scrooge turned and glared at Chickpea, who grinned apologetically, tightly clutching the book against her chest.

"Sorry! But - I did it, you said I did! I'm a wizard now!"

"That's awesome!" Max laughed first, and Honker jumped up next to him.

"Not only that! It's - it's incredible! You're incredible!"

"Oh!" Chickpea blushed. "Thanks!"

"More importantly," Fenton rushed the hen as well, "you may just be the key we need! If you're harnessing magic, maybe you can interact with that barrier and get us through it and into the city!" Padding back to the computer, Fenton brought up the large map of St. Canard the others were previously discussing, which had a large, pink bubble surrounding it. "We've been studying this thing and we have no idea how to get through it! Oh, also -" Fenton spun around and motioned between Chickpea and Liquidator, "Chickpea Featherlight, Liquidator! Liquidator, Chickpea Featherlight."

"Call me 'Riptide'," the otter cheered, thrusting both arms above his head. "I'm a surfer!"

Chickpea giggled, holding the book above her head. "I'm a sorceress!"

While the others cheered, Scrooge, in the back of the room, perked up. He waved his hands and rushed forward. "Now hold on there!"

Everyone stopped and turned to him. Scrooge, one hand planted on his hip, waved his other at Chickpea.

"Chickpea performed one tiny, little spell! She's not ready for something like this! She's not there yet!"

Honker stepped forward. "But -!"

"It's magic, lad," Scrooge hissed, pointing his cane at Honker, "it's something that requires time and practice and patience! Just like any other skill! She -" he jabbed his cane at Chickpea, "isn't ready for more than mere party tricks!"

For the second time today, Scrooge had single-handedly sucked the life out of the group. Their weary shoulders wilted where they stood, and they sighed. Scrooge glanced around at their faces, and he recoiled.

"You're right," said Chickpea softly. Her grip on the book weakened, and she held it at arm's length. "I'm not. All I am is a … clown."

The others gasped, and Quackerjack stepped forward, putting his hand gently on Chickpea's shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that," the gander grinned sweetly, and Chickpea offered him a small smile.

It didn't quite reach her eyes.

Silence filled the large lab then, the group's moods and faces downcast. Scrooge's hands coiled nervously around his cane, searching desperately for words he didn't have. Wordlessly, Quackerjack raised a small toy tugboat, before throwing it into the tile below their feet. The plastic toy shattered into pieces, making the group flinch, and when Scrooge looked up, the gander was glaring at him.

Chickpea sighed, set the book aside on the computer desk, and bent over to begin to pick up the pieces. Honker and Max quickly stooped down next to her, reaching for the shattered plastic. They gasped when a small puddle snaked around them, scooping every last piece up and drawing them back to Riptide. The otter raised the pieces and juggled them in his watery fingers, trying to fit them back together and repair the boat. Finally, he presented the toy back to Quackerjack, his watery palm holding the pieces into place, and a little bubble of air sitting atop of the rest of the ship. Quackerjack, seeing his toy, sniffed away a tear and grinned at the otter.

Beside them, Fenton frowned.

"WAIT!" The cinnamon-feathered duck cried suddenly, and the whole group flinched. He rushed to Riptide and tugged the hand downward, inspecting the toy and bubble closely.

"What's up, Fenton?" Max asked, and Fenton gasped. He turned to the otter, stars in his eyes.

"Liquidator - sorry, Riptide, do you think you could do this for real?"

"Build a boat?" Riptide frowned, and Fenton nodded.

"Yes! No - build a bubble like this! Around a real boat?"

That got Max's ears perking up, and he stepped forward. "Wait, Fenton, are you saying we do this to The Waveripper? What would be the point? Water can't get through the barrier."

"I'm not thinking about going through the barrier!" Fenton flung himself back into his office chair and spun towards the desk. He plugged in a few commands and the map angled and turned downwards, showing St. Canard - and the barrier - from underneath. "I'm suggesting we go under it!"

Chapter 11: The Chapter Where Everyone Gets A History Lesson

Chapter Text

The Mallards had gotten their share of beatings, bumps, and bruises over the last 24 hours, but they would be the first to insist that there was no limit to how much good a good night's sleep, fresh bandages, and lots of aspirin could do.

Too bad they'd only had two of those.

They still weren't sure what the Knights were planning, where they would be moving next, what they were doing with all the civilians they were rounding up, or how much time they had before Slick got word to someone to check the Possum Bottom Trailer Park, so roughly an hour after dawn had begun, they'd headed off into the dark.

Relative dark, considering the bubble-gum pink shade on everything.

Quiverwing wondered if Chickpea was seeing this. It was her favorite color.

It didn't take long for them to reach the St. Canard Natural History Museum the way Darkwing snuck along, and he, Quiverwing, and Negaduck gathered on the edge of a neighboring building, able to peer down into the Museum's glass dome and at the massive skeletal tyrannosaurus rex that welcomed guests with its open jaws and raised talons.

Darkwing raised his WaddleMaker while the others kept an eye out, and the device obediently pulled up a map of the building. He checked Mark's phone, then, and - according to the tracking dots - they were right on top of Camille. She, and hopefully Steelbeak, were definitely inside.

After taking a moment to feel a little proud of himself, Darkwing took another moment to remind himself that this might very well be a trap. Then, the masked mallard stashed the phone back into his belt and turned to Quiverwing. She pulled the Bō from its holster on her back and the device sprung to its archery bow form after she gave it a few experimental tugs. She nodded to Darkwing. He glanced past her to Negaduck, who loaded a grappling hook into his gas gun.

On Darkwing's signal, Negaduck fired the hook upwards, caught it on another roof, and then lept. Negaduck's suit, since he was the smallest of the trio and also the most likely to use his body as a battering ram, had been reinforced with extra armored padding, specifically on the shoulders overtop of his thick, tattered cape. It reminded them of his old stunt-suit, except this version wasn't made with cost-savings as the top priority.

As Negaduck curled up and used his body as a battering ram, the armor caught most of the brunt of the blow and his cape caught most of the shattered glass, and he tumbled down the T-rex's spine and neatly to the floor.

Negaduck stayed on the floor a second longer than he wanted, but with the way his head was tearing itself apart he didn't think he could stay upright if he stood, not until it passed. Besides, his image certainly didn't need him to pass out after doing something that cool.

Again.

Finally, he carefully straightened, and spun around just as footsteps rushed him from further within the dark museum.

"Freeze!" one guard cried, he and the others aiming their weapons at the duck. When Negaduck caught sight of the glowing, red veins all over them, he growled and raised his hands.

"Miss Featherly," said another guard into his WaddleMaker, "we've located Diver Mallard in the -"

ZING!

An arrow zipped through the air and directly at Negaduck's head, which he ducked under with a yelp. The arrow lodged itself in the floor, white feathers shaking at the impact. From the thin canister attached to it billowed thick, gray smoke, and Negaduck turned to the guards as they began to cough and wave the smoke away from their faces. Grinning, the duck cracked his neck and launched himself at the closest Knight.

By the time Darkwing arrived - with a swift kick to one Knight's back that sent them tumbling across the floor - the smoke had dissipated. Quiverwing stepped forward and waved the last traces of it away, and Negaduck turned to her with a stink eye. He threw the unconscious Knight in his arms to the floor, and stepped over the body.

"Nice aim," he grumbled, yanking the arrow out of the floor and offering it to the dame. She snatched it from him and put her hands on her hips. The Bō was in her hand in archery form, and she gave it a frustrated tug and shake when it didn't revert back to its original shape.

"Well, I'm sorry," she grumbled, yanking and twisting the device and trying to shove the arrow back into the hole at the bottom, "it's not my fault I've never used this thing before!"

Suddenly, the arrow fired back out of the slot in the end of the Bō, shooting through the air and embedding itself into the T-rex's shin. The three spun after it and watched as the white feathers on the end of the arrow began to throb with a gentle, red glow, and then -

BOOM!

The arrow exploded with a pulse of energy. It wasn't a large blast with smoke and fire, mostly just a punch of energy, but it did split the shin bone up the middle. Tremors reverberated up the skeleton, and it began to rock and sway precariously as thick cracks spread out through the bone. Quiverwing looked up, following the tremors all the way to the top of the skeleton's skull, its teeth rattling.

"Uh-oh," she said, throwing her arms up as the skeleton shattered to pieces and crumbled all over the floor.

Negaduck waved away the resulting dust once the racket settled, looking around at the young hero's handiwork.

"I thought you hero-types wanted to keep the city in one piece," he teased. "Tearing it apart is supposed to be my job!"

"I guess it runs in the family," Quiverwing grumbled, shoving the Bō back into its holster and shaking the dust out of her hair.

"Both of you, stop," Darkwing bit. "We've got to keep moving since half the city knows we're here now!"

"I said I was sorry!" wailed Quiverwing as she and Negaduck hurried after Darkwing and deeper into the museum.

Mark's phone led them out of the dinosaur area of the Museum, through the underwater exhibit - Negaduck and Quiverwing had both stopped to gawk at the various underwater monsters displayed around them - and into the live bird conservatory.

It was a large room with a glass ceiling filled with trees and plants, and had a wooden walkway with rails on either side winding from one end of the room to the other. Various birds of different sizes and colors flew about in the space, perching on tree branches and fluttering to the fake forest floor. It was a vibrant, lively area.

And it was muggy.

"So, Uncle Negs," Quiverwing pushed a low-hanging tree branch out of her face, "Quiverwing. Where'd the whole archery thing come from?"

When Negaduck didn't reply, Quiverwing glanced in his direction over her shoulder, and caught sight of the mallard glaring at her, covered completely in loudly singing songbirds.

Quiverwing laughed at him, and Negaduck lashed out, scaring the birds away. They fluttered in a cloud back into the trees, and Negaduck brushed feathers off his shoulders and the brim of his hat. He caught up to Quiverwing and snatched the Bō.

"Hey!"

"Junior Woodchucks," Negaduck replied simply, focused on the staff in his hands. He turned the Bō around a few times, and then twisted it - but it didn't budge. He paused and twisted and yanked on it again, snarling. Finally, giving up, he lifted it over his head to hurl the item off the walkway and into the artificial rainforest around them, but Quiverwing appeared and snatched it from him before he could.

"Thank you," she said, and with a few well placed twists the Bō snapped to a curve and the drawstring emerged. Out of the bottom dropped an arrow, and she handed them both to her uncle with a smirk. "That one, I can do."

He snatched them with a scowl.

"It's one of the only badges I earned…" he muttered, closing one eye and drawing back the arrow. He aimed it at one of the annoying songbirds in a tree a few yards away - "Gah!" the duck yelped, dropping the pose and clutching his recently dislocated shoulder suddenly, his face flushing as pain spiked through him.

Once the throbbing in his senses dulled, he noticed Quiverwing had inched closer, watching him with her big, green eyes. With a sigh, Negaduck straightened and handed the objects back to her with a snarl that had nothing to do with her. "... Before I realized I liked hitting things, anyway."

Quiverwing took the bow back, looking at them. She looked back at her uncle, who was glowering to himself, still gripping his shoulder unhappily. To herself, she grinned.

"So," Quiverwing said, and tried to copy his position the best she could remember it, "like this?"

Negaduck glanced up at her and frowned, and then caught the gleam in her eye. Reluctantly, a smirk stretched across his scarred bill, and he stepped closer.

"Hips straight," he said and then lifted her elbow with one hand, "shoulders even. Keep that elbow locked, keep this one pointing out, not up. And remember: always keep your eyes on the target."

Up ahead of the two, Darkwing had his eyes glued to Mark's phone. Gosalyn's tracking dot was still darting around all over the place, but his tracking dot was getting closer and closer to Camille's.

Except, Darkwing stopped and frowned at the device, they just passed each other.

"What the…" he tapped the screen a few times and waved the device around as if it had lost signal, but the dots weren't moving. Turning, he meandered back towards the other two, looking around. He neared Camille's dot, and then passed by it again. "What is happening?!" He crossed back and forth a few times, but his dot continually passed by Camille's, but the chameleon herself was nowhere in sight. As he looked around, he caught sight of Quiverwing aiming an arrow into the trees, and squawked. "HEY!" he cried, and Quiverwing jolted in fright, releasing the string. The arrow flew high, bounced off a tree branch, bounced off the railing, and flew towards a full, leafy tree top, dislodging a small cluster of leaves. From among then, squeaking songbird fell, limply, to the ground, the white tail feathers of Quiverwing's arrow trailing after it.

It vanished behind some bushes and didn't emerge.

"No!" The trio yelped as they leaped over the fence and chased after the creature.

"What is wrong with you!?" Darkwing snapped at Negaduck, contemplating hitting him over the head with a fist - concussion and all. "Firing off arrows inside a bird sanctuary?!"

"She wouldn't have hit anything if you hadn't freaked out!" Negaduck bit, shoving a tree branch aside as they followed Quiverwing to the back of the room.

There was a small, grassy clearing tucked between a thick line of trees and shrubs and the room's wall, which was painted to look like more rainforest. In the center of the clearing was the fallen songbird, the tail of Quiverwing's arrow standing up in the air above it like a spear.

"Oh no," she gasped. The bird wasn't moving.

"Quiverwing," Darkwing said softly and stepped closer to the dame, "I'm sorry, this is my fault."

"No," she grumbled, her hands twisting around the Bō, "it's mine. Just like the T-rex outside. I'm just not meant to handle something this cool!" Quiverwing spun around to face her dad, and her fingers shifted, hitting a button on the weapon. The grappling hook in the end of the Bō appeared, shooting sideways and nearly taking off Negaduck's head, sailing over a line of thick bushes. He rubbed it and glared at her, and she shrugged. "Sorry! Again."

Negaduck rolled his eyes and turned to follow the hook's thick cable, which trailed after it as it had sailed out of sight. Grumbling, he pushed his way through the chest-high bush and stumbled to the other side. Once free, he straightened and looked around, spotting the hook. It was half-buried in a pile of leaf-colored mesh, and Negaduck swiped it up and turned away -

He grunted when something pulled back, and turned back to it. The hook was caught on something within the pile of mesh, and the duck frowned at it. He yanked a few more times, which accomplished nothing but making his head pound, and he sighed.

He really wished he was still in bed.

"It's not worth beating yourself up over," Darkwing was arguing gently with his daughter, watching her twist and spin the Bō, trying to find the magic combination to retract the hook. Quiverwing rolled her eyes as Darkwing continued to try to cheer her up. "You're new at this! You're not going to be perfect on your first hero mission. I was a bumbling fool the first time I put on a mask and cape." Finally, he held out his open hand, and Quiverwing sighed, putting the Bō into it.

"That was on a TV show…" she grumbled as he gave a few, precise twists and the Bō's inner cable retracted, pulling tight. The hook, however, didn't appear, still vanished behind a large hedge not far away.

"Actually it was during 2nd grade band," Darkwing shrugged, handing the Bō back to the dame. "I was in charge of playing the triangle, and I was going to be the best triangle player the school had ever known!"

Despite her own better interests, Quiverwing snorted. "You're an idiot."

"And you're both breaking my heart over here," called Negaduck from where he stood, leaning against the bushes. "Quiverwing, pick up your gear and let's go."

"Hey," Darkwing snarled, putting his hands on his hips, "a little sympathy can go a long way, pal."

"Tried it once," Negaduck sneered with a grin, "I broke out into a rash."

While Darkwing rolled his own eyes, Quiverwing sighed and turned back to her arrow. She stood over it, and blinked. The arrow hadn't hit the bird at all, it had hit the grass behind the bird. The dumb creature had just fainted.

"Hey!" Quiverwing barked loudly. The bird gasped and blinked, and then - seeing her hovering over it and offering an apologetic wave - chirped unhappily. It shot into the air and pecked at Quiverwing's red hair several times before flapping up into the trees. "Jerk," Quiverwing grumbled, yanking her arrow out of the ground.

She followed Darkwing to the bushes and pushed her way through them, and to her dad's side. He and Negaduck were surrounding her hook, which was embedded in a pile of mesh, and arguing loudly, she wasn't sure what about. Quiverwing glanced between them, frowned, and then hit the button on her Bō again. The cord pulled tight, but the hook didn't move. The dame stepped forward and grabbed the mesh, yanking it aside.

"What the…?!" Darkwing and Negaduck glanced at her, and they also frowned.

The mesh, once removed, revealed a strange contraption of some kind. It looked like a rusty metal round crank, the kind you'd find on submarine doors, attached to a heavy, metal hatch that was drilled into the grassy floor.

While they stared, Darkwing glanced at Mark's phone again. The dots were stacked neatly in the same place, one on top of the other.

"We're not passing each other," he said, stepping up to the hatch's side, "we're passing over each other! Gentleman, my lady, we descend!"

Negaduck and Quiverwing swapped a look and then moved forward, helping Darkwing heave and pull on the crank. With a screeching, metallic whine that sent the birds fleeing to the other side of the observatory, the crank turned, and the trio hauled the cover open. They steadied it into place and spread out, peering downward. All they found was a concrete tunnel and a rusty ladder precariously hinged to one side.

"Geremino!" Quiverwing cried, leaping into the tunnel cannonball style.

"No," Darkwing squawked, "that's the wrong series!"

Negaduck stepped to the edge of the tunnel and looked down into it. "One step closer to Hell," he sighed dreamily, "my favorite vacation destination. You should stop by sometime!"

Concussion or not, Darkwing no longer cared. He stepped back and kicked his brother right in his tail, and Negaduck tumbled down the tunnel laughing.

Quiverwing hit the bottom first on her hands and knees. Negaduck landed second, flat on his chest. Darkwing followed, landing directly on Negaduck.

Quiverwing was already on her feet and looking around by then, peering down the two dark, muggy tunnels that stretched out before her in opposite directions. They were at the entrance to a tunnel labyrinth, made out of ancient looking bricks and round all the way around.

"Keen gear," Quiverwing breathed, and Darkwing pulled Mark's phone out of his pocket, trampling Negaduck to join his daughter. He held up the map and moved it around, finally finding Camille's tracking dot down the right-most tunnel.

"This way," he said, "and be careful! We have no idea what we're walking into right now."

Behind him, Negaduck peeled himself off the ground with a few unhappy grumbles. Sitting up on his elbows, he rubbed his bill sorely, and then something small and yellow caught his eye. It was a scale, which he scrambled to pick up, and when he looked up, he saw another a few steps into the left-most tunnel.

"Hey," he called, pushing up and quickly retrieving the scales, "these are from Camille, I'd know them anywhere. She's been in one form too long, she's starting to shed."

The others moved back to him and investigated the scales for themselves.

"They lead down this tunnel," Negaduck said, and Darkwing stepped closer to have a look. He lifted the phone again, but the dot remained resolutely in the opposite direction.

"But according to the tracker, she's in that direction."

"But according to her trail," Negaduck growled, "she's in this direction!"

"Guys!" Quiverwing snapped, stepping between the two. "Uncle Negs, how long does Camille have before she can't hold the runt's form any longer?"

Negaduck looked down the tunnel, straining to get any sign of his friend. "If she's been holding it since the prison, not much. I've never seen her hold a disguise this long before..."

"And then what?"

"What do you think? She turns back to herself! She's a chameleon, not a shapeshifter!"

"And we've got to track her down and get her away from Steelbeak before that happens," Darkwing said. His black mask twisted in thought, and he glanced between the scale that rested in one palm and Mark's phone he held in the other.

"Let's split up, gang!" Quiverwing said, thrusting one fist into the air.

"No!" Both Mallards snapped at her, and Quiverwing dropped the pose.

"You never let me have any fun."

Negaduck turned and walked further down the tunnel, scanning for more scales. He saw one, and grabbed it quickly, showing it to the others. "She went this way," he insisted, pointing down the tunnel.

"What if someone caught her shedding and planted those to lead us in the wrong direction?" asked Darkwing.

"Why? Drop the scales in the wrong direction and then drag her along with them in the right direction for no reason? She'd be dead weight if they caught her." He paused, and his voice dropped. "Or worse."

Darkwing let out a breath, the rest of his face curling up in thought.

"You don't know Camille," said Negaduck resolutely. "She's the toughest thing in this whole city. Got me out of a scrape or two. If she's shedding this much, she knows she's close to changing back, so she's going to do anything she can to rush them along and finish the job. And she's not going to get caught before that happens, that's for amateurs."

"And she's no amateur," said Darkwing, and Negaduck scoffed.

"She taught me more about keeping my head and shoulders attached than you or anyone else ever did."

"I say we go with Uncle Negs," Quiverwing said, stepping closer. "He knows Camille better than we do, and right now we've got nothing to go on besides his word and that thing," she pointed to Mark's phone, "and we don't even know if we can trust it. That thing," she added quickly, glancing down at her uncle, "not your word."

He shrugged.

Darkwing glanced at the phone again, unhappily, and nodded. "Fine. But I'm keeping this close by, just in case."

Negaduck shrugged again, and then turned down the tunnel with a toss of his cape. "Doesn't matter to me how we get there, so long as we get there!"

Wasting no time to argue, the other two quickly caught up.

Chapter 12: The Chapter Where The Gang Gets A Little Less Wet Behind The Ears

Chapter Text

The Waveripper waited patiently at the dock where Max had left her, bobbing calmly in the Silverfish Bay. There was a ramp that led straight from a large garage door in the Money Bin's side and down into the water, and a tough, wooden dock that stretched out past that and into the waters. The Waveripper bobbed at the side of the dock, strung securely to it. Above her waved a large flag with a golden "$" on it.

A seagull swooped low and landed on her hull, before cawing and flying away when the garage door to the Money Bin loudly rattled open. A line of heroes emerged, walking to the dock side by side while adjusting their puffy, orange life vests.

Max came to the ship first and climbed aboard. Twisting the key, he turned over the engines, gave them a thrust just to check, and began to turn and flip the ship’s various knobs and levers. Scrooge followed, watching the pup from over his shoulder.

Further down the dock, Riptide tiptoed closer to the edge and peered over it into the Bay's water. It was dark but calm, and the otter searched desperately in his mind's eye for anything he knew about water and wave conditions.

He was a professional surfer, after all, he ought to know something.

All he could come up with, however, was that for the first time in his life, he wasn't eager for a swim.

"You sure about this, Bubbles?" Quackerjack stepped up beside his watery friend, also looking into the water. "You were all in pieces when we pulled you outta there!"

Riptide gulped loudly, and nodded. His hands fiddled with each other, and his tail curled around his ankles.

"Yeah, I know. But, I think I'll be okay. I hope."

Quackerjack took a step away and Riptide stood up straight. He took in a deep breath, his chest swelling up, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dove cleanly into the Bay. By the time Chickpea and Honker had joined the gander, Quacjkerjack had snapped straight with a stern-faced salute.

Riptide couldn't explain the feeling that came over him when he was submerged in the water. It was like he'd grown infinitely bigger in every direction at once, and yet he was weightless, the force of the water around him pushing him together and stretching him out at the same time. His tail pumping, he glided around the water effortlessly for a moment, making a few loops and getting used to the feeling again. He turned and sailed for the surface, his head breaking through it.

"Well?" Chickpea asked. "How do you feel?"

Riptide shrugged. "It's hard to explain, but I'm still in one piece. For now, anyway. I know the Bay is going to suck it out of me, though."

Honker moved closer, frowning. " 'Suck it out of you'? But it's water!"

Riptide blinked up at the canary. "Yeah, that's the problem."

"No, that's the solution! To coin a scientific phrase…"

"We'd get you out of there a lot faster," called Max from The Waveripper as he untied her from the dock, his voice rising, "if we could get going!"

Chickpea, Honker, and Quackerjack hurried towards the ship and climbed onboard, Riptide sailing smoothly after them. Scrooge turned as they joined him on the deck.

"Ready, everyone? Blast, where has Fenton gone off'to?"

Right on cue, a gust of wind picked up across The Waveripper's deck, and the group looked up to see Gizmoduck hovering above them.

Scrooge squawked, shaking his cane up at the metal duck. "Gah! Fenton, what are’ya doing with me suit?!"

"Sorry, Mr. McDuck," Gizmoduck shrugged as he hovered a little lower, "but the last time we faced the Knights we barely got out of there! We're going to need all the help we can get!"

"The last time you faced the Knights," the old duck grumbled, "it almost cost me that suit!"

Gizmoduck looked startled, and he stretched a strained grin across his bill. "What? No! It's fine, everything is fine! The suit wasn't in danger at all! Uh, say, Captain, are we ready to depart?"

The group turned to Max, who was leaning one arm across the helm, the other hand planted on his hips, staring back at them with a look of irritation. He swept one hand through the air, and replied in a posh tone, "waiting on you, gentlemen!"

"Great! Riptide?"

The otter's head bobbed up and down out of the water. "Rather now than later, dudes."

"Alright, finally," Max rolled his eyes and gripped the helm with one hand, his other on the throttle. "Everyone hang on to something! Here… we… go!"

Obediently, The Waveripper purred and propelled forward, and Max led her smoothly away from the dock and into open waters. Once they were passed the buoys that surrounded the Money Bin and other seaside piers, Max pushed the throttle forward, and the ship effortlessly picked up speed. Riptide circled them, keeping pace.

Scrooge, his shaggy cheek feathers whipping around in the wind with one hand clutching his top hat, waddled over to where Chickpea stood. She gripped the sides of the ship with one hand, and her other was coiled around the strap of the leather messenger bag she wore across her chest.

"Now, lass, remember: no matter what happens, we canna let those books fall into the hands -!"

"... of the Knights," Chickpea rolled her eyes with a small grin, "or get lost! I know! You made me swear to bring them back!"

Scrooge poked his cane at the bag. "And for good measure! I've devoted a lot of time and effort towards keeping my old promise, I'll not see it broken now!"

"Scrooge," Chickpea gripped the cane in her hand and pushed it away, "I know. I'll take care of them, I promise."

Scrooge searched her big, blue eyes, and sighed. He dropped the cane, and nodded.

"I know you will, lass. I know you will."

Honker, curled up in the seat on the other side of the deck, looked between them.

"I'll keep an eye on this too," he said, holding his laptop above his head. They turned to him. "Don't worry. I know everyone was worried, but don't be. I'll be fine."

Scrooge glanced up at Chickpea, who shrugged at him.

"Hey Scrooge," Honker called again, and waved his phone in the air, "any chance I can get my hands on the rest of Dr. Waddlemeyer's collection at some point? For my scrapbooks?"

Scrooge's face went slack in a mix of shock and rage, and Chickpea giggled behind him.

"WHAT?!"

It took no time at all to leave Silverfish Bay and enter Audubon Bay waters. The city swept into view, or rather, the giant pink gem surrounding it did. Chickpea, Honker, and Scrooge all moved closer, staring up at it. Hearing the reports and seeing it from the Money Bin's roof hadn't done the sheer magnitude of the barrier justice, not in the least.

The destroyed Audubon Bay Bridge also came into view, and the trio gasped.

"The barrier did that?" Honker asked, wiping water droplets off his glasses. "And Fenton thinks we can dig under it? That thing didn't stop it, why would a little dirt?"

"No better time to find out," Max called over his shoulder, and turned the sleek, red ship towards the barrier. As they entered more open waters, he slowed her to a stop, letting her bob gently in the water and giving the others the chance to rub water off their feathers. Riptide appeared next to them, his nose curled in disgust and his tongue sticking out.

"You dudes would not believe how gross these waters are," he spat. "I feel like I just took a soak in a landfill!"

"These waters have always been treacherous," Scrooge replied, "which is why sailing them never occurred to me. They say there's more steel at the bottom of the Bay than there is in that infernal city above it."

"Downed ships?" Chickpea asked, and Scrooge nodded.

"Aye, a whole graveyard of 'em, sunken and lost beneath the black waves. No one knows why." When Scrooge looked up at the others, they stared at him.

"You are just a joy to be around sometimes, anyone ever tell you that?" Max muttered, and the old duck gawked at him. Ignoring whatever retort was coming his way, Max moved to the edge of the ship and looked between Riptide and Gizmoduck, who hovered closer. "Alright, big guy, time to do your thing."

Riptide splashed away from The Waveripper to better size her up, looking her from stern to bow skeptically. With a shrug he dove under the water and slid towards her, beginning to circle them.

"Do you think he can figure it out?" Chickpea asked, her and Honker leaning over the edge to watch.

"He kinda has to," Honker shrugged.

Finally, Riptide emerged as a giant wave, cresting over the ship and reaching, stretching for the other side. The heroes cheered for him - and quickly gasped when he collapsed onto the deck, soaking them.

"What was that?" Scrooge barked, shaking water off his cheeks.

Riptide pushed himself off the ship's deck to glare at him, before sliding off the back and into the water. "I'm sorry, I've never deformed into an exact shape before! Especially not one this big!"

"You can do it!" Chickpea said after tossing her wet ponytail out of her eyes. "You're Liquidator, you're very malleable!"

"But I don't think I'm big enough," the otter argued from the Bay. "I only have so much of me, and this tub is bigger than I thought…"

Honker appeared next to Chickpea, gripping his forehead with both hands. "But that's the point! You're Liquidator! You're made of water! Don't you remember Liquidator's whole origin story? He was accidentally created by Megavolt when he supercharged the water around the old underwater FOWL lab! Audubon Bay water! You're soaking in the very stuff you're made out of!"

Riptide frowned up at him, his head tilting. "So, you're saying I'm part of the Bay?"

"And the Bay is an extension of you!" Honker cheered.

An expression of anxiety crossed the otter's face, and he dipped back below the surface as his small, round ears curled back. "But, Liquidator has never merged with the Bay before…"

Max joined them, leaning his crossed arms on the side. "And no one has ever nailed three consecutive Off-the-Lips off the same wave before - except you! You're Sean Ottoman, you've mastered every major body of water out there!"

"That's right," Honker nodded, "you're both! You're Liquidator and Sean Ottoman at the same time! There's no telling what you can do now that either of your original halves couldn't!"

"You're Riptide!" Chickpea cheered, and Quackerjack appeared at her side with some blue and white pom-poms in his hands.

"Bubbles!"

"Yeah," Riptide nodded, his voice rising a little as he inched upwards out of the Bay, "I am me - both at the same time! I'm a little bit of each, and completely, totally me!" Turning, the otter dove back underwater with a pump of his tail, racing and twirling far, far below the surface. It got darker and darker, but his voice stayed bright. "And," he came to a stop and floated in place, pulling his puffy, orange vest off and discarding it in the water, "if I'm completely, totally me, then I get to decide what I can and can't do! Come on, Audubon Bay, let's rip!"

Riptide shot off like a rocket, his tail pumping and the water around him bending like rapids around a stone. He began to spin, gliding faster and faster through the dark, murky water. He could feel salt and silt pelting his face and shoulders, but pressed on, and soon, he couldn't feel it anymore. All he could feel was water rushing.

On the surface, the group gasped and pointed. A whirlpool easily the size of The Waveripper began to form, churning slowly at first, before picking up speed and expanding outward.

"Come on, Riptide!" Chickpea cheered, and the others followed suit. The whirlpool grew bigger and bigger in size, and Max pushed the throttle to keep The Waveripper clear. As the center of the whirlpool sank down, lower and lower below the surface -

WOOSH!

A tower of water and suds exploded up from it, reversing the hurricane and sending massive waves outward in every direction. The Waveripper was tossed sideways, nearly knocking the occupants off their feet, a rush of air surrounding them, but then she stilled. Stunned, the heroes looked up, and saw Riptide grinning down at them.

An absolutely gigantic Riptide, his body made mostly of the green, salty Bay water. He towered above the surface and held The Waveripper gently in his hands.

"Surf's up, dudes!" the water behemoth laughed, and the group erupted into cheers.

"Come on, Rip!" Max called, waving towards the barrier, "let's take off!"

"Hang on to something!" Loudly, Riptide morphed and grew, lowering the ship to the Bay and umbrelling up and over her like a dome. Gizmoduck hurried inside the bubble, and Max clung to the throttle.

"Look!" Honker cried, and everyone saw the surface of the Bay pass them, Riptide guiding the bubble effortlessly below the water. The only sound was the gentle flowing of water and the occasional drip hitting the ship's smooth surface. Besides that, it was eerily quiet, especially after the explosive boom of Riptide's new form.

They sank slowly and smoothly, sailing deeper and deeper into the water. Chickpea leaned closer to the bubble around them and peered through it as a murky shadow passed. Another shadow drifted by overhead, and the group flinched, and turned forward when Max turned on The Waveripper's lights. They flashed on and bounced off the jagged, twisted edges of rusty, moss covered metal. Riptide was slipping them silently through the open, gaping maw of a wrecked barge of some kind. Fish darted out of their way and scaly shadows slipped out of sight, hiding further inside the wreckage.

When The Waveripper passed through, the group moved to the front of the ship and stared outward at the countless dark, mangled ship bodies that surrounded them, vanishing into the cloudy silt that covered the Bay's surface.

"It is a whole graveyard down here," Chickpea muttered, and Scrooge nodded.

"Aye." He reached up and removed his top hat, holding it over his chest. Behind him, Quackerjack did the same.

There were schools of fish and strange looking creatures, but no plants or other signs of life. The fish, it seemed, were just there to pick at the dead.

Max pulled the throttle back, and the ship slowed to a stop. Ahead of them, cutting through the fog and thick water, was the pink barrier.

"I'm starting to hate that color," Chickpea muttered.

"What do you see, Rip?" asked Max, glancing up at Gizmoduck next to him.

"A lot of water and wrecks," the otter replied.

"My scans indicate that that's exactly right," Gizmoduck added. “There’s no signs of life, just … wrecks.”

"So, where do we dig?" Max asked, standing on his tiptoes to peer at the Bay's murky surface. "We won't get fifteen feet down before we hit one of these wrecks. And I don't think even Hot Shot up there can get through one of those, they’re pure steel!"

"Maybe," Gizmoduck sorted through the scans within his visor, "going through them is exactly the point. Look, 2'o'clock, 20 clicks." On command, the bubble drifted in that direction. "There's a sizable barge there that is partially buried, but I'm picking up large holes on either side. If," Gizmoduck turned to the rest of the group, "we get underneath the barge's shell, it - combined with the Bay's surface - may just be enough coverage to have stopped the barrier."

"If it cut through the entire ground," Honker added, "there's no way the city would still be standing! The barrier would have sliced it free of its very bedrock!"

"Just so I have this straight," Max turned and leaned on the helm again, "you want us to not only dig downward into all this muck and grime, but do so while passing through a sunken barge, trying to hit a hole we won't be able to see until we're half-way through it?"

Gizmoduck paused, running some calculations again, and then nodded. "Precisely!"

Max stared at him, and then shrugged. "Well, I say why not. We've come this far."

"With your piloting, Max," Riptide said, and the bubble shrunk so The Waveripper's propellers were submerged in the waters again instead of air, "and my boost, I'm sure we can get there."

"It's just like piloting a submarine!" Chickpea said, and Max scoffed, adjusting a few things on the ship's dashboard.

"You say that like it's something I've done before!"

Chickpea bounced to his side. "Hey, before you met us you'd never performed a water landing inside a jumbo plane either!"

"Everyday with you is a new learning experience!" the pup laughed, a slightly maniac pitch in his voice. "I just love it! Giz, I hope you're good at navigation because I'm sailing blind here."

Max flipped off the lights and gripped the helm, and the others spread out and gripped the ship themselves.

"I've got you covered," the big metal duck nodded.

"Rip?"

"Ready when you are, Captain."

"Great," Max sighed. He stood there for a moment, staring out into the blackness before him, hands coiled around the helm.

Chickpea watched him, and had a feeling she knew where his mind was currently drifting back to.

An old family station wagon, with seats that were lumpy and smelled like ham for some reason.

Finally, Max’s eyes opened and he grabbed the throttle and thrust it forward.

"Let's jet."

Once again, The Waveripper surged forward like Max had stomped on the gas pedal. Water droplets flung over the group as she rocketed forward, Riptide squeezing more and more tightly around them the more speed they picked up.

"Steady," Gizmoduck said, lowering to the deck as the ship lurched suddenly, "keep her straight!"

Max gritted his teeth and strained on the helm, fighting the turbulence they kicked up. "I'm trying!"

"Okay," Gizmoduck said, "get ready to dig! Riptide, do you see the barge?"

"I do!" the otter called, and the group gasped when the bubble around them morphed suddenly. It squeezed low onto their heads and stretched forward, making a tornado through the dark, churning Bay.

"Easy, easy! Get ready to dive! Riptide, adjust your path downward, negative 24 degrees!"

"I see it!"

"Hang on!"

"NOW! DIG!"

"Heads down!"

Everyone ducked on command, crouching down as the bubble around them shrank once more, nearly compressing to the ship's deck, which bounced and bucked under them. Max wrestled with the helm as The Waveripper began to shake and rattle, the propellers knocking against the Bay's ground and invisible obstacles. Gizmoduck shouted out precise directions, and they pushed on, driving through the narrowing passage, feeling the dampness and darkness of the water press in closer and closer.

"There!" Max cried, and everyone looked up. A thin sliver of pink was racing towards them, barely visible in glimpses past the mud and grime and wrecked barge rushing past around them. Suddenly, everything got quiet and dark, the deafening sound of rushing water compressing them. The Waveripper continued to fight back, vibrating under their palms and feet, water droplets pelting them from all sides, the air growing thick and wet.

Max grunted, and flung himself backwards, and The Waveripper surged upwards, racing and speeding through the murky blackness until -

Light!

Pink light flooded everyone's senses, sharp and pointed through the watery cocoon around them. With a mighty splash, The Waveripper exploded through the Bay's surface, rocking back and forth as she leveled out. As she steadied, the bubble cleared out the dirt and grime that covered it, and then retracted, sinking back into the water. The heroes stood, hesitantly, and gasped.

They were in St. Canard.

"We - we made it!" Chickpea cried, throwing her hands up. "We're past the barrier!"

Behind them stretched the infernal pink bubble, and before them were rocky, trash-lined cliffs. Scrooge, laughing, spun around and shook his cane at the barrier.

"Take that you blasted bauble! The McDucks aren't out just yet! We've still got a few tricks up our sleeves!"

Behind him, Max shut off the engine and leaped onto the deck, rushing the side of the ship.

"Sean!" he shouted, and the others hurried to his side. On the surface of the Bay bobbed Riptide, shrunk back down to his normal size, grinning wearily up at them.

"Hey."

Max laughed and nearly collapsed over the side of the ship, his arms shaking. The others crowded close and patted his back as the pup swept his sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

"Bubbles, you're a hero!" Quackerjack cried, nearly flopping over the edge as he reached for his watery companion. The otter giggled a few bubbles and stretched up, letting the gander take a hold of his face and squeeze his cheeks. "You did it! We made it through!"

"Come on," Max said, moving back to the helm and easing on the throttle, "let's figure out where to land this thing and get you out of there."

"Sounds good," Riptide offered a weak thumbs up, and when The Waveripper began to drift forward, he followed.

"Now what do we do?" Chickpea asked, shaking water off her feathers, and Honker quickly took his seat and pulled his laptop out from where he'd stashed it.

"We get back to work! Now that we're past that thing, I should be that much closer to getting a signal through!"

"And I'll try to contact Darkwing," Gizmoduck said. "He has to know we're coming for him."

"Lass," Scrooge touched Chickpea's arm, "you better get reading."

Chickpea nodded. "Right, we still haven't found a reversal spell."

Scrooge looked like he wanted to add something, but he nodded mutely instead, moving away and to the helm.

"And you," he poked the pup with his cane, who glanced at him while keeping his eyes on the rocky cliffs around them, "for the record, have got to be the second most loony captain I've ever seen!"

The pup, confused, blinked at Scrooge. "Uh, thanks?"

"You're quite welcome." Scrooge turned, looked ahead, and smiled. Max watched him, shook his head, and faced the same way.

Now, onto step 2.

Whatever the heck that was.

Chapter 13: The Chapter With The Return Of The Queen

Chapter Text

It hadn't been the first scale Camille had lost, not by a long shot, but they were far past the point of taking a toll. The chameleon, still wearing the form of a short, snobby mole, leaned against the tunnel wall wearily, wiping sweat off her brow. Her arm twisted and contorted suddenly, yellow scales appearing through tears in the brown fur, and she gripped it and grunted, screwing her teeth together.

The Knight lackeys around her, their arms glowing softly in the darkness, turned back to her. Them, she wasn't worried about. It was when the big, black rooster strode back to her that she began to worry.

"Professor," Steelbeak purred, and Moliarty aimed a wide, tense smile up at him, clutching one arm behind his back, "we have been crisscrossing back and forth and back and forth and back and forth through your tunnel system all NIGHT!" When the rooster roared, the rush knocked Moliarty's glasses askew, and he scowled and straightened them. "The only reason that we broke you out of prison was so you could lead us to your secret stash, and yet, all you've managed to do is lead us in CIRCLES!"

Moliarty kept his beady little eyes closed as the cry echoed off the walls and reverberated down the tunnel. Finally, the echo faded, and he looked up at Steelbeak.

"Well, I do apologize," the mole huffed, crossing his arms and balling his little hands into fists. "It's been a long time since I've navigated these tunnels, and I'm a little out of practice!"

Steelbeak was panting then, like a bull ready to charge, but suddenly, like a switch had flipped, he stood and sauntered away, his arms folded neatly behind him.

"Have it your way, Professor," he muttered, waving off the whole ordeal. "We'll find my treasure soon enough. And then," with a glint in his eye that matched the one flashing across his mangled, metal beak, the rooster smirked back at Moliarty, "we get to drop the dead weight."

When Steelbeak pressed on, the other lackeys followed, leaving Camille alone for a moment behind them. She sagged against the wall again and huffed weakly. In her clenched fist she held a small, pale yellow scale, and with a grimace she pushed herself off the wall and began to trudge onward. The scale, she dropped behind her.

"Any time now, Diver," the chameleon murmured, her gaze lifting to the ceiling above her head, "any time now…" When she glanced ahead, she saw Bushroot standing still, pale eyes staring at her. Camille blinked at the feline, and then snarled at her. "What are you -?"

"PROFESSOR!"

Moliarty flinched, looked up quickly, and began to push his way to the front of the group. Reaching the front, he yelped when he nearly tumbled over the edge of the tunnel's end, his short arms pinwheeling at his sides as he staggered backwards. Steelbeak stood beside him, arms outstretched and laughing.

"My apologies, Professor, for having ever doubted you!"

Before them was an enormous cavern, a massive open, brick cylinder that stretched upwards far above their heads. Various other tunnels at other depths emptied into the cavern, with bars across their openings. The cavern, however, wasn't the magnificent part of the discovery; that would be the piles and piles of golden treasure that filled the cavern's floor.

The amount of items there was beyond counting. Crowns, lamps, staffs, chests, jewelry, orbs, and every other kind of item imaginable were piled high, coins, trinkets, gems, and books scattered around. They glinted lightly from pinpricks of light in the ceiling far above them, and Steelbeak grabbed a flashlight from a Knight and looked around, casting dark shadows along the cavern's walls.

"They're fools, all of them!" Leaping forward, the rooster soared through the air and landed on the ground below, splashing up the puddles his leather dress shoes landed in. "Every stinking idiot in this city! They can't comprehend what's right under their feet! Knights!"

Moliarty flinched as the lackeys crowded behind him, pressing close and eager for commands.

"Sir!"

Steelbeak swung his massive arms around in a circle, spinning on his heel. "It’s time to feast! Spread out, leave no artifact upturned, not until we find our prize!" From his suit jacket, Steelbeak pulled a page ripped from a book that depicted an elaborately decorated golden staff with a large, green gemstone embedded in the top.

The Knights did as they were told, shoving past Moliarty and pouring into the tunnel with crazed whoops and hollers. In moments, they spread out among the piles, over-turning them, up-heaving them, and tossing items everywhere. They splashed, clattered, and clanged, and Moliarty crept away from the edge of the tunnel, pressing his hands over his ears. The Knights were like wild animals, their strength making the items weightless, worthless trinkets with untold power.

Then, a voice echoed from within the mole's orange jumpsuit and down the tunnel, filling the cavern.

"Hello, Mr. Diver? This is Honker, can you hear me?!"

Moliarty's back snapped up straight, beads of sweat springing to his forehead. The whole cavern grew quiet, heads and ears turning in Moliarty's direction.

His beak twisting and the veins in his eyes bulging, Steelbeak stomped closer, glaring up at the trembling mole.

"Mr. Diver, what's going on? It's me, Honker Muddlefoot! I hacked your WaddleMaker!"

Moliarty's beady eyes were blown wide, and he flinched when Steelbeak appeared, leaping into the tunnel and stomping towards him. From behind Moliarty, a yellow tail slithered, displaying a white watch. On the screen was a canary, hen, and a clown who blinked at them.

"Uh-oh…"

"YOU!" Steelbeak screamed, grabbing the mole by the collar of his jumpsuit and yanking him off his feet and shaking him. "YOU TRAITOR!"

Moliarty, once the shaking stopped and his eyes stopped rolling around in his skull, looked up at the rooster. His wide-eyed expression of fear was swapped quickly for a smarmy grin, and Steelbeak frowned. Suddenly, the mole spun and twisted in place, and a blonde, yellow-scaled chameleon appeared, the collar of her gray sweater in Steelbeak's hands. Camille winked at Steelbeak and her tail lashed out, whipping against his shin. He dropped her just as a hornet-yellow blur flew over her, and a heel slammed into his skull, directly between the eyes and in the center of the ugly, jagged scar.

"WE RUN TOGETHER!" Negaduck roared, long cape flapping behind him as he landed near Camille, his claws raised protectively and jagged teeth bared. Steelbeak cried out and his head snapped backwards, the rooster stumbling backwards and over the edge of the tunnel, where he crashed onto and rolled down a hulking pile of items, hitting the bottom of the cavern in a sludgy splash.

The lackeys around him blinked, stunned, and turned back to the tunnel's mouth. A duck stood there, growling and snarling, flashing eyes wide and blood-shot.

"Guess who's back!" Negaduck yelled, standing straight and sweeping his arms outward, presenting himself to the small army. Their teeth gnashed in response, ready to attack. Negaduck looked like he welcomed it.

Behind him, Camille, barely able to push herself up off the bricks she'd collapsed onto, sighed happily, and flopped backwards.

Steelbeak sat up and shook the sludge off his ruby-red crown, spinning around and pointing at Negaduck. "GET HIM!"

The Knights snapped to attention and charged back for the tunnel. Negaduck growled and flinched -

POOF!

A smoke pellet hit the ground of the cavern and blue smoke instantly began to flood the chamber.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!"

"NO!" screamed Steelbeak, grabbing desperately to the nearest pile of treasure and pulling himself to his feet. It toppled under his weight, and tossed him back into the puddle, a few items clattering down onto him. Steelbeak wiped the muck off his face and shook his head, but then caught sight of a glinting, green gemstone that winked up at him.

And then his mangled, metal mouth turned into a grin.

Behind Negaduck, Quiverwing rushed Camille, helping her sit up. The chameleon was trembling, her blonde hair out of place, and she barely had the strength to look at the dame who was assisting her.

"You okay?" Quiverwing asked, and Negaduck appeared suddenly, kneeling next to them both.

"Camille!" he cried, his big, brown eyes darted over Camille a few times, scanning her desperately. She turned to him with a weary grin.

"Took your sweet time, sugar…"

Negaduck glanced up at Quiverwing, and nodded back over his shoulder. "Go help Darkwing, I got her."

Quiverwing nodded, stood, and drew her Bō. She ran past them and for the tunnel mouth, and Camille watched her.

"Was that… her?" she asked as Negaduck lifted her and steadied her against the wall.

"Yeah," he said, still scanning her over carefully.

"She takes after you," the chameleon snickered, and Negaduck looked up at her quickly. Shaking his head, he went back to his examination.

"I hope not."

Smoke continued to fill the cavern, and the Knights stumbled around, waving it clear. It blocked out their vision, a few of them stumbling over the treasure at their feet.

"I am the fly on the wall of that conversation you don't want anyone to know about! I am -!"

"MORGANA SWANSON!" Steelbeak shrieked suddenly. He'd finally managed to climb out of the puddle and stared with wide eyes up at Quiverwing, who appeared at the tunnel's mouth. In his hands he clutched a golden staff, and Quiverwing stopped, her shoulders hunching up.

"Uh… what?"

Darkwing appeared at the top of the highest treasure pile then, and looked quickly back and forth between the two.

"Morgana?" he squawked, and Steelbeak and the others looked at him for the first time. "Rocky, all those headbutts must have finally gotten to you! Morgana's history!"

Behind Darkwing, a shadow began to grow taller and taller.

"Darkwing, baby!" Steelbeak cackled and stumbled forward, staggering as if the staff in his hands weighed half a ton. He kicked aside items as if they meant nothing. "Didn't you learn from the Museum upstairs? In this world, the only answer is evolution!"

With a great heave, Steelbeak swung the staff around, resting on his hip, and aimed it at Darkwing. The masked mallard flinched, threw his arms up to protect himself, and waited.

And when nothing happened, he peeked one eye open.

Steelbeak's smile grew, a twisted, mangled shape, and he dropped the staff to one side, raising one hand above his head. His fingers snapped, and -

WHAM!

Darkwing grunted when something heavy swung into him from behind, knocking the duck off his feet. He toppled off the top of the pile but something snatched him from the air, coiling tightly around his ankle and yanking him upwards. Darkwing spun around to see a thick, thorny vine twist around his ankle and crawl up his leg.

"Dad!" Quiverwing cried, and her Bō snapped into archery form. The dame nocked an arrow and aimed it at the vines. She took aim, but yelped when the bricks beneath her tennis shoes began to rattle, shaking loose. "That can't be good -!" Quiverwing grunted when vines lashed out from the ground and wrapped around her, lifting her swiftly into the air next to Darkwing.

Behind them, Negaduck looked around as the brick surrounding him and Camille began to rattle as well.

"Oh yeah," he grumbled as he stood to his feet, drawing his gas gun, "Bushroot." Like the others, vines lashed out and gripped him and snagged Camille, both prisoners joining the other masked Mallards in the air in the middle of the cavern.

Steelbeak, still carrying the staff, stumbled and climbed his way to the top of a treasure pile, laughing at them. The other Knights watched, and stepped aside when Steelbeak swung his staff downward, and from the shadows crept Bushroot. Her ears were pressed low and her leafy paws curled around each other.

"Now, he's a good kitty?" the rooster purred, sliding down the pile and to her side. He clutched her face in his hand, pinching her cheek and plucking the small buds from her whiskers. "I told you, baby, you were always my favorite!"

Bushroot tugged her head away from him and rubbed sorely at her cheek.

"Let us go, Steelbeak!" Darkwing cried, reaching up to wrestle the vine around his leg free. It continued to reach and grabbed his wrists, coiling up his arms. "You're just a coward who expects others to do his dirty work for him!"

"I do," the rooster nodded, "especially when they do it so well! Bushy! Turn them into fertilizer!"

Bushroot gave a small, mute start, and looked up at her hostages quickly. They kicked and struggled, and she glanced back to Steelbeak. He, frowning, spun around and glared down at her.

"I said now!" Suddenly, he swung a massive fist, knocking the feline off her feet and into a tall pile. Items rained down on her, and Bushroot curled her skinny arms before herself as a shield, shrinking to a small ball curled up at the base of the mountain.

"Catnip!" Negaduck shrieked, and he twisted - when he strained on his recently dislocated shoulder, he yelped, his motions stilling as a jolt of pain rushed through him.

"Enough!" Steelbeak shrieked, stomping away from Bushroot. She, big eyes blown wide, stared up at Negaduck, who was snarling and hissing at the approaching rooster. "I've had it up to here with your meddling, Mallards!"

"So have we!" Darkwing barked back, and then glanced around at the other suspended heroes. "Literally! Put down the staff-artifact-thing, and we'll let you walk out of here only half uglier than you currently are!"

" 'Staff-artifact-thing'?" Steelbeak scoffed. He raised the staff and traced one finger along the edges of the green gemstone at the top of it. "You Mallards always get yourselves in over your heads. Once again, Darkwing, I've out-performed you!"

"Oh yeah?" Quiverwing laughed. "I haven't seen that thing actually do anything yet!"

Steelbeak's eyes zeroed in on the dame, and he laughed, slowly. "Oh, you're one to talk, my sweet."

Quiverwing yelped when Steelbeak lunged forward and sliced through the vines with his beak, sending Quiverwing falling and spinning for the treasure below. She hit a pile and rolled down it with a grunt. The vines wrapped around her began to wither, and she grunted, straining against them.

Steelbeak appeared before her, crouching low, and he reached forward. Gently, the rooster caressed her striped bangs along the crown of her head, tugging them free of the bobby pins and letting them fall into her face.

Above her, her dad and uncle were raising Hell.

"Look at you," Steelbeak cooed, his finger tracing Quiverwing's jawline, "you even look like her."

That was enough of that.

With a primal screech, Quiverwing lashed out and her teeth tore into Steelbeak's hand, ripping his skin and drawing blood. He lurched backwards with a scream and Quiverwing tore through the vines holding her and lunged, tackling Steelbeak around the middle. He stumbled backwards and grabbed her, throwing her off him. Quiverwing's rib cage hit a treasure pile, square on her road-rash, but she grit her teeth and dashed at the rooster while throwing a couple handfuls of random items at him. He ducked and swung the staff around, and Quiverwing leaped up, driving her foot against his arms as they crossed his chest, driving him backwards once more. Steelbeak swung the staff for her head and Quiverwing's Bō sprang into her hand, blocking the swing. Sparks flew into the air when the weapons collided, illuminating their faces. Steelbeak smeared blood across the staff from his fingers, and his blood clung to Quiverwing’s bill. With another cry, the young hero shifted her grip and slammed the end of the Bō against the ground and an arrow emerged, the white tail flashing. Steelbeak blinked down at it, confused, before -

BOOM

It erupted in a pulse of energy, knocking them each off their feet and blowing a hole in the ground around it. Steelbeak shook his head as treasure rained down at him, but Quiverwing was up first. She spun the Bō under her palm, planted the opposite end into the ground, and swung around it like a pole, one leg swinging out and kicking the rooster square in the throat.

He, staggering and spinning, flew backwards and landed on his face in a puddle, his beak filling with mud and gunk. The staff clattered to the ground between them, and Quiverwing glared after the rooster, panting for breath.

Above her, her family members gawked.

"Okay," Negaduck whispered over his shoulder to Camille, "maybe she's a little like me."

Huffing, Quiverwing stood and pinned her bangs back into place with a quick jerk to the brass bobby pins.

"I like me just the way I am," she spat down at Steelbeak. Turning, she yelped when the lackeys began to surround her, their teeth bared. Quiverwing raised her fists, ready to fight, but paused.

Something like a whisper tugged a corner of her mind, and she turned, slowly, to stare down at her discarded Bō. It hummed to life and called for her, beckoning her forward.

The dame, transfixed, reached for the weapon.

In the air, Negaduck continued to strain against the vines - a little more gently this time, when he froze. Every feather on his body stood on end in a ripple from his tail to head, and a shiver ran up his spine. His eyes, blown wide, darted down to Quiverwing, who nearly had the gnarled, golden staff in her grasp.

"Gos - don't!"

But it was too late. The second Quiverwing's hand made contact with the staff, a shock wave blasted out of her. Every item lifted off the ground, from treasure to puddles to confused Knights, and Quiverwing's head shot back, her eyes rolling back as inky blackness began to materialize around the staff's gemstone, circling it.

"GOSALYN!"

"Yes!" Steelbeak coughed, sitting up and clutching his throat. "YES, YES!"

The swirling blackness picked up speed as it circled the gemstone, and then it shot at Quiverwing, embedding itself into her skin, chest, and face, and - tails wiggling - wormed its way inside her.

"Gos - GOS!" Darkwing shrieked, and turned to Steelbeak. "What are you doing to her?!"

"Me?" Steelbeak waved to himself with both hands, "nothing! But that -" he pointed to the staff, "is! It's an amplifier, gentlemen, and it is amplifying what has been hiding inside Gosalyn since the Rift!"

Quiverwing lifted up into the air, contorting and twisting as the blackness bubbled to her skin and spread across her, engulfing her completely down to the green in her eyes.

"Or... should I say who?" Steelbeak laughed as Quiverwing's form fell to the ground, every item raining down around her. She stood, stiffly, with jerky movements, the blackness retreating into the whites of her eyes, and the green sparked and lit ablaze as blood-red orange swamped them and flooded. She turned them to Steelbeak.

His own eyes sparkled, and he fell to his knees before her.

"Hello, partner," he said.

Morgana curled Quiverwing’s bill up into a smile.

"Gosalyn!" Darkwing shrieked again, "NO! Gos - Gos -!"

"Oh, QUIET!" Morgana spun around and swung the staff. From the gem flew a razor of red magic, sinking into the vines wrapped around the heroes. The vines, wiggling, transformed into snakes, squeezing their captives tightly.

Bushroot, from where she had retreated, gasped.

Morgana threw her head back and laughed. "WHAT'S WRONG, DRAKEY-POO?" She sauntered closer and batted Quiverwing's eyelashes up at him, "DON'T YOU MISS ME?"

"Morgana!" Darkwing pleaded, turning his big, blue eyes to her, "please! Please let Gosalyn go! You've already tried to take her from me once, don't do it again!"

"I WON'T DO IT AGAIN," Morgana said, walking to Steelbeak's side and holding the staff in both hands. She began to trace circles in the air with it, runes and scribes appearing. "BECAUSE THIS TIME, I WON'T LET HER GO!"

"Bushroot!" Steelbeak snapped, pointing to the heroes who kicked and screamed, "make sure they don't follow us - if you can manage it! Morgana and I," Steelbeak turned back to the dame beside him fondly, stroking her chin, "have a city to conquer!"

Morgana laughed and the glowing grew, a massive circle of it appearing and repeating itself on the ground below them. The other Knights drew close, stepping into the circle, and Bushroot - her shoulders hunched - spread out her paws and vines began to crawl up from the ground, spreading out around the floor in wiggling, circling patterns.

"No - NO!" Darkwing shrieked as the snakes around them turned back into vines, and more joined them, lifting the trio even higher into the air and securing them into place.

"Callie!" Negaduck cried, staring desperately down to the feline, "please! She's our family!"

Bushroot, who had crept up to the edge of the glowing circle, hesitated.

"Bushroot!" Steelbeak snapped, and she turned to him quickly. She glanced up at Negaduck, meeting his wide eyes, and her head dropped. She stepped to Steelbeak's side, tucked somewhere behind Morgana and among the other nameless lackeys.

"Ta-ta, Mallards!"

"Steelbeak -!" Negaduck screeched, thrashing in the vines, "this isn't the plan!"

All they saw of the rooster before he and the others vanished in a blinding flash of light was a wink.

Darkwing stared down at the floor of gold and items in shock. Gosalyn was gone, again. His heart ached, his chest clenched, and he couldn't think. All he could do was feel.

And he felt like death.

It was like the Evelyn Eternal set all over again.

Then, he heard his brother grunt next to him, and his mind snapped out of it. He spun around, as much as he could, to scream at the other mallard.

"Wait, 'this isn't part of the plan'?! What is that supposed to mean?!"

Negaduck stilled instantly at the words, and his eyes blew open. They darted back and forth among the treasures and tangled vines that filled the floor down below them, but nothing he saw helped. He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing! We've got to focus on getting out of here!"

"Oh no, you're not getting out of this one!" Darkwing bit, his bill curling into a snarl. "What plan? What - were you in on this somehow?!"

Negaduck spun on him. "What?!"

"You were a Knight! How should I know you haven't been planning something behind our backs?! Why else would you have split us up?!"

Negaduck stared at him, and his face flushed red. "How - what is wrong with you?! You really don't trust me?!"

"It's not a matter of trust! That's my daughter on the line!"

"She's my niece!"

Darkwing threw his head back and laughed, but there was no humor in it. "As if you have any right to call her that!"

"I knew that kid long before you ever did!"

"When was this, when you were busy killing her grandfather?!"

"WHEN I WAS TRYING TO SAVE HIS LIFE!"

Negaduck's voice echoed off the cavern walls and rang through Darkwing's head, making it spin. His own blood stopped pounding in his ears, and he blinked, slowly, at his brother. Negaduck's face flushed from red to white, and he dropped it, hiding behind the large brim of his red fedora. Darkwing turned away, mouth still hanging open in shock.

Wait…

What?

Quietly, he asked, "what?"

Negaduck's head shook, and he buried it further into his cape.

"Dive," Darkwing said, straining to catch sight of his brother's face, "what are you talking about? The video, it -"

"Thaddeus never told me he was sick, alright. He didn't follow the plan, and there was nothing I could do about it. He just… died."

Darkwing could barely hear his own voice. "It was never a botched kidnapping, was it?"

Negaduck was completely still, but Darkwing could swear he saw his younger tremble. "We made a plan… to get them out of town. To keep Gosalyn safe from the Knights. They didn't know she existed yet, but once they did… It was my plan. It didn't work. It's still not! It never has, and now she's gone! They have her and it was all for nothing!"

"Wait," Darkwing shook his head, "do you blame yourself? Dive, you haven't been around! Gosalyn has had a great life! Sure, it could have been better, and yes, her grandfather should have been a part of it, but this - this isn't ideal, but it's a whole lot better than it could have been had you never -"

"Killed her grandfather?!"

"Tried to protect her!" Darkwing argued, and his own proclamation bounced back at him and struck so hard, it was like everything inside him physically shifted. Closets in his mind were emptied and ransacked, his memories kicked around like a decades old soccer ball, and the windows were flung open to let in gale force winds that tore the curtains off the wall and blew the old layer of dust off everything. "Oh my God," he gasped, and shook his head, as if he could shake the dust out of his ears, "that's what you've been doing this whole time! You have been doing nothing but trying to keep the Knights away from her!" Darkwing spun around, as much as he could, and met the confused brown eyes of Negaduck. "You've been saying from the beginning that Gosalyn was never meant to be involved in the Studio fire, the only one you worried about Steelbeak hurting if he exposed the truth was her, you sent her away from the prison and the others when splitting us up, you gave her Quiverwing, taught her how to use it, even that threatening letter that drove us out of town, faking your own death! You - you've officially proven how stupid I am for having never seen it!"

Negaduck looked baffled by the confession, but Darkwing wasn't done. He was laughing again, but it sounded genuine this time. Maybe even a little manic.

"I'm a fool, Dive, such a fool! And I'm sorry. I should have never doubted you. I've never understood this loyalty you have to her, so I overlooked it. But it makes sense now. You're," Darkwing laughed again, "you're so insanely, maddeningly, obsessively attached to any of your plans, and it's - it's because of this! And it's so you! And I love you for that!"

Now, Negaduck was thoroughly baffled - confounded even - and he stared from under twisted brows at his brother. Slowly, Darkwing's laughter faded and his grin slipped off, and he laughed at himself.

"Maybe I have a concussion too."

That got to Negaduck, and he burst into howling laughter - which quickly dissolved into a groan as he shook his head. He, after all, actually did have a concussion.

When he looked back up at his brother, Darkwing's eyes were shining, and he couldn't contain the fondness that soaked into his smile. It made Negaduck want to hurl.

"Ugh," he gagged, "kill me already. Again."

"Dive -"

"I'm not looking for your forgiveness," Negaduck replied shortly, and Darkwing blinked at him. "So focus. You've got a daughter to save."

Darkwing stared at him, like he was able to see his brother fully for the first time. Slowly, he nodded.

"Hey," Darkwing smirked, "she's your niece."

Negaduck stared at the other, and then he smirked. Then, he turned over his other shoulder and barked in Camille's direction, "don't go thinking that this makes me soft or anything!"

It was Camille's turn to burst into laughter, and she kicked and howled. "You two, I swear! This whole scene just made all this nonsense worth it! Why are Mallards so dramatic all the time?"

The two masked mallards glanced at each other, and shrugged.

"Runs in the family."

"Oh, speaking of family…" Camille's tail slithered into view, the end of it curled around Diver's WaddleMaker. Honker was still on the screen, looking sheepish. "I assume you know this little fella?"

"Honker!" Darkwing cried, his whole face lighting up. "I've never been happier to see you in all my life!"

"How long has he been on the line?" Negaduck whispered to Camille while Honker's cheeks glowed pink.

"Hello, Mr. Drake," Honker grinned and put his hands above his head, "I hacked Mr. Diver's WaddleMaker! Again!"

"’Again’?" Negaduck blinked.

Honker continued. "Oh, there's someone else who wants to talk to you!" The feed froze for a moment before a cinnamon-feathered duck with a gentle blue glow on his face appeared.

"Hello - Darkwing?"

"GIZMO!" Darkwing shrieked, kicking happily. "I could kiss you right now! How - wait, how did you get past the barrier?!"

Gizmoduck turned and looked at the group behind him. Max and Riptide were pulling The Waveripper onto the first beach they had found, and Chickpea, Honker, Scrooge, and Quackerjack were hurrying ashore.

"We managed to dig under the barrier - with Riptide's help! Where are you?"

"Riptide?" Darkwing repeated.

"What barrier?" Camille frowned, and Darkwing looked at her.

"The giant, pink, magical barrier that's been surrounding the city this whole time?"

"Oh," Negaduck blinked, "is that what that is?"

Shaking his head, Darkwing turned back to the watch that hung before him. "Giz, don't worry about us. You need to go after Steelbeak! He's got Gosalyn and is using some magical staff to turn her into Morgana!"

Gizmoduck gasped. "What?!" The glow across his face switched from blue to red as the display filled with alerts and scanners, and his eyes began to dart all over them. "I'm engaging my scanners now. Any idea where they went?"

Darkwing grunted as he dug into his utility belt and pulled out Mark's phone, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of it. As before, Gosalyn's dot was flickering and darting all around the map.

"No," Darkwing shook his head, "not yet, but you've got to track her down and get her back before they finish what they started!"

"Right," Gizmoduck nodded, "we'll head right there after we pick you up -"

"NO! No, you have to get Gosalyn first!"

"But," Gizmoduck blinked, "Darkwing, we might need your help -!"

"Giz, you're a super genius in a big metal flying suit, you don't need our help!"

"But Drake -!"

"Fenton, please!" Sighing, Darkwing dropped his head. "She's my daughter, Fenton, I can't lose her to these lunatics again."

Fenton, staring at the duck in front of him, sighed. "Alright," he said at last, "we'll track them down and get Gosalyn out of there."

"And if you have time," Negaduck spoke up, arching his neck to get into the watch's line of sight, "save the city. I want it in pristine condition for when I start terrorizing the streets again!"

"Uh," Gizmoduck frowned as Darkwing rolled his eyes. "... right. Will you two - uh, three, sorry…"

Camille brought the watch closer and flashed a smile, "hi!"

"Hello! Will you three be okay?"

"Yes," Darkwing said, "we'll be fine! Gizmo, go! Hurry!"

"On it! Gizmoduck out!" the duck puffed up his chest, and ended the call. Then, he turned to the others, who watched him expectantly. "Uh," the big metal duck wilted a little, "so, any ideas where we start looking?"

"Well, that was just great," Negaduck grumbled, giving an unhappy jerk of his uninjured shoulder, "leave us here to rot while that nerd gets to have all the fun!"

"You would have made the same call," Darkwing muttered back. "Now, to figure out how to get out of here!"

The trio grew quiet. While Negaduck's brow knotted, and he lowered his head to think, Darkwing began to look around. He grunted and wiggled in the vines, but they didn't budge. He gave up, sagging in the hold.

"Well, these won't budge. Maybe if I can reach my grappling hook, I can use the prongs to cut us free." He twisted and turned again, checking the pockets of his belt, but then stopped. "Oh yeah," he glared briefly at Negaduck, "you took the grappling hook. Okay, uh… it's too high to jump, we can't wait until these things wilt, there's nothing up, there's plenty of room down…" he glanced over his shoulder at Camille. "You can't change and squeeze out, can you?"

Camille huffed and closed her eyes. She began to twist, her shoulders turning first, and then sighed and the sensation faded. "Sorry, hon," Camille shrugged with an apologetic smile, blowing a few stray hairs out of her face, "I don't have it in me."

"That's okay," Darkwing sighed, and turned to Negaduck over his shoulder. "What about you, Mister Follow-the-Plan?"

Negaduck didn't say anything at first, but Darkwing waited. Then, quietly, he said, "Callie."

"Yes, yes," Darkwing muttered, "your girlfriend ran off with my ex. Oh, and Morgana."

"No," Negaduck shook his head, "Callie chose Bushroot. They all chose their super. They liked the characters enough to sign up for Mark's super-villain experiments or whatever and become them."

Darkwing nodded. "Right, because Callie is a nature activist, and so was Bushroot."

"But Bushroot wasn't a villain," Negaduck muttered, and tilted his head. After staring down at the twisted vines below him for this long, they began to look like shapes, or a vaguely familiar pattern. But it might have been the concussion talking. He looked up at the others instead. "Callie has been stopping us because Steelbeak has been making her. But the first chance she got, she turned on him. She told us where Quackerjack was going to attack. When I left her behind in prison, she didn't fight me. And even though she had to have known you," he turned to Camille, "were involved, she never turned you in." Camille nodded, and a light sparkled in Negaduck's eyes. "Because Bushroot isn't a villain! Never has been, and isn't now!"

"Which means this isn't a deadly trap! There's a way out, we just have to figure out what it is!"

Camille yelped suddenly, and the ducks spun on her.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said, "just kinda slipped a little."

"You slipped?!"

"We can't get an inch free!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell yah, honey," Camille shrugged, and slowly the vines around her began to loosen, "but maybe they're attracted to the sound of family drama!"

"It's not sound," Darkwing blinked, "it's movement! Camille has barely moved a muscle while you and I -" he turned to Negaduck, "have been yelling up a storm and fighting for our lives! If we hold still, they'll loosen their grip and we can slip out!"

" 'Can't fight if you can't breathe'," Negaduck muttered, and then laughed. "She did give us a way out! How's it feel to be a fool twice in one day?"

Darkwing glared back, his voice low. "What part of 'don't move' do you not understand?"

Negaduck mocked him, and then, together, they took a few breaths, inhaled a large gulp, and then froze in place, holding it.

Nothing happened at first, and Camille looked back and forth between them. But then, the vines relaxed an inch, and the ducks’ eyes flew open, looking at each other excitedly. Inch by inch, the vines loosened, and finally fell slack, and the mallards grabbed them and climbed onto the top of the coils, releasing their breath and panting for air.

"Yes!" they cheered and high-fived. Darkwing turned around to grab Camille and help her climb out of the cocoon, and Negaduck turned to look down at the floor far below them. The vines attracted his attention once more, but he still couldn't figure out why.

"Darkwing," he called over his shoulder, and Darkwing and Camille joined him on his either side, "look down."

"I have," the purple duck groaned, "and all I can see is a bunch of wasted magical potential!"

"Not those," Negaduck muttered and slapped the other's head, who yelped, "the vines!"

Darkwing rubbed his head and glared at his brother, before his gaze slid downward. He'd seen the vines before, but hadn't paid them any attention past the gold they covered. Now, however, he began to see a pattern of some kind in the swirls and curves. Shapes began to appear, squares, triangles, paths, roads...

"Wait a minute - it's St. Canard!" he squawked, and leaped off the vines he crouched on, sliding and twirling down the towers and getting a closer look. "It's the whole city! Bushroot made us a map! She really is helping us!"

Camille lowered to Darkwing's side, and pointed to a large, purple bud. Negaduck crawled down after them, more carefully. "So, what’s that big bud s’posed to be?"

"That's us!" From his belt, Darkwing pulled Mark's phone and compared the map within the device with the one before him. They were a match. "See, this is my and Diver's tracking dots, and that's the Museum there!"

Camille pointed to another flower, a big, brambly red one. "And that one?"

Negaduck and Darkwing gasped, and swapped a glare. "Morgana!"

"That's Canard Tower," Darkwing said, raising his WaddleMaker as it began to dial a call to Fenton. "They're heading to Canard Tower! Fenton!"

"Oh no you don't!" Negaduck snapped, turning and leaping his way to the top of the vine tower. "You're not giving him all the fun again!"

"Where are you going?" Darkwing called after him, watching as Negaduck pulled the gas gun from his belt and loaded the grappling hook into it.

He aimed it upwards, a wide grin spreading across his scarred bill.

"To save my city!"

Chapter 14: The Chapter Where Lizards Dream Of Electric Sheep

Chapter Text

St. Canard was without power, and it was pretty obviously a problem. The shops and windows and street lights were dark, not to mention empty. While it had made borrowing a car easier - Launchpad had left a note in the parking spot that read, "IUO - Posiduck" - it hadn't made the trip any less unnerving. By the time he and Henri pulled up to the massive water hydraulic power plant that perched on one of the city's rocky coastlines, they had just started getting used to the dark. It was, after all, everywhere, except for a few slivers of the glowing, pink barrier around them.

Which is why Launchpad was so confused to see the power plant overloaded with stray electric arcs and sparks of energy when he and Henri drove up to the front gate.

"The whole city is dark," Henri said, leaning forward against her seat belt to peer up at the massive power plant towering before them. "Why isn't this?"

Instead of replying, Launchpad glanced at the metal gate that stood before them, and he frowned. Climbing out of the car with Henri on his heels, he moved towards the metal frame, staring at the hole that had been melted through the middle of it. A hole that was distinctly megavolt-shaped, her spiny mohawk and all.

"Oh," Henri said, "that's why."

They glanced at each other before Launchpad gently pushed the gate open, and they crept through. Concrete stretched out in all directions and had the barrier not been cutting them off from the rest of the Bay, Launchpad guessed they would have been able to hear the waves and seagulls. Most of the power plant itself was clinging to the rocky coastline and was out of sight, but there were plenty of massive square buildings with towering chimneys to explore.

The further into the facility they crept, the more nervous Henri got, and she wandered closer and closer to Launchpad's elbow. When she bumped into him, a small electric spark arced between them, and the big pelican yelped.

"Ouch!" he rubbed his elbow sorely and looked at the chick, but then snickered at her. Her pastel painted head feathers were slowly reaching outwards in all directions, like a thin afro. "You look like a clown!" Launchpad giggled, and Henri gasped, punching him on the bicep. She shocked him once again, and he yelped.

Henri paused, her eyes sparkling, and she looked at her hands. There was a buzz all over her feathers, and Launchpad reached out tentatively towards the side of her head -

"Ow!" she squeaked when he shocked her.

Blinking, they looked at each other, and slowly, they grinned. In sync, the duo began to poke at each other, shocking and tickling the other. Each shock sparked a yelp and a giggle, and the duo was so distracted they failed to notice the shadow that watched them from a nearby roof.

Megavolt stepped up to the edge, her goggles reflecting the energy around her. She frowned down at the two trespassers, scowling skeptically. Deciding that they, in fact, posed no threat, she rolled her eyes and turned away - but a glint of metal had her spinning back around.

Henri held one of her aluminum spray paint cans between herself and Launchpad, and Launchpad was slowly, timidly reaching for it. The chick was cheering him on.

"Do it! Do it! Do it! Do -!"

CRACK!

The duo yelped in surprise and leapt backwards when a bolt of lightning struck the ground near them, and Megavolt appeared in the flash. "You!" the lizard cried, electricity cracking between the rubber fingers of her gloves. Henri's spray can clattered to the ground, rolling towards the menacing lizard. She stared down at it, catching her reflection in the shiny surface. Her head tilted and she scooped it up curiously.

"Hey!" Henri barked, jumping out from behind Launchpad. "That's mine!"

Megavolt's dark eyes flickered up to the chick, who inched behind Launchpad, and then down at her own reflection again. Her scales shined, and she reached up and poked her mohawk with her fingers -

"Wait a minute -!" Megavolt cried suddenly, a crazed grin splitting her face. She appeared in Henri's face in a flash, her eyes wide. "Are you a painter?!"

"Uh," the chick, leaning backwards, glanced up at Launchpad. "... Yes?"

Megavolt seized her hands and cupped them around the can, pressing it against Henri's chest. "And do you paint murals?!"

Behind them, Launchpad gasped and stepped forward. "You saw our mural downtown! With your names on it!"

Megavolt backpedaled suddenly like she'd been burned, and glanced skeptically back and forth between the two, her eyes narrowed. "That was you?"

"Sure was!" Henri leaped forward excitedly, pulling another paint can from her pocket and spinning it in her palm. "We plastered your and Liquidator's real names all over that wall!"

"Your name is Izzabell," Launchpad added, "and Liquidator's name is Sean!"

"And Bushroot is - is Callie! And Quackerjack -!" Henri paused, and blinked up at Launchpad. Together, they shrugged. "Well, I guess he's just Quackerjack."

Megavolt looked confused, her face twisted up, and she shook her head and backed away. "No - no, that's not true!"

"It is," said Launchpad softly, stepping after her. Henri snagged his elbow and tugged him back when electricity began to arc towards Megavolt, gathering around her in crackling ribbons and clawing at the concrete ground around her. "You're not really Megavolt, and the others aren't really Liquidator, or Bushroot! Or Quackerjack, technically. You're a gamer, Izzabell, you call yourself 'Izzavolts'!"

Megavolt twitched, and clutched her head with both hands, her eyes blown wide. "No! I'm Megavolt! Mega -volt! I'm Darkwing Duck's biggest nemesis!"

"You're not!" Henri cried.

"On both accounts," Launchpad muttered.

"We had to jog your memories! Help you remember who you are!"

Megavolt's eyes darted in every direction at once, and she spun around, staring down at her gloved hands. She twisted and grabbed at the battery pack on her back, ripping it off and staring at it. When the straps snapped, a bolt of energy struck her, haloing the lizard as she stared down at her reflection in the battery's shiny surface.

She was wearing the blue goggles, the yellow jumpsuit, and she even had the big zipper and the boots! And with energy surrounding her, she glowed like a light bulb.

Slowly, she smiled, and glanced at the others over her shoulder.

"Alright, you've convinced me."

Launchpad and Henri blinked, and grinned. "We did?"

"Sure!" Megavolt spun around and shrugged at them, holding her battery pack by the ripped strap. "You've convinced me - that you're in cahoots with Darkwing!"

Megavolt threw the battery over her shoulder and then thrust her hands towards the duo, shooting a blast of energy at them. Henri gasped and Launchpad scooped her up, lunging out of the way. He staggered and sprinted for the gap between two buildings, ducking around the corner.

"What is wrong with her?!" Henri cried, tucked securely under Launchpad's arm. "We're just here to help!"

"Well," Launchpad shrugged, and glanced around the corner, "Megavolt never was the brightest bulb in the box!"

Cackling like static filled the air, and the two spun around as Megavolt appeared behind them in another crack of lightning. "I'll show you 'bright'!"

Again, energy began to gather in a big, sizzling ball above her head between her raised hands, and Megavolt cackled. Launchpad pivoted and sprinted for the mouth of the alley, throwing himself forward as Megavolt fired at them. They hit the ground roughly, Henri being tossed from his grip and bouncing away.

The chick groaned and pushed herself up, blinking the stars from her eyes. Megavolt sauntered past her, heading for where Launchpad laid, unmoving.

"Launchpad!" Henri cried, and dug into her pockets. She pulled out two shiny cans and shook them. "Hey, Megavolt!" As the lizard turned to her, Henri hurled each can at her head. Megavolt sidestepped one - and caught her own reflection in the shiny metal. Her blue goggles, green scales, and spines stared back at her, and for a second a rat's face flashed in its place, with twisted whiskers and wiggling ears. The can sailed past and clattered to the ground. Megavolt stared at it. As she turned back to the others, the second can hit her goggles and erupted in a spray of pink paint, covering the glass.

"Gah!" Megavolt shrieked, stumbling backwards and scrubbing at the paint. All she did was smear it more, and the lizard growled and yanked her goggles off. "No fair!"

Scrambling to her feet, Henri darted for Launchpad, but paused with a yelp when Megavolt fired at her again, blocking her path. "What did you do to him?!" Henri cried, waving both arms at her friend. "You might have hurt him!"

Megavolt, her snaggletooth bared with a snarl, paused, and glanced at Launchpad.

Henri hissed at her as she darted for Launchpad. "We just came here to help you! To help you remember - and you attack us! A bunch of helpless civilians! You're not a supervillain, you're just a bully!"

Megavolt blinked at the furious chick, stunned, and her gaze shifted to Launchpad. Something in her chest tightened when Henri grabbed his leather jacket, trying to shake his massive shoulders to wake him up.

"I…" Megavolt staggered a step in their direction, "I'm not - I'm not!"

"STAY BACK!" Henri shrieked, spinning around and aiming another can at the lizard. "STAY AWAY FROM US, MEGAVOLT!"

Megavolt gasped again, staggering backwards. Henri's voice, shrieking "Volt," echoed in her mind, like there was nothing in there at all. Slowly, the echo grew louder, as if a thousand voices were cheering for her all at once. Megavolt frowned, and turned around. The power plant was gone, replaced with a dark stadium filled with fans, the cracking energy became camera flashes and recording cell phones.

"Ladies and gentleman!" A voice boomed, and the lizard flinched, her hands raising. In them, suddenly, was a game controller that said "Whiffle Boy" on it. The controller was yanked free and a massive, golden trophy shaped like a lightning bolt was shoved in its place. "I give you your national Whiffle Boy Champion!"

The audience surrounding her exploded into cheers, chanting "Volts! Volts! Volts!" Megavolt, staring ahead into an empty space, a blur of cheers and praise, felt her eyes mist up.

"You're right," she muttered, her shoulders sagging. Henri, still tugging on Launchpad, turned to glare at her. Megavolt's face lit up, and she laughed, turning back to Henri with a wide sweep of her arms. "I'm not Megavolt! I'm me - Izzabell Scaleson - Izzavolts! And I'm no bully either!"

Henri, watching her skeptically, squeaked when Izzavolts appeared beside her in a flash, quickly dropping in a kneel and pressing her hands against Launchpad's chest. She leaned forward, listening to his bill.

"He's still breathing!" she chirped, her tail flicking behind her. "Okay, kid, stand back!"

Henri ducked when Izzavolts tore her rubber gloves off and tossed them aside, rubbing her palms together and gathering energy under them. "Wait, wait - have you ever done this before?"

"Nope!" Izzavolts cried, a wide grin on her face as she threw her hands upwards above her head. They cracked and sparked, and she splat them against Launchpad's chest. His back arched off the concrete and he gasped, his eyes flying open.

"Gah - gah!" the pelican coughed, rolling over and gripping his chest. Izzavolts watched as Henri circled Launchpad quickly, kneeling by his head and gripping his slightly charred cheeks with her hands. She shrieked into his face.

"Launchpad! Launchpad - can you hear me?!"

"Not if you keep that up," Launchpad muttered, gently pushing Henri away and sitting up with a small groan. He looked at his hands, which tingled slightly, and then noticed the lizard kneeling next to him.

"'Sup," she waved with a sympathetic grin, and Launchpad gasped.

"Get back, you fiend!" Launchpad cried, sweeping his arm backwards and nearly bowling Henri off her feet. "Or I'll - I'll…" searching his pockets, Launchpad pulled a plastic box out of it, and waved it in Izzavolts's direction, "I'll throw my 'Darkwing Duck Remastered Theme Song Mixtape' at you!"

"Your what?" the lizard blinked at him.

"Launchpad -" Henri choked from behind Launchpad's elbow, crawling and climbing her way over his arm, "she saved your life! She remembers!"

"Huh? You do?"

"Heeeey," she said slowly, combing over her mohawk, "sorry about the whole attacking-you-and-your-friends thing! I was set up, if that counts for anything. That scrawny little Beaks punk - and Steelbeak! They convinced us we were supervillains! We didn't know any better! … I didn't know any better."

As he watched the lizard wilt, her shoulders slumping, Launchpad felt himself smile. "Eh, don't worry about it. I threw a water glass at your head, so I guess we're even!" Izzavolts snorted at him, and Launchpad reached forward and offered his hand. "Launchpad McQuack, Darkwing Duck's sidekick! And this -" he pointed over his shoulder to Henri, who waved happily, "is Henri, my sidekick-in-training!"

"I painted you!" Henri chirped happily, raising her paint cans and kicking herself further over Launchpad's bicep. Izzavolts laughed at her, and rose to her feet.

"Yeah, you sure did! Thanks for that, by the way, you really got my good side!" Izzavolts swung her hips and struck a pose, flashing two V-shaped peace signs with her fingers. Henri giggled and was scooped up by Launchpad as he also stood, a little stiffly.

"We did it!" Henri cheered from Launchpad's arms. "Mission Accomplished!"

"Yeah!" Launchpad cheered as well, and Izzavolts laughed - she stopped when every scale on her body stood on end in a ripple from her tail to head, and a shiver ran up her spine. Her mohawk stood erect, and Izzavolts spun around, eyes scanning the city.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, and then gasped and pointed upwards. "LOOK!"

Among the city's skyline the trio could see the top of Canard Tower, from which a massive red wave of energy erupted, spreading across the sky.

"What was that?" Henri asked, clutching Launchpad's t-shirt.

Izzavolts snarled, her shoulders rising and her eyes sparking. "Steelbeak."

"Let's go!" Launchpad said, hurrying back towards the car. Izzavolts, however, turned and looked at the power plant around them. "Izzavolts, you coming?"

"Sure," the lizard flashed them a grin, "but I got a little business to take care of first." Again, Izzavolts began to drag electric arcs towards herself, which zapped and seeped into her scales, making her glow from the inside. Slowly, she lifted off the ground and began to hum, filled more and more with energy.

CRACK!

In another lightning flash, Izzavolts had changed, shedding her jumpsuit and boots. Instead, she wore a pair of custom sweats, black with lightning bolts on them, and from her pocket she drew a pair of red, cat-eye glasses. Henri's eyes dazzled as the lizard placed the glasses to where they belonged, flashed another peace sign, and turned to the power plant.

In a flash, she was gone, zapping towards the plant with a deafening crack . Launchpad and Henri flinched, their hair and feathers caught up in the gust of wind, and watched as the power plant rippled with energy, cracking with lighting, and slowly began to hum and grind itself back to life. The massive water wheels jittered, clanking as they heaved forward, sludge and debris being rolled and dumped out of the way.

Their eyes wide, the duo turned back to St. Canard, watching in awe as - one by one at first, and then in larger and larger groups - the buildings began to come back to life. All around the city, shop lights, traffic lights, and street lights flickered on. Huge grins were splitting their faces, and the two swapped a look of amazement, flinching slightly when Izzavolts returned in another flash.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever met," Henri gasped, and Izzavolts snorted at her.

"Thanks, kid." She turned and looked skyward again, her eyes narrowing. She felt a buzz in her mohawk again, and a grin tugged at her lips. "You two go on and get outta here. I got my own ride!"

With a flash, she transformed into a streak of lighting, which stretched upwards to some power lines and then jumped and darted through the air, climbing and zipping upwards.

Launchpad and Henri turned and ran back to the car, climbing in, and - after the seat belts were buckled - Launchpad yanked on the stick shift and stomped on the gas. Henri threw her arms up and cheered as they swung around and raced off towards Canard Tower.

High over their heads, an anxious duck in a big metal suit drew big, soaring circles in the air. The visor reflected a red light onto his face as the alert of yet another failed scan appeared.

"Gah," Fenton grumbled, clearing the alert away. He came to a stop, the jet-engines on this back hovering him in place, and sorted through his built-in computer systems. "My scanners are used to the wide open spaces of Duckburg, not this skyscraper maze!"

Looking around, Fenton frowned in thought, yelping when the computer began to blare an alarm at him.

"ENERGY SURGE DETECTED," the computer said, the voice oddly calm considering the amount of flashing lights and loud alerts that were blaring. Fenton cleared the notifications out as quickly as he could, and when they directed him to, he looked up. The top of Canard Tower was above him, and from the roof bloomed an eruption of red magic, the wave streaking and dissolving across the sky. Only after the wave vanished did the shock wave come. It rushed downward towards Fenton, shattering the glass windows on the way, and slammed into him before he could dodge. The computer erupted into static and sirens, and as Fenton spiraled through the air, the entire suit lost power and flickered into darkness.

"WHOA!" he cried, feeling the air rush past his feathers as the weight of the suit pulled him in every direction at once. "COMPUTER! Computer, reboot! Computer! Mayday - MAYDAY! Can anyone hear me?!" Pink and darkness and pink and darkness and pink flashed before him in thin peaks of light past the dead visor and helmet. "DARKWING!"

Suddenly, Fenton felt a buzz over his skin, and in the next second he was jerked to a stop as the thrusters on his back thundered back to life.

"Gotchya!"

"What - who-?!"

His visor turned on then, flickering with static, the red and blue overtaken with a bright yellow. A graphic of a mohawked lizard with cat-eye glasses and snaggletooth appeared, winking at him.

"What's up gamers, thizza-izza-Izzavolts," cheered Volts into Fenton's helmet, "and I'll be taking control this evening!"

Fenton's eyes popped open, flickering around as the on-board computer regained control, Izzavolt's icon minimizing to the corner as the computer flashed readings and alerts at him. "Wait, Megavolt? Do you - are you -?"

"Previously known as 'Megavolt', but now I'm back, baby! Back, and ready to fry some tail!"

Laughing, Fenton threw his head back. He scanned the alerts again, running diagnostics as the suit rebooted. "Computer is online, all systems operational, power is at - wait a minute, you charged my suit!"

"Kid," Volts laughed, "I super-charged your suit! Now come on, Giz, we've got a city to save!"

Fenton laughed again. "Yes, we certainly do! Engaging thrusters! Power is at 242% capacity and climbing! Mega - I mean, Izzavolts, let's jet!"

The suit bent forward, the engines powered up, and with a sonic BOOM that shattered the remaining windows, Gizmoduck rocketed upwards. The lizard inside his system laughed the whole way.

Illustration by yours truly!

Chapter 15: The Chapter With Way Too Many Characters In It

Chapter Text

Canard Tower was the tallest building on the whole coast. It was so tall, the top floor nearly touched the pink bubble that had formed around the city. The roof, currently, was quiet, still and empty - except for all the resurrected Knights that covered it in anxious groups. They chatted quietly, waiting, and turned expectantly when red, glowing sparks fizzled to life in the center of the dance floor. From the sparks grew spinning runes, massive spellwork that etched itself into the air with tails of fire, and then a massive wave of energy rushed outward, erupting over the roof's edge. The shock wave that followed nearly knocked the Knights off their feet, and cracked a few of the roof's glass walls down the middle. The Knights drew nearer as the glow died down, revealing the forms of Steelbeak, Bushroot, their Knight posse, and Morgana.

Or rather, Quiverwing.

Screaming, the dame collapsed to the roof on her hands and knees, the staff clattering out of her grip as she reached up to yank at her striped, messy hair. The Knights gasped and stepped backwards, and Bushroot slunk sheepishly to the edge of the group.

"Stop that!" barked Steelbeak, kicking Quiverwing onto her side. He snatched up the staff, ripped her hands out of her hair, and connected two items, curling Quiverwing's gloves around the golden scepter. Curls flew free from the bobby pins, hanging in her face.

"No -!" Quiverwing tugged on her arms and peeled one eye open just a crack to glare at him, but Steelbeak just laughed and yanked her off balance.

"There's no use fighting it, baby," he purred. "One way or another, you'll be my partner!"

"Oooo," sang the irritating voice of Portia Featherly as she sauntered forward across the roof, a glint in her eye. "Don't let me catch you saying that on camera!"

"Too late," giggled Mark from her side, his cell phone raised and aimed at the rooster, "I already did."

"You two!" Steelbeak snapped, tossing Quiverwing aside and stomping towards his fellow Knights. His big arms swung in throws and punches, and Mark ducked behind Portia. "Idiots! Imbeciles! How hard is it to catch two measly ducks WHEN ONE OF THEM IS ALREADY IN CUSTODY?!"

The force of the roar nearly knocked them backwards, blowing Portia's green-painted hair into Mark's face. Spitting, he waved it away and Portia glared up at Steelbeak.

"Listen here, kid!" she hissed at him, poking the much taller rooster in the chest. "You may think you're something special because of your ‘connection’ to that witch, but I was running this city before you even knew the Knights existed!"

Steelbeak growled at her, and then, suddenly, the sneer vanished. He stood, stepped away, and bowed his head to her. "Of course, you are a veteran around here."

Portia nodded at him in approval, her arms crossing.

"Which is probably why," Steelbeak sneered, and looked up slowly, "the Knights are in the condition they are!"

Portia gawked at him, stomping into his face. "It wasn't my fault that that maniac got me and my partner killed!"

"It was your idiot partner that let 'that maniac' run around in the first place instead of keeping him locked up!"

Mark appeared suddenly, jumping up squirming his way between the two, pushing them apart. "Beaky, chill-ax! We have got this totally under control!" Growling, Steelbeak threw the macaw away from him, and Mark stumbled to Portia's side. "What, you don't believe us?"

"Why…" Steelbeak growled, rubbing at the scar on his forehead as his other hand flexed, "would I?"

"Because, we're a three sided conglomeration! You, Beaky, have been dealing with Drake for a heck of a long time! And Portia here has been dealing with the ugly, angry one!"

"Diver," Portia grumbled, and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Anyway, there's me, obviously, and I'm like the glue holding us all together! The businessman! I crush the competition! The competition, in this case, being Darkwing and Pals -"

"GET ON WITH IT!" Steelbeak roared. Portia and Mark swapped a look, and a grin, wide and twisted, spread across their faces.

Behind Steelbeak, Quiverwing groaned, and pushed herself up onto her heels. Her arms trembled as they steadied her, and her face was twisted into sweaty creases, even under the black mask.

"If you're … done comparing sizes," she growled through clenched teeth, glaring at the trio with eyes that mixed green and blood-orange, like oil and water, "I'd… like to go home now… Got the rest of my spring break to enjoy!"

"What's wrong, Gossy?" Portia laughed, striding closer to the shaking dame with a pouting look on her face. "Not feeling much like yourself?"

"Screw you!" Quiverwing spat, teeth baring. "Screw all of you! And especially -" she grabbed her striped bangs and yanked on them, "you, you witch -!"

"Gosalyn?"

The new voice stopped her in her tracks.

Quiverwing's eyes flew open, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned and stared at the Knights with wide eyes. Mark and Portia swept aside, and behind them, clutching his hands together nervously, was an old duck with frizzy, gray hair, and a wrinkled lab coat. He blinked nervously up at the Knights, and then, seeing Quiverwing, he gasped, eyes growing wide behind his round glasses.

Trembling, the duck inched closer. "Gosalyn?"

Quiverwing stared at him and her heart stopped.

"Grandpa?"

Steelbeak stared at the old duck as he rushed to Quiverwing, kneeling nervously before her, his hands hovering in the air. She stared back.

"Are you … real?" the dame breathed, and Waddlemeyer snorted. He reached forward, and rested a small hand on her shoulder, then caressed her cheek. He moved gently, as if touching her too hard would break the illusion.

"I was about to ask you the same thing!"

"Doctor Waddle-something," Mark said, circling his hand in the air. "The missing piece!"

"Waddlemeyer!" Porita hissed, motioned to the old duck. "Doctor Thaddeus Waddlemeyer! You named these stupid things -" she pointed to her WaddleMaker, "after him!"

Steelbeak shook his head and spun around to hiss at them both. "What is he doing here?!"

Portia sighed, and swept her hair behind her shoulder. "We knew that the Mallards would do anything for one of their own. So, we used their biggest strength against them. After all, I've been doing it for a decade now!"

"You want Morticia back," Mark grinned, glancing up from his phone screen, "we just gave you the perfect leverage."

"Morgana," Portia grumbled, and Mark rolled his eyes at her.

"Do you enjoy doing that or something?"

Portia grinned widely at him. "Actually, yes!"

"’Morgana’?" Waddlemeyer repeated, and then gasped and turned back to Quiverwing quickly. Adjusting his glasses, he could see the warbling runes and spellwork that surrounded her, sinking into the dame's skin. The staff nearby glowed with the same magic, sputtering unhappily having been separated from its host. Waddlemeyer turned to the Knights, his hands curling into fists. "You get that witch out of my granddaughter - or I will!"

The trio blinked at him, flinching when a gust of wind surrounded them from above.

"Make that - us!" Gizmoduck boomed, the emblem in his suit glowing an electric yellow.

"You!" Steelbeak snarled, and Mark rushed past him suddenly with a squeal, waving his cell phone above his head and jumping into the air.

"Gizmoduck! Gizmoduck! Take a selfie with me - I'm a huge fan!"

Portia, staring up at the metal duck, frowned with disgust and motioned at him. "Who the heck is that?!"

Suddenly, Quiverwing screeched, and Gizmoduck turned to her quickly as Waddlemeyer pulled the dame into his short arms. "Gosalyn! Release Miss Mallard," Gizmoduck ordered, lowering himself between the Knights and the Waddlemeyers, his giant fists raised, "and I might go easy on you!"

"Giz - !" Quiverwing choked, her head flying back as her back arched.

"Get her out of here, Giz!" Izzavolts said, and appeared before the duck in a crash of lightning, relishing on how it made the Knights flinch. "I'll handle these noobs!"

"Megavolt?!" Steelbeak screeched, and again Portia threw her arms towards the glowing lizard.

"Oh great, there's more!"

Ignoring her, Izzavolts snarled, her hands raised at her sides. Around her, the stage lights began to flicker and flash, the speakers began to buzz and screech with feedback, and the lights hanging around the roof's edge flashed in sporadic patterns. The energy siphoned into Izzavolts, and she began to glow. "It's 'Izzavolts' now, Steelbeak! You want me to burn it into your memory like you burned it out of mine?!"

Steelbeak stared at her, dumb founded. Reaching out, he snatched Mark off his feet by his hood, and lifted the scrawny macaw to his eye level. "I TOLD YOU THEY WERE DEFECTIVE!"

Mark blinked at him, looked back at Izzavolts, and shrugged. "So, I didn't nail my first supervillain creation, so sue me!"

"Oh, I'll do you one better!" Spinning, Steelbeak threw Mark through the air and towards Izzavolts.

"Hey, no fair throwing nerds -!" the lizard grunted when Mark collided with her, sending them both tumbling and rolling across the roof and crashing into a table and chairs.

Gizmoduck, from where he knelt by Quiverwing, turned, and shot back upwards. "Volts!"

"Giz, help her -!" Quiverwing choked, straining and shaking as she heaved herself off the floor.

"Please," Waddlemeyer turned to Gizmoduck, "is there anything you can do?"

"I -!" Gizmoduck pointed to the Knights, "I need to -!"

"She's my granddaughter!" Waddlemeyer snapped, rising to his feet. "I don't care about them!"

"Wait," Gizmoduck recoiled slightly, staring at the duck before him, "then that makes you -!"

Quiverwing collapsed again, panting for breath.

"I'm Gosalyn's grandfather," Waddlemeyer muttered, kneeling by her again. "And I'm about to lose her to Morgana!"

"Oh!" Gizmoduck chirped, and knelt beside them, "I wouldn't worry about that! Sir, your granddaughter has already beaten Morgana once before! She's a hero!"

Waddlemeyer stared up at him, his bushy eyebrows twisting. "What?"

"It's true! Her whole family is! They've beaten the Knights before and saved the city while doing it! From your Rift, in fact! Gosalyn is one of the strongest people I've ever known!"

Waddlemeyer couldn't believe it, and his gaze slid back to the dame before him. She, straining, offered them a tight smile and a thumbs up - before she collapsed to the roof again.

Gizmoduck cringed, and engaged his scanners. "But, what are friends if not helpful..."

"I'm no good to her," Waddlemeyer shook his head, "not without my research! I can't -!"

Gizmoduck's alarms blared a second before Steelbeak collided with him from behind, bowling the metal duck over.

"No!" Waddlemeyer squawked, and grunted when Portia appeared, raising one high-heel and kicking it against his chest. The old duck wheezed when the wind was knocked out of him, and he tumbled backwards. Portia stalked after him, her hips swinging.

"Grandpa -!" Quiverwing grunted, and Waddlemeyer pushed himself up with a groan, only for Portia to appear and kick him in the face. His glasses shattered and he spun, the duck stomping one heel into the back of his hand. It shattered.

"GAH!"

"NO!"

"You hear that, Gosalyn?!" Portia shrieked, a mad look in her eyes. She ground her heel into the hand further, grinding the broken bones. "That's the sound of dear Grandpappy suffering!"

Quiverwing glared at her through narrow slits in her black mask, her teeth gnashing. She flopped sideways and began to crawl, straining and hauling herself closer, one hand over the other. “Please…!”

Portia cackled. "That's right, twerp, grovel! I know you'll do anything to keep him around, it runs in the family! But, I’m not heartless. I’ll let him go, make sure he gets to stick around. All I'm asking for is one tiny little favor."

Quierwing's eyes popped open, and she turned, staring at the gnarled, golden staff behind her. "No - no!" she cried and shook her head, again clawing at her red hair. "I won't!"

"That's up to you!" Portia replied, and Waddlemeyer whimpered and cried when the heel broke his skin. "I've always wanted red heels!"

"Gosalyn -" the old duck choked, "don't! You can't! Morgana is too dangerous!"

Quiverwing watched blood begin to pool under her grandpa's mangled hand, and looked towards Gizmoduck.

"Gosalyn!" he cried, managing to throw Steelbeak off. Another Knight, however, appeared, and tackled the metal duck sideways, bowling him over with their supernatural strength. Another appeared and did the same, and soon Knights had swarmed the metal duck, clawing at his armor and trying to pull it apart at the seams. Gizmoduck cried in panic as the metal joints began to creak. Against civilians, he wasn’t much good. And against super-powered ones, he was even less.

A crack of lightning erupted from the edge of the roof, and Izzavolts appeared, knocking her mohawk back out of her face. She charged at Steelbeak, zapping towards him and knocking him backwards. He stumbled but more Knights swarmed the lizard suddenly, and she hissed at them, her tail slashing. "Stay back, or I'll fry you! I swear I will!"

Waddlemeyer whimpered again, and Quiverwing ground her teeth together and pushed herself up with shaking arms. They faltered, and she crashed back down, Morgana's cackling screaming filling her head and constricting her muscles. Then, through hazy vision that rippled like a fire, she spotted it:

Her Bō.

Quiverwing nearly laughed, and she heaved closer and reached for the device, hauling herself across the smooth dance floor, grunting with the effort.

Steelbeak, pushing himself up, turned to her.

Gizmoduck, his vision flooded with alerts and alarms, searched through his scanners to see her.

Portia watched her, and Waddlemeyer felt tears slide down his cheeks.

"G-Gosalyn!"

Quiverwing strained, and reached, and clawed, and soon the Bō was under her palm. She grabbed it, and felt a rush of energy spread through her.

It was like the weight of the world had slid off, and Quiverwing pulled the Bō under her, using it to lift herself, hand over hand, to her wobbling, unsteady legs.

Waddlemeyer and Portia stared at her, and Quiverwing grinned.

Steelbeak staggered forward, and she turned to him.

"Morgana," he breathed, his whole form deflating, "welcome back!"

Quiverwing frowned at him - suddenly, the ground gave out under her and she shrieked, tumbling backwards, out of her own skin, and into a black, inky void. A flash of blood-orange eyes passed her as she fell, screaming, the sound of it drowned out by the maniacal laughing that had been haunting her ever since the movie set. The tails of the ooze that had crawled under her skin waved at Quiverwing as she fell, and then they wrapped around her, suffocating her, lashing her into a sea of squirming, thrashing blackness.

Quiverwing caught a fleeting glance of her gloved hands before the tails absorbed her head, in which she clutched the Bō.

The mirage sizzled away, and she saw the staff for what it was.

Gnarled, and golden.

"NOO!" the dame shrieked, but her cries went unheard as Morgana threw her head back and laughed. The magic circling her sunk into her skin, causing the ink spread around it to bubble, expanding, wrapping around Morgana's hands in undulating, wiggling blobs, and she combed them through her hair. It dyed black and stood upright, the white streaks in it blazing a trail towards the pink dome over their heads. Morgana lifted the staff and her eyes turned to the gemstone, which she admired. The gemstone glinted in the light of the pink dome above their heads, reflecting a distorted image of her tan feathers and black mask -

Pausing, the witch looked at her hands, and her arms. Yanking back the edge of one glove revealed a white watch on her wrist, and veins pulsing with magic crept up her arm, but they were dim, half dead.

The feathers that they crept over were tan.

"ROCKY!" Morgana shrieked, and Steelbeak rushed to her.

"Morg, baby!" he cried, his arms outstretched, but as soon as he was close enough, Morgana raised one hand and slapped him across the face. He reeled back, stunned, blinking up at her like a kicked puppy.

"MIND EXPLAINING TO ME WHY I LOOK LIKE THIS?!" she swung her arms to herself, which still looked very much like Quiverwing, eyes flaring with magic. Steelbeak blinked at her.

"I'm not sure!" he stammered, and then snarled and spun around to where he'd flung Mark at Megavolt - Izzavolts, whatever. "BEAKS!" The giant rooster stomped in that direction, and peaked over the toppled table. Mark was slumped up against it, watching a video on loop of a kitten wearing a cowboy hat and saying, "Meowdy!" Every time the video replayed, he giggled.

Every. Single. Time.

Roaring, Steelbeak grabbed the table and hurled it aside, and Mark fell backwards, staring up at him.

"Oh hey," he said, and looked around, his big yellow eyes blinking owlishly. "Did we win?"

Steelbeak, steam shooting out of his ears, snatched the macaw by the scruff his hoodie and pointed him towards Morgana, who scowled at them both. "WHY HASN'T SHE TRANSFORMED YET?!"

"Huh," the macaw muttered, and returned to typing on his phone. "That's weird. I didn't block her WaddleMaker from getting the update, she should have changed… Wait - what?!" Mark spun around in Steelbeak's clutches, jamming his phone into the rooster's face. "It's been hacked! By someone at Waddle!"

"Who?! No one was supposed to know about this!"

"That's just what you get -" cried Honker Muddlefoot, emerging triumphantly from the emergency exit at the far side of the roof and holding his laptop aloft, "when you don't pay your interns!"

Behind Honker gathered Scrooge, Max, and Chickpea, fanning out behind him on either side. They looked eager and ready for a fight.

Except Max. He mostly looked winded.

“Seriously,” the pup panted, leaning over his knees, “so… many… stairs!”

"YOU!" The various Knights all around the roof spun around and screeched at the intruders, but Mark just frowned.

"I have an intern?"

"Mr. McDuck!" cried Gizmoduck, still straining under the dogpile on top of him, "Morgana has - Gosalyn!"

"SURE DO!" Morgana cackled, and with a flick of her wrist and a wave of the staff, glowing spellwork appeared around the gemstone. She stroked it fondly. "AND JUST WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT, OLD MAN?"

Scrooge grinned, his fuzzy cheeks shining. He tugged on his top hat and planted his cane firmly against the roof. "This time, lassy, we brought a lil' taste of yer own medicine!"

On cue, the roof below their feet began to tremble. Gasping, the Knights looked around, muttering to themselves. Far, far behind them, on the opposite end of the roof, a mostly destroyed drink bar that had been haphazardly repaired and restocked began to rattle. A few of the glass bottles - the non-alcoholic ones - shook, the liquids inside bubbled and boiled, and then one by one, the different containers busted, shattering to pieces. The liquids pooled onto the floor and seeped between the floorboards, which shook and rocked more and more -

POP! POP POP POP!

From below the floorboards, pipes began to erupt upward, poking through the wood and gushing water onto the roof. The water streamed out and wooshed upwards into a massive, churning pillar that towered above the Knights.

"Surf's up!" Riptide bellowed as his excited expression emerged and he raised his watery fists. He was taking a generous drink of the Tower’s plumbing, plenty of freshwater to help balance out the green saltwater he'd absorbed from the Bay. He towered higher and higher, grinning down at the Knights, the heroes tucked safely behind him. "Looks like the tide has come in!"

"Liquidator?!" Steelbeak and Mark gawked, flinching when laughter, hysterical, joyous laughter, filled the air, along with a faint jingle of bells.

The groups of Knights huddled together as the laughter grew louder and louder, and an orange and blue blur zipped through the air and somersaulted over Riptide's shoulder. Plastic jacks and bouncing balls spewed out of the blur, sticking to the Knights and popping in noisy explosions, the balls bouncing around and pelting them all. One hit a Knight between the eyes and sent them stumbling off of Gizmoduck, who ignited his jet-engines and burst out of the group, soaring upwards to freedom.

Quackerjack landed on the roof on top of a massive, striped and polka-dot balance-ball, balancing on top of it on one foot, his other co*cked high behind him. From his pocket he drew a piece of round, pink bubblegum, and a paddleboard the size of a ping-pong table.

"Hey Knights - catch!"

With a tongue-out wink, he tossed the gum up and whacked it with the paddle, and the gum sailed towards Steelbeak and Mark, impossibly expanding in size as it did. It collided with them both, swallowing them completely, and then bounced and rolled towards Morgana, swallowing her and snatching Portia off of Waddlemeyer. The four bounced around within its pink belly, tossing and tumbling into each other.

Quackerjack dropped down onto his tail and bounced off the large ball under him, and tumbled deftly to his feet. Stooping at the waist, he bowed low with a flashing grin and swooped his arm towards the massive pink bubble.

"Oh, Bubbles? How's about taking our friends here on a spin cycle to help them clean up their act!"

"Cowabunga!" Riptide laughed, soaring over Quackerjack's head with the smack of his strong tail against the roof, and churned and rushed towards the bubble, scooping it up in a whirlpool and spinning it in revolving, tossing circles. Water flooded the rest of the roof, the remaining Knights being swept off their feet in the current.

Near the edge of the madness, Izzavolts spun around, watching as the Knights surrounding her were carried away by the flood, which kept a sensible distance away from her. She cheered loudly, Gizmoduck catching her eye. She grinned, and her outstretched hands began to crackle with electricity. "Hey Giz - your turn!"

She shot off like a rocket and leaped back into the suit, the emblem switching from red to yellow as she recharged it. Gizmoduck turned and hovered in the air, his gauntlets shooting out on extended arms and gripping onto the pink bubble's surface.

"Let them up, Izzavolts!" the duck shouted, and a crackling finger of energy shot out from the suit and speared into the bubble. The occupants inside rattled and buzzed at the shock, their hair and feathers standing on end. The bubble popped, flinging the Knights in every direction as Riptide retreated, exposing plenty of dry, hard roof for them to land on. They did so with grunts and groans, scattered among the soggy Knights, pink, sticky gum covering them. Izzavolts zapped out of the suit and to Quackerjack's side.

"Volts!" he cheered, throwing his arms outward. She jumped into them, hugging tightly.

"QJ! You're okay!" She yanked back and looked him over, tail curling unhappily at the many tears and scuffs in his suit. “Well, mostly…”

“Think nothing of it,” Quackerjack laughed, gripping her shoulder with one hand and waving her concerns off with another. “The show must go on!” Izzavolts grinned and giggled, and behind Quackerjack, Riptide stood, grinning excitedly down at her. Izzavolt stepped away from the clown and swept her arms towards the otter. "Bubbles! You’re huge!”

"He's Riptide now!" Quackerjack chirped happily, bouncing aside and proudly presenting his fellow super.

"Look at you!" Riptide towered closer and motioned at the lizard with both hands. "You look great!"

"Izzavolts!" the lizard replied, presenting herself - and her new costume - to the others. When Gizmduck hovered behind her, shaking pink gum off his hands, she spun around to him. "This is Gizmoduck!"

Gizmoduck laughed a little, and waved awkwardly at the group. "Yeah, we've met."

"WOOHOO!" cheered Chickpea, appearing suddenly and throwing her arms around Quackerjack's shoulders. He barely managed to catch his balance under her weight, but laughed anyway, pushing them both upright. "That was incredible!"

"That was awesome!" Honker cheered, spinning around and taking a selfie with the group. Max and Scrooge were at his heels, and they stepped forward -

"Chickpea?!"

Chickpea spun around at the sound of yet another new voice so quickly she nearly knocked Quackerjack over - again. As the elevator doors behind them slid closed, Launchpad and Henri stepped quickly onto the roof. The gray-feathered chick was staring with wide eyes at her sister.

"Chickie!" Henri cried, clutching her hands into fists. "I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have thrown a temper tantrum, I shouldn’t have said those terrible things about you no longer being my sister, I should have just trusted you! This whole adventuring thing is so much scarier than I thought it would be, I -!" Henri gasped when Chickpea swooped in and scooped her up, spinning them both around and squeezing tightly.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" The hen cried, and Henri could feel tears on her neck. Chickpea stilled, squeezing Henri against her chest. "I'm the one who is sorry, Ri-ri, I'm the fool! I shouldn't have let you run off like that, I should have explained things! I should have - I should have done something!" Chickpea dropped the chick, keeping a tight grip on her shoulders and wiped away her own tears with her shoulder. Henri stared up at her, at the dark bags under her eyes, and at the others as they gathered close, and smiled.

"There was nothing you could have done," she shrugged. "Quackerjack wasn't going to let me come, and we needed his help!"

"And we got it!" Chickpea laughed, turning as Quackerjack stepped up next to her, waving shyly at Henri. "Well, after he led us to a trap, but then he led us out of it!"

Henri blinked back and forth between them, and then her face flushed red. "WHAT?!"

Chickpea shrugged and grinned innocently, giggling. "So, turns out you were right!"

Henri's rage melted, and she hugged Chickpea quickly around the neck. "We both were."

While Gizmoduck wiped away tears from under his helmet, Launchpad turned to see Scrooge staring up at him expectantly.

"Launchpad McQuack…" the old duck said slowly, arching one eyebrow. Launchpad stared down at him with wide eyes, looking around nervously, and then flung himself forward onto his knees. He clasped his hands together and held them under Scrooge's chin.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McD!" he wailed. "I didn't want to turn to a life of crime, but we had no choice! Don't blame Henri, it was my idea! Blame me!"

"Launchpad," Scrooge blinked at him, stepping backwards in shock, "what are ye on about?!"

"What are you on about?" Chickpea echoed, turning a stink-eye to Henri. With a nervous gulp, she swapped a glance with Launchpad, and they both slapped the most innocent grins they could across their faces and dashed side by side.

"Nooooothing!"

"Scrooge!" cried Waddlemeyer, staggering to the group and clutching his hand. Scrooge spun around and gawked at him.

"Thaddeus?! Yer alive?!"

"And so is my granddaughter," Waddlemeyer snapped, glaring at the supervillains around him, "assuming you haven't pummeled her too badly!"

"Wait - Doctor Waddlemeyer?" Chickpea gasped, stepping forward with stars in her eyes. Then, she chirped, pulled the messenger bag off her shoulder and thrusted it towards the old duck. "Oh! Here! These are yours!"

Waddlemeyer frowned down at the bundle, and flipped open the cover with his good hand. "My research?" He gasped, looking quickly at Scrooge. Then, his face flashed with anger, and he snatched the bag out of Chickpea's hands, clutching it tightly and turning away from her. "What are you doing with this?! I told you, Scrooge, to keep this safe and away from the Knights!"

Chickpea gasped hurtfully, and Scrooge stomped between them, his own face burning with anger. "And that's a vow I've kept, Thaddeus! Miss Featherlight here is one of the good ones! In fact, she's your granddaughter's best friend! I trust her completely, and you would too if you -!"

"I don't care whose friend she is!" Waddlemeyer snapped. "I was friends with these maniacs once too! This is no time for petty relationships when my granddaughter's life is on the line!"

Suddenly, a deafening crack boomed out over the roof, a shockwave of jagged, red magic hurtling the heroes off their feet, tearing Riptide into pieces and shattering Quackerjack's toys. Groaning, everyone pushed themselves up quickly and spun around, staring up at Morgana.

Quiverwing's body staggered to her feet, charming the pink gum off of her and the others. She extended one hand and the staff flew into her grip, coming alight with magic and spellwork that circled in the air around her.

"I AM MORGANA SWANSON," she roared, her eyes glowing with hot, angry magic. "I AM A WITCH OLDER THAN ANY OF YOU, AND I WAS HERE WHEN THIS DISGUSTING CITY WAS FIRST FOUNDED! I HAVE SEEN ITS LEADERS RISE AND FALL AND RISE AND FALL, AND I HAVE BEATEN DOWN EVERY SINGLE SELF-PROCLAIMED 'HERO' WHO HAS STOOD IN OUR WAY! AND I WILL DO THE SAME TO YOU, EVEN IF I HAVE TO TURN THE WHOLE CITY TO ASH TO DO IT!"

With another shriek, she waved the staff through the air, gathering magic and spellwork around it, and then sent that blast shooting through the air. It cracked into the roof, shattering a circle in the floor, and sunk into a number of Knights that surrounded them. They began to contort and scream, flopping around the roof in agony. They thrashed and shook, their bodies stretching and growing, legs, horns, tails, and spikes ripping from the flesh and spewing outward. They turned, gruesomely, into monsters.

The heroes gasped in shock at the carnage, backing into a tight circle.

"It's just like the bakery," Launchpad whimpered, instinctively tucking the others behind him. "It was Morgana's magic inside Gosalyn that did all that terrible stuff!"

Then, the cracks in the roof began to shake and rattle, floorboards uprooting themselves and flying towards the center of the roof. They piled up, tables, chairs, junk, and all kinds of items magnetized to the same spot, growing upwards in a towering, crooked throne. Even the giant metal frame that the stage lights hung on groaned and twisted under the pull.

"It's just like the Rift," Chickpea said, her ponytail whipping around. Beside her, Honker snatched his glasses before they were pulled off his face.

“I knew we’d see it again!” Gizmoduck growled, his engines igniting an extra boost as he hovered between the others and the Knights, and worked to resist the magical pull.

Morgana cackled, and with a wave of her staff she lifted upwards, off the stage, and towards her tower. Vines sprouted from among the floorboards and wrapped around the structure, holding it together. At the same time, vines erupted from the floor and shot upwards, building a tall, thick wall between the heroes and the rest of the roof, separating them.

"Bushroot!" The group cried, and Gizmoduck rocketed towards Morgana - he grunted when vines lashed out and grabbed him, throwing the duck onto the roof’s wooden floor with a crash, where he was cocooned and crushed under more sprouting foliage.

"Giz!" With a snarl, Izzavolts turned to the wall and buzzed through it - a vine lashed out and skewered her through her middle. The lizard grunted and gripped the vine, unable to remove it. Quackerjack snarled and dashed forward, but Chickpea snatched him suddenly.

“No!” she cried, and the gander turned to her in surprise. Her big, blue eyes stared at him in desperation, and he sobered, turning to the Knights and snarling.

From the edge of the roof, her ears and head hanging low, Bushroot crept forward. The heroes called for her, shouted her name, but she turned her pale eyes away from them and moved towards the Knight quad in the center of the roof instead.

"Good kitty!" Steelbeak purred from where he smoothed back his comb, and all she could do was toss him a small glare.

The Knight monsters, which were horrible amalgamations of their previous and current bodies, crawled, slithered, and slunk to Morgana's throne, crowding around it. Their teeth gnashed and their claws tore into the roof, spitting out clots of bloody saliva.

Her army at her feet, Morgana dropped onto her throne with a content sigh, lounging onto it with her staff standing at her right hand. Her eyes gleamed and the witch grinned down at the trapped heroes.

"NOW, WHERE WAS I? OH YES! THINNING THE HERD!"

Morgana waved her staff through the air, propelling darts of magic towards the group. They flinched and ducked, and Chickpea and Honker's WaddleMakers - the only two who wore them - began to glow. The witch purred in Steelbeak's direction, and motioned elegantly to the WaddleMaker on Quiverwing' wrist. "HOW CONSIDERATE OF YOU TO WRAP UP MY VICTIMS IN THESE FLASHY LITTLE PACKAGES! I SIMPLY ADORE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE!"

Mark's cheeks blushed, and he spun around on Steelbeak, stretching up on his toes to laugh in the rooster's face. "HAH!"

"Gosalyn!" Chickpea called out, yanking and tugging on her watch's strap, "you have to fight her! You've done it once before, you can do it again!"

Morgana blinked, and when her gaze landed on Chickpea, she snarled. Wiggling one finger in the hen's direction, Morgana etched spellwork into the air around Chickpea's WaddleMaker, and the device yanked the hen suddenly to the roof's surface, pinning her there.

"Chickpea!"

"I REMEMBER YOU! YOU'RE THAT ANNOYING PERSONAL ASSISTANT THAT KEPT GETTING BETWEEN ME AND GOSALYN!" Her eyes, black and blood-orange, darkened. "I HATE PERSONAL ASSISTANTS."

"Let her go -!" Honker cried, yelping when his own WaddleMaker pinned him down in the same manner.

"AND YOU," Morgana grumbled at him, "GOSALYN SURE CARES AN AWFUL LOT ABOUT."

Honker blinked, and his cheeks blushed bright pink. "She does?"

"Morgana -!" Waddlemeyer lunged forward, good hand reaching through the bared cage around him and for his granddaughter. "Gosalyn - please!"

For a second, when she recognized the old duck, Morgana's wild smile wavered. "Thaddeus," she breathed, sitting up. He met her gaze, eyes full of desperation.

"Morgana," Waddlemeyer shouted across the roof, stepping up to the wall of vines and gripping it with his good hand, "please! This isn't you! You were never - this! A -"

"A WHAT?" Morgana hissed, shooting to Quiverwing's feet. "A WITCH? YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT, THADDEUS!"

"No! A monster!"

Morgana blinked, staring at the old duck before her. His face screwed up, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. Steelbeak, Mark, and Portia turned to him, and the other Knights listened.

"This isn't what the Knights are about," Waddlemeyer shook his head. "We are about science! Innovation! Creation! This is - this is exactly why I left! I couldn't bear to raise my granddaughter in a world where the likes of you had the power to do whatever you wanted! And look at all you've done! This - this is madness!"

Steelbeak, Portia, Mark, and the others all turned to Morgana in unison. A few of them muttered softly, but they all turned to her.

Morgana felt their eyes on her and spun around. She turned back to Waddlemeyer, and old man who was once one of them.

Maybe, even, a friend.

The witch snarled. "THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT GOT YOU KILLED, YOU OLD FOOL! YOU WERE ALWAYS TOO - SENTIMENTAL! YOU NEVER HAD VISION! IT WAS COWARDS LIKE YOU THAT NEARLY LEAD THE KNIGHTS TO RUIN. BUT NOW I'M HERE TO SET THINGS RIGHT, NO MATTER HOW MANY EGGS I NEED TO BREAK!" Morgana screamed and slashed the staff through the air. Circles of spellwork scripted out in the air around the staff, the same runes materializing around Chickpea and Honker. While the others protested and cried out in panic, they began to glow, and in a flash a hole appeared below them, both victims falling through it. It vanished in a quick fistful of sparks, and then reappeared in a flash in the air before the witch. Honker and Chickpea fell from it, glowing circles of spellwork capturing them and holding them mid-air. She turned to them, her nose turned up in disgust. She snatching Chickpea's beak in her hand, squeezing it. "SUCH POTENTIAL WASTED ON THE WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY. WELL DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, MY DEARS, GOSALYN WILL REMEMBER ALL OF THIS!" She stepped back, swung the staff like it was a baseball bat, and Chickpea and Honker were flung through the air. Shrieking, they flew out over the glass walls the lined the roof and vanished over the edge.

They slipped out of sight, and were gone.

"HENRI!"

From where she stood, huddled up in her own arms, Bushroot gasped.

"CHICKPEA!" Henri shrieked, lunging after her sister and hurling herself against the vines, clawing at them. Launchpad scooped her up as she kicked and wailed.

Max punched and tore at the vines, as the other heroes struggled for freedom, and then glanced over his shoulder to Quackerjack. The gander's eyes were blown wide, staring in the direction Chickpea had vanished, his pupils dilated. "DO SOMETHING!" Max screamed at him, but he got no response.

Scrooge's own eyes were blown wide, and he squeezed between the vines and dashed for the edge of the roof, slamming into the glass walls. "NO!" he shrieked, beating his fists against the glass and pressing his bill against it, straining to see over the edge. "KIDS!"

He stared down after them, shaking.

"YOU WITCH!" Henri shrieked, flinging tears from her eyes as she thrashed and struggled in Launchpad's arms. Morgana, busy lowering herself from her throne and patting her monstrous army, shot the chick an annoyed glare. "YOU'RE A HEARTLESS MONSTER!"

"There's no use, lass," breathed Scrooge from the edge of the roof, still pressed against the glass. His head raising, he spun around, fire in his eyes. With his fist, he scrubbed his cheeks dry. "There's no point in trying to insult a witch. They donnae have a heart to hurt!"

Morgana laughed, and shrugged. "LISTEN TO YOUR ELDER, KID, HE'S NOT WRONG."

"And neither was Thaddeus!" Scrooge snapped, stomping forward with his shoulders hiked up, his fist curled around his cane. "This inna what the Knights are about! You deal with balance! Creation and destruction! Good… and evil."

"Eh," Mark shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Sounds kinda boring. Never would have joined if that was the mission statement!"

"You haven't fully joined yet!" Steelbeak snapped at him.

"And you're one to teach him, Rocky!" Scrooge hissed. "You better than anyone ought to know how things work! You yourself became this - this monstrosity, and they, this rag-tag family, has risen up to beat you! All things equal out. When a bad guy rises, a hero meets them! You've forgotten that!"

"We've made an army!" Steelbeak shot back, waving one arm through the air. "You can't hope to beat these numbers! And now, you’re down two!"

Scrooge growled at them, his bill curled in a snarl, flashing old, violent fangs. He huffed, his fists coiled, and then, he grinned.

"It's not a matter of numbers, lad. Though you know what they say…" He grinned. "Two is better than one."

POOF!

An enormous plume of purple smoke appeared in the center of the roof, flooding the wide open space and sweeping out over the Knights.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" a voice boomed, and the Knights all gasped, trying desperately to wave away the gas and clear the air. But it just kept coming.

"Yes - finally!" Portia cried, her eyes shining. Mark giggled and hopped up and down excitedly, both spinning around and searching the purple gas.

Steelbeak, his eyes narrowing, spun around and glared at Bushroot. All she could do was grin back.

"I am the perfectly timed entrance that never ceases to amaze! I …"

"Daddy!" Quiverwing cried suddenly, vaulting forward as if bucking under the invisible hands. She gasped and dug her hands into her chest, digging in to pull the witch out. "Daddy - please!"

No one, however, responded to her pleas.

Frowning at the resulting silence, Morgana looked up. Darkwing Duck stood over her. Wisps of smoke clung to the corners of his cape and the brim of his fedora. His eyes gleamed white down at her, narrowed in scrutiny.

Quiverwing stared back at him desperately.

Darkwing snarled.

"... Am not so easily fooled."

Morgana smiled, and threw herself at Darkwing, who leaped backwards and flipped out of her reach, off the throne and to the roof. Yelping, he dodged the monsters that lunged at him, bobbing and weaving his way to the edge of the herd. Morgana flew after him and swung the staff at him, and Darkwing ducked under it, slipping out of reach, and leaping up, swinging a fist at the witch.

"Darkwing!" a chorus of voices cheered when the blow landed and Morgana staggered backwards, falling to her hands and knees. The heroes cheered, and spun around when -

POOF!

- a second plume of smoke, red this time, appeared behind them, near the emergency exits. As the smoke cleared, Negaduck appeared, holding Honker by the elbows and trying to steady the taller canary.

"T-thanks," the canary coughed, offering Negaduck a shy grin. His lungs wheezed a little, and he rubbed his chest, catching sight of Negaduck's confused expression. "Childhood asthma," he shrugged a little, "I'll be fine."

Negaduck blinked at him, and then looked across the roof at Morgana quickly.

"Honker!" Launchpad cried, leading the stampede closer. Negaduck quickly handed the unsteady canary off to his friends and moved away from the group. Henri rushed at him, her eyes wide.

"Where's Chickpea?!"

He turned and looked over his shoulder as a third plume of smoke poofed up, purple this time, and the chick rushed it and began to wave it clear. She revealed Darkwing, who gripped Chickpea's hands and held her upright.

"Take it easy, Chickpea," he said gently, bright blue eyes scanning her as she trembled and her knees shook.

"Darkwing -!"

"Chickie!" Henri cried, throwing herself at her sister and wrapping around her waist. Darkwing steadied them both, and Chickpea laughed, voice more than a little shaky.

"I'm okay, Ri-ri! Thanks to my hero!" she grinned at Darkwing, and he smiled back. The others rushed forward then, and the masked mallard turned to them.

"Drake, you imbecile!" Scrooge barked, clutching his chest. "Yer gonna put me in my grave pullin' stunts like that!"

"Hang on!" Max stepped closer and waved his hands through the air. He motioned between the duck standing before him and the one currently dodging Morgana's clumsy punches. "There's two Darkwings?"

"There always has been!" Negaduck snapped at him, stomping up to Darkwing's elbow. He was in the middle of loading a new clip of gas pellets into the gas gun when the purple-clad mallard turned to him. "Darkwing," he snapped, and raised the gun, nodding towards Morgana. Darkwing looked between the two, and his eyes popped wide.

"Are you crazy?!"

"You got a better plan?" The other hissed. Darkwing looked between his brother and his daughter again. Negaduck stood there, waiting, and watching him with anticipation. His expression was reluctant but determined, and he fidgeted with the gun in his hands. Quiverwing, still in the clutches of Morgana, swung her glinting, golden staff around under her palm, teasing the white curls in her hair.

Darkwing snarled, and nodded, his gaze digging into Negaduck's. "Just… be careful."

Negaduck nodded as well, and spun around to dash into the purple smoke before it fully dissipated. When it cleared, he was gone.

Darkwing sighed, and pinched the bridge of his bill, turning back to the eager group. They were watching him with wide eyes, waiting in eager, hopeful anticipation.

They were waiting for a plan.

But all he wanted to do was send them all home and far, far away from the madness.

They, however, would never do that. And he knew it.

So, might as well use them.

"Scrooge!" Darkwing called first, pointing to the old duck and glad his voice didn't waver as much as he thought it would. "You've got to get out of here!"

Scrooge gawked at him. "What?! I may not be as young as I once was, lad, but I'm still -!"

"Smarter, tougher, slicker, that's great!" Darkwing shook his head and waved his hands through the air. "But you're also the only one here who has any experience with magical items! The Knights have a stash of them underground, and at least one of them has to be useful!"

Scrooge was stunned, and then rolled his eyes, his arms crossing in a huff. "Goodness me - of course they do! And here I thought this would be too easy!"

"You think this -" Max waved his arm towards the army of Knights and monsters, "is easy?!"

Scrooge pointed at him. "You donna want to be around here, you can come with me!"

"Fine by me!" The pup threw his hands into the air, and then swept them towards the emergency exits. "Lead the way!"

Darkwing shook his head and turned to Chickpea and Honker. "Chickpea, you need to -" Darkwing spotted a frizzy haired old duck standing next to the hen, and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes blew wide, and he felt his hands shake. "Doc-Doctor Waddlemeyer?"

"Um, hello," the duck looked the masked mallard up and down apprehensively, still clutching his books tightly. "Have we met?"

Darkwing just stared at him, and Launchpad stepped closer, gesturing between them. "This is Drake Mallard, also known as Darkwing Duck!"

"He adopted Gosalyn!" Honker added, beaming with pride.

"'Mallard'? 'Darkwing Duck'?" Waddlemeyer looked among the group, shaking his head. "Aren't you that - that actor? What are you doing with Gosalyn?"

"Trying to save her!" Chickpea snapped, stepping between the two. "He’s her dad!”

“Father?!”

“Yes, Thaddeus,” Scrooge grumbled, “believe it or not, there are other people around here who care for the lass!”

Chickpea ignored them, and turned back to Darkwing. “Darkwing, what's the plan?"

"R-right," Darkwing shook his head, unable to keep from looking at the old duck for too long. "You and …"

"I've got the Doctor's research!" Chickpea said, snatching the satchel from the old duck and holding it tightly. "He can help me find a reversal spell!"

"Help you?!" Waddlemeyer gasped, and Darkwing nodded.

"Yes - yes! Do that! Honker -"

The canary already had his laptop in his hands, holding it against his chest. "I’m already hacking into the WaddleMaker software as we speak so I can send out the reversal spell. I just need time!"

"You'll have it," Darkwing nodded, beginning to grin. Then, he frowned and searched the group quickly. "Where's Fenton?"

"He's out there," Chickpea pointed out past the barrier, "with Izzavolts and Riptide!"

"We need to get him -" Darkwing paused, blinking at Chickpea. "Who?"

"My buddies!" Quackerjack laughed, appearing suddenly and throwing his hands into the air.

Darkwing yelped and flinched backwards, gawking at the gander that stood before him. He looked like a mess, they all did, but Darkwing would recognize that gap-toothed grin anywhere. "Harlan?!"

"Hello, Darky," the clown waved at him, shuffling his feet shyly. "Just like old times, eh?"

Darkwing screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his face, waving his hands around. "Oh, for the love - are there any more surprises I should know about?"

The group surrounding him looked up over Darkwing’s head, and slowly, their faces morphed into a look of fear. Darkwing frowned at them, and spun around - he grunted when a whip of vines lashed out and struck him across the middle, right on the stitches.

"Gah! Get to work! Incapacitate as many as you can! We need to buy time!" he cried to the group as the vines carried him over the wall, over the heads of the Knight army, and towards where Morgana and his double fought. Darkwing turned, pulled himself onto the whip, and jumped off, tumbling to the roof.

"And don't hurt anyone!" Chickpea cried. Everyone turned to gawk at her, a variety of unimpressed or shocked. The hen shrugged. "At least not permanently."

Henri looked around, and threw her fist into the air. "GO!" She shouted, and the group scattered.

Honker turned to Launchpad and thrusted this laptop against the pelican’s chest. “Guard this with your life,” he said. Launchpad, shocked by the serious tone, nodded. Honker returned the gesture, spun around, and took a deep breath. “I’m going for Volts!” he shouted, charging ahead.

“I’ll come with you!” Launchpad cried, but Scrooge hooked his wrist with his cane suddenly, yanking him to a stop.

“Oh, no you don’t! You two,” he pointed at Launchpad and Henri, “stay here and keep an eye on our sorcerers! You -!” he turned and pointed to Quackerjack, “help Honker! You,” he pointed to Max, “come with me!”

“Happy to!” Max replied, and they rushed for the emergency exits.

“Yes sir!” Quackerjack saluted, and dashed for Honker. The canary blinked and heard a car horn honk, stepping aside as Quackerjack raced towards in him a toy-sized clown car. He had a silk scarf around his neck and goggles on, and honked the horn. “Excuse me, young man, your ride is here!” He honked the horn again, even as Honker jumped onto the back of the car, gripping onto the clown’s shoulders to stray himself. “Hehe, get it? Honk-er?”

“I get it,” Honker grinned, and Quackerjack yanked on the tiny stick-shift and the tires squealed. The tiny car shot forward, leaving tire-tracks and a trail of smoke as they bobbed and weaved for the edge of the vine wall.

Launchpad and Henri watched them go, swapped a look, and then nodded excitedly. They rushed between Chickpea and Waddlemeyer and the wall of vines. Launchpad raised his fists and Henri pulled aluminum cans from her pockets, rattling them.

While Chickpea stared at the back of her sister's head with stars in her eyes, Waddlemeyer turned back to Scrooge and motioned to the hen. "Scrooge! I can't work with this -!"

"Thaddeus!" Scrooge hissed, spinning around and glaring at the old duck as he stomped forward. "I was old and foolish too, once, but if there is anything that has kept me and my family alive, it's learning that sometimes children -" he waved to Chickpea, Henri, and Honker, "are the most capable among us!"

"Besides," Max shouted after him, his hands cupping his mouth, "that hen kicks ass!"

Chickpea gasped at them both, a grin splitting her face and a blush flooding her cheeks, which she clutched. "Aw - guys!"

"So go," Scrooge spun Waddlemeyer around and pushed him to Chickpea's side, shoving him to the roof, "sit down, and listen up, and you might just learn something! Thundering tycoons," Scrooge grumbled and hurried off towards the stairs again, "you'd think dying and coming back would have grown you up a little!"

Max waved encouragingly at Chickpea, offered her a pair of thumb-ups, and then hurried after the old duck. Chickpea, her chest puffing up, turned the back over and dumped the books out in a pile. She sorted them quickly, began to flip pages, spun them around to face the doctor, and slapped her hands onto the roof's surface. Waddlemeyer frowned up at her, and she met his gaze, her blue eyes flashing.

"Now, this might shock you," she said, "but I cracked your gibberish translation code a year ago for fun! I have already cast my first spell, and I've spent the better part of a year neglecting my school work and obsessively studying everything about this cult and magic I can get my hands on! But you," she jabbed a finger against his chest, "are the Doctor Thaddeus Waddlemeyer, the magician himself! So I'll only ask you this once: where do we start? And yes, I said 'we'."

The old duck's eyes were wide behind his glasses, staring at the hen before him. She held his gaze with her own, and never flinched.

Slowly, Waddlemeyer smiled. "No wonder you and Gosalyn are friends," he said. Chickpea looked shocked for only a moment, before a shining grin spread across her face. Pumping her fists into the air, she cheered.

"Let's get reading!"

Chapter 16: The Chapter Where The Chaos Begins

Chapter Text

Izzavolts grunted as she strained against the vine that had stabbed her through the middle. She grabbed the end of it, which protruded out her back, and pushed against it. Her skin buzzed and she tried desperately to blip away, but any energy she strained to reach dissipated out of her fingers. Her mohawk wilting, she sagged against the vine - her scales shimmered then, her mohawk popping erect, and she turned as much as she could. Ugly, clumsy monsters began to surround her, licking their teeth if they had them.

“What is this, ‘Citizen Evil’?” She grunted and bared her teeth as the beasts crawled and heaved themselves closer - then, the sound of a bugle horn playing the “Dixie” melody sounded out, and the lizard turned as Quackerjack and Honker - riding aboard a toy convertible - soared through the air. The car landed and bounced within the circle of beasts and drifted around Izzavolts a couple times, kicking up a trail of smoke. Izzavolts, staring wide eyed, caught a glimpse of the occupants as they passed. They wore racing jumpsuits and sleek, black sunglasses. Honker, as if catching her gaze, turned to her and tipped his glasses onto the edge of his beak, winking.

He yelped when the car came to a sudden stop, tossing him over Quackerjack’s head and to the roof. He skidded on his face, his tail high in the air.

“Oops,” Quackerjack giggled, pulling his disguise off, “sorry! You just can’t trust these city drivers!”

“QJ!” Izzavolts cheered, and the clown leaped from his car and ran to her, Honker joining them. They gawked at the vine sticking into her chest and gagged.

“You’ve,” Honker pointed at it, “you’ve got a little -”

“I KNOW!” Izzavolts cried, throwing her hands up. “I’d blip out of here if I had any juice left!”

“All you need is juice?” frowned Quackerjack, and from his pocket he drew a smoothie blender, which churned wildly as a green apron appeared wrapped around his waist and a green cap on his head. “What kind do you need?”

“The electric kind!” Honker announced, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and holding it triumphantly in the air. He froze, however, when something growled at him, and slowly turned in that direction. A monster with beaver-like teeth - several pairs - growled and lunged at him. Honker, his head feathers sticking out in every direction, screamed and ducked, throwing his hands up to defend himself.

He grunted when something scooped him up suddenly, and his eyes flew open. Below him was Quackerjack, wearing a kahki, safari-style costume, and holding the canary aloft with one hand. In his other, he held a leather whip, which he cracked at the monster.

“Stay back! Back, I say!” he commanded, and Honker blinked, unsure what to make of the scene.

Behind him, Izzavolts rolled her eyes and smacked a hand across her forehead. “I am never going to get out of here.”

“Hey, Volts!” Quackerjack turned to the lizard with a crazed grin, and tossed Honker into the air. “Catch!”

“WHAT?!” they both screeched, and Quackerjack spun around deftly. He flicked the whip behind him and slashed it forward in a flash, the leather wrapping around the upturned end of a floorboard with a metal pipe poking out from under it, and yanked. Quackerjack yanked upwards and a sharp, jagged wooden stake flew free, and sailed directly towards Izzavolts.

She slammed her eyes closed, but the thing that hit her wasn’t a sharp piece of wood. It was Honker. And he knocked her off her feet and to the roof, no longer staked through by the vine. It had been sliced in half at the root by the jagged wooden stake, which Quackerjack yanked through the air again as he spun around and bowed to them both, and the stake zipped behind him - landing directly into the outstretched jaws of the beaver-monster, which had leapt at him while his back was turned. The monster crashed to the roof, and Quackerjack - blinking - straightened and turned back to it in confusion. The monster’s eyes spun around in its head, and the other beasts looked from it to each other, and to the clown.

Quackerjack just blinked back at them, and then grinned and cracked the whip over his head once more. “That’s right, I’ll best any of you!” he whooped, and the monsters began to back away, looking frightened.

Behind him, Izzavolts and Honker pushed off the floor with a groan. Honker adjusted the red cat-eyed glasses he wore, and Izzavolts the black-rimmed glasses she wore. Izzavolts, realizing the mistake, glanced at Honker. He grinned at her excitedly.

“I like your glasses!” He chirped.

“Thanks!” Izzavolts replied, and they quickly swapped the glasses. As Honker adjusted his pair, Izzavolts poked her finger at the phone he still clutched in his hand. A small spark of electricity flickered from it into her finger, and her scales buzzed. “Thanks again!” Turning, the lizard began to glow, and CRACK! She vanished in a flash of lightning. Honker blinked spots from his eyes, and glanced at his cell phone, which had gone dark.

When he looked back towards where Izzavolts had vanished to, a monster appeared there instead, and the canary shrieked and scrambled to his feet, blazing a mad dash for the wall of vines and for safety. Quackerjack turned and watched him go.

“Where are you going? All the fun’s out here!”

“Okay - you enjoy - I’ll be back here if you need me - bye!” came the rushed reply, and Quackerjack shrugged. He turned to the nearest beast.

“He’s a good kid, really.”

The beast rolled its eyes and then lunged at the gander.

Morgana clumsily swung the staff at Darkwing, who dodged and crossed his arms, dancing lightly from one foot to the other.

"Sorry, honey," Darkwing smirked, "but you should really stick to your own guns!"

Morgana hissed, and then blinked. An idea formed, and her magic began to crackle around the staff's gemstone.

"DON'T MIND IF I DO!"

"Uh-oh," Darkwing wilted, and grunted when a blast of magic hit him across the chest. He flew backwards, through the air, and by the time he hit the roof his body and clothes had morphed and changed, claws and eyeballs and fins stretching and clawing out. Morgana cackled as Darkwing's form changed into something monstrous - and then morphed into a yellow chameleon. Camille sat up with a groan and rubbed her head.

"WHAT?!" Morgana shrieked, swinging the staff behind her and stomping closer to Camille. "MY MAGIC HAS NO EFFECT ON YOU?!"

"Sorry, sweetheart," Camille grinned up at her, her country accent in full effect as she blew a few blonde hairs out of her eyes, "but you can't change someone who already does it! Them's my guns!"

"And these are mine!" Negaduck cried, leaping over Camille and aiming his gas gun at Morgana.

He looked into her blood-orange eyes, past the freckled, tan feathers he’d know anywhere, and fired.

The gas pellet hit the ground between the witch's feet and she staggered away from it as Negaduck landed before her and swung a leg - but she caught it in her magic.

"COME ON, DIVER! YOU CAN'T BEAT ME WITH MERE PARTY TRICKS!" She swung the staff around and Negaduck hurtled through the air. He tumbled into Camille, knocking her back over.

"We're not trying to beat you ," he growled, sitting up sorely off of the chameleon and gripping his aching shoulder. "We're trying to beat Gosalyn."

That caught Morgana's attention, and for the first time she felt a strange tickle in her throat, a tightening in her lungs. She cleared her throat, and then coughed, and then began to wheeze. The red smoke continued to pour into the air and Morgana hissed. With a flash of glowing spellwork and magic, she gathered the smoke into a ball and blasted it backwards over Negaduck and Camille.

Negaduck stretched out over Camille as the smoke covered them, and they waved it away, coughing. Camille pushed herself up with a huff and turned to glare at Negaduck with a stink eye.

“Lemme guess, this was yer plan?”

Negaduck pushed to his feet - he spun around when something big and hairy lunged at him, the caped mallard ducking swiftly under it. The beast landed on Camille and Negaduck sprung up and clawed at it, but it was much too big for him to move. He drew his gas gun and aimed for the monster’s jaws, but paused when a water droplet wiggled upwards through the air past him. More and more droplets began to gather, and suddenly the monster was tossed upwards by a wave of water, flying through the air. Riptide staggered upwards from the floor, growling at the monsters that circled the trio. Camille quickly climbed to her feet and backed up against the otter, waving Negaduck away.

“Go on hon, don’t worry ‘bout us!”

Negaduck looked to Riptide, whose form wavered and swayed, but he gave the shorter mallard the most confident smirk he could.

“Yeah,” the duck muttered, before turning and dashing back for Morgana, “little late for that!”

Camille blushed and buried her head in her hands, and Riptide turned to her. His smirk grew, and the chameleon hissed up at him.

“Not. A. Word.”

Once the smoke was clear, Morgana rubbed her chest and took a deep breath. The muscles were already beginning to loosen again, and she laughed. Negaduck fired at her again, and Morgana batted the pellet away with the staff, which exploded behind her somewhere in a big, purple plume. "OH, DIVER, YOU HAVEN'T CHANGED. YOU ALWAYS WERE THE SENTIMENTAL TYPE!"

"It runs in the family!" growled Darkwing, appearing in the purple smoke and flying at the witch from behind. He produced another smoke pellet and threw it at Morgana, engulfing her in a red plume, into which he knocked her. She staggered back as red filled her vision, and a flash of yellow caught her eye as Negaduck swung for her. The witch magicked her way backwards and spun around, dodging the blow and turning directly into Darkwing’s. She stumbled, and another plume of purple smoke appeared, followed by another red one soon as it dissipated, and Morgana was tossed back and forth between the brothers as they circled, flying in and out of the swirling smoke and pelting her with tough, disorienting blows.

Finally, she snarled and screamed, waving the staff clumsily through the air. A bubble of magic erupted outwards, knocking the Mallards off their feet and blowing the smoke away. Panting and huffing, Morgana fell to her hands and knees, her hair askew and sticky with sweat.

"I'LL ADMIT," Morgana panted, rubbing at her chest as her breaths shortened, "DIDN'T THINK EITHER OF YOU WOULD HAVE WHAT IT TAKES…TO ATTACK FAMILY! COURSE, NOT THAT I SHOULD BE SURPRISED, THE WAY YOU USED TO TEAR INTO EACH OTHER!"

"That was a long time ago," Darkwing growled, standing up and swiping the gas gun from where Negaduck had dropped it.

"And that was before we had a mutual enemy," Negaduck sat up and gripped his shoulder again, snarling. "No one messes with our family -!"

"EXCEPT FOR YOU," Morgana sighed, pushing herself to her feet, "I KNOW, I KNOW, I'VE HEARD IT BEFORE! BUT WHAT WILL YOU DO IF YOUR FAMILY FIGHTS BACK?!" Again, magic crackled and gathered around the staff. Negaduck and Darkwing glared at her, looking just as worn out as she was. Darkwing’s side was bleeding again, his lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to him as exhaustion seeped into his muscles. Negaduck was losing feeling in his arm, not to mention the perpetual throbbing in his head that kicked up every time he moved it. Whatever their plan had been, it wasn’t working.

And Morgana, as she etched more spellwork into the air and the gemstone in her staff began to glow, was perfectly okay with that.

The Mallards growled at her, ready for another bout -

“Excuse me?”

Morgana paused and her eyes popped open. She turned and saw Henri standing before her, tugging on her sleeve. Henri’s cheeks bubbled with barely contained giggles, and she snickered into her hand. “This - this is for you!” From behind her, she presented an exquisite balloon animal that perfectly resembled Morgana - not Quiverwing - with a huge frown on her face. Morgana was stunned speechless, and Henri shoved the balloon string into her hand and then darted back towards the vine wall. Quackerjack stood there, and the chick hurried to his side while the gander waved shyly at Morgana, batting his eyelashes at her.

“HARLAN?” she frowned, and looked up at the balloon.

“That’s to turn your frown…” Quackerjack pressed his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss, a pair of red, puckered lips appearing in the air. He sent them flying softly through the air and towards the witch’s balloon. They landed on the balloon, directly on the cheek, and Morgana looked at Quackerjack in confusion. He grinned and ducked, covering his ears with his hands. “... Upside down!”

POP!

The balloon popped suddenly, rubber pieces flying outward and a thick, gray haze descending onto the witch. She gasped and instantly felt the tension in her chest coil up tightly, as if returning with a vengeance. Darkwing and Negaduck leapt at her, wrapping their arms around her and bowling her to the roof.

“NO -” she wheezed and thrashed under them, “R-ROCKY!”

Halfway across the roof, Steelbeak was busy throwing his fists at Riptide. The otter was sluggish and slow, and didn’t spend his limited energy on dodging the blows. He absorbed most of them, his tail lashing out at Steelbeak and knocking him back. Steelbeak growled and his eyes bulged with blood. He glared through the otter and directly behind him to Camille, who was busy fending off other Knights.

“No one,” the rooster hissed slowly, the anger seeping off him virtually nonexistent in his voice, “tricks the Knights and lives to tell about it!”

Camille’s snout curled and her teeth bared, and despite her own better senses, she smirked. “Not ‘til now, anyway!”

That did it, and Steelbeak roared, lunging forward. He dug his claws into Riptide’s arm, tearing into it and driving the otter backwards, shredding him fistful by fistful as Riptide stumbled, desperate to keep between the rooster and the chameleon behind him.

When Steelbeak clawed at his face, Riptide stumbled over, gripping his swirling muzzle. The scars dissolved as his skin swept into the cuts and filled them, and he glared up at the rooster, hissing.

“Don’t touch -” he shoved his hands against the rooster’s chest, his arms bulging with water, “the - face!” The build-up in his arms thrust outwards, knocking Steelbeak cleanly off his feet and sending him rolling across the roof, tripping over a few Knights as they dodged Izzavolt’s blasts. Steelbeak grunted and pushed himself up, shaking his comb out of his face. He spun around and glared at Riptide, who smirked at him and extended his pinky and thumb in a “hang-ten” gesture. Steelbeak shot to his feet and -

“R-ROCKY!”

Morgana’s voice reached him, and Steelbeak twirled around, frantically searching the chaos of running and fighting Knights, monsters, and a couple wayward supervillains. Finally, he spotted Morgana, buried under Darkwing and Negaduck.

Steelbeak felt something inside him snap, and he dashed forward, kicking off the roof in a dead sprint for his partner.

“MORGANA!”

Darwkign grunted as Morgana bucked under him, and he tightened his grip around her knees when she nearly kicked him loose. "GRAB IT!" He cried to Negaduck, who wrestled with Morgana’s arms which swung and clawed at him. He swung his arm and knocked them sideways, and latched both hands around the staff’s golden length -

He paused suddenly, every feather on his body stood on end in a ripple from his tail to head, and a shiver ran up his spine. Shaking his head, Negaduck growled and latched both hands around the staff, yanking.

"NO!" Morgana bucked and screamed, and Darkwing grunted, his grip around her knees knocked loose.

"Hurry up!"

“I’m - trying!”

Negaduck grit his teeth and through the throbbing in his head, and yanked. He stood, planted one foot against the center of Morgana's chest, and twisted.

Steelbeak roared as he continued to sprint for the trio, flattening anyone who stood in his way.

"NO -!" Morgana wailed between wheezes, unable to breathe and continuing to thrash. Snarling, Negaduck released one hand off the staff, drove his elbow into Morgana's and ripped the staff from her grasp. A wave of magic shot out when the connection broke, hurtling both ducks off the witch and sending magic razors through the air in every direction. A boom swept across the roof, bouncing off the wall of vines Quackerjack deposited Henri back behind, after shielding her from the blast.

Negaduck hit the roof and grunted, the staff clattering out of his grip.

His ears rang, and the masked mallard slowly pushed himself up, gripping his head. He yelped and gripped his shoulder again when a live wire of tingling pain shot down the limb and to his fingertips. His arm wasn’t going to stay in the joint for much longer at this rate. Heck, at this point, he wasn’t even sure that Darkwing had set it right to begin with.

Morgana wailed behind him, Gosalyn's lungs empty of air, and Negaduck heard a shriek. He turned, and saw Steelbeak racing towards them. The mallard looked back at the staff. Darkwing sat up and glanced between them, and for the staff. He stood and fired a gas pellet at Steelbeak, desperately trying to slow him down, but the rooster ignored the smoke and continued to race towards the staff.

“Diver -!”

The staff was too far away for him to reach. Steelbeak was getting closer, Negaduck could feel his stomping steps reverberating through the floorboards. He couldn’t reach the staff, Steelbeak would get it first. When he did, Morgana would be back, and Gosalyn would be -

No, he didn't have time for this!

Gosalyn didn't have time for this!

Growling, his vision wavering, Negaduck pulled his Glock from his belt. He aimed it at the staff - it took a few times since his vision wouldn’t stay focussed - and fired just as Steelbeak descended upon him and kicked Negaduck in the head, hitting him directly in the temple.

The last thing Negaduck heard before he blacked out was the thunder of a gunshot and the shattering of a precious, magical gemstone.

Morgana's back arched and her eyes flew open. The black ink pooled out of her eyes and into her feathers, down her mask and dripped, oozing, onto the floor as Quiverwing shook her head back and forth. She sputtered and clawed at the floor, convulsing and thrashing weakly, her own senses flooded with every feeling at once and her body drifting away from her just as quickly as it was returning, a barrage of pain and fire. The magic that pooled on the floor boiled angrily, darting away to join the inky splatter that surrounded the gemstone’s pieces. Steelbeak kneeled over them, shaking hands hovering desperately above the carnage. Behind him, Quiverwing's WaddleMaker glowed white, the light rushing over the veins in her arm, and they faded, vanishing completely.

Darkwing, lowering the gun he kept aimed at Steelbeak, stared at Quiverwing. “Quiverwing?” he called, and then dashed to her, scrambling to her side and scooping the shaking dame into his arms. Her eyes, which flooded with tears that helped wash out the remaining black, turned up to him. They were glassy and unfocussed, but they found him. “Gosalyn! Gosalyn - it’s okay baby girl, it’s okay, I got you! I - ACK!” Darkwing grunted when something slammed into the side of his head, tossing him sideways. Steelbeak was on top of him, grabbing him and tearing him away from Quiverwing, tossing him across the roof.

But Darkwing landed on his feet and threw himself at the rooster, letting out a war-cry, attacking.

He wasn’t fighting someone inside his daughter’s body anymore, so there was no need to pull his punches.

In fact, this time, he was swinging at the person who had put the witch there in the first place.

So, yeah. No need to pull his punches.

Steelbeak staggered backwards after another blow and fell to his knees, and Darkwing drew the gas gun and swung the metal nozzle at him, striking the rooster across the temple. He spun and Darkwing kicked him backwards with an open-palmed strike to the chest. Steelbeak gagged as Darkwing punched him again, driving his fist into the rooster’s feathery throat, and seized his arm, tossing Steelbeak over his shoulder and sending him sailing, crashing and tumbling across the roof.

All eyes were on them, and Darkwing panted and spat, panting for breath. His whole body shook, ready for another strike, and Steelback hacked and coughed, pushing himself up and sputtering, gripping his throat. When he looked up, Darkwing was glaring down at him, the gas gun aimed at the ugly white scar streaked across the center of Steelbeak’s forehead.

“Go ahead,” Steelbeak chuckled, pressing his forehead against the gun’s muzzle. “Finish the job!”

Darkwing snarled, and his bright eyes narrowed.

The others stared.

Steelbeak laughed at him, and Darkwing withdrew the gun.

“Touch my daughter again, and I will.” He turned away with a flap of his cape, and Steelbeak cackled.

“She’s my partner!”

Darkwing spun around, already pulling the trigger - but he stopped, stunned to catch a glimpse of the black-feathered rooster as Steelbeak was sent sailing up into the air. Quackerjack stood in his place, and had a massive, wooden mallet raised over his head. Darkwing blinked at the gander as he dropped the mallet and turned to him.

“What can I say,” he shrugged, sounding a little shy - but not sorry, “there’s enough bad guys around here already.”

Behind him, Steelbeak landed on the roof on his head, grunting loudly.

A grin spread across Darkwing’s bill, and he offered the gander a thankful nod before he turned and dashed back for Quiverwing, scooping her into his arm again. He heard Quackerjack and the others crowd close behind him, circling protectively as Knights and Monsters attacked.

Darkwing ignored them - it wasn’t hard when the only thing he could hear was the sound of his daughter not breathing - and drew an inhaler from his belt. It still had her name printed on the faded label, and he shook it, and pulled Quiverwing's head into his lap before putting the device into her bill. She hadn't seen that thing in years, but wasn't the slightest surprised her dad had kept it around.

Quiverwing distantly, slowly giggled at him.

Paranoid indeed.

Darkwing pumped the inhaler, and Quiverwing blinked glassy eyes up at him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whimpered, pulling her closer and rubbing his knuckles firmly across her chest, giving her another sensation to ground her through the agony. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, here, here…" he gave her another hit of the medicine, and Quiverwing reached one trembling hand upward and gripped his own. Her eyes were red-rimmed and flooding, and had never been more green.

She smiled up at him.

Darkwing wetted her hair, fully red once again, with his tears as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Gos."

The ooze that puddled under her began to wiggle and move away. It searched for a new host, and when Riptide splashed past, beckoned by Izzavolts, Camille was left behind, stranded where she stood.

The ooze gathered up and darted towards her.

She gasped.

Chapter 17: The Chapter Where That One Guy Gets What's Coming To Him

Chapter Text

When Quackerjack tossed Henri over the wall of vines, the last glimpse of him she got was when the shock wave Morgana had sent out slammed him against the vines. She slid down the other side of the wall and tumbled to her feet, quickly darting for where the vines met the glass barrier around the roof’s edge.

“Woah!” Launchpad scooped her up off her feet suddenly, and she pushed away from him. “We’ve got to stay here!”

“No! Quackerjack needs our help! They all do!” Henri turned her big eyes up to Launchpad, which shimmered with fear.

But for the first time since they met, she wasn’t afraid for herself. She had friends to protect.

Launchpad would recognize the look anywhere. It seemed they had a new adventurer on their hands.

But before he could react, they saw leafy greens rain down on them, and looked up. Monsters lashed and clawed at the wall, tearing into it and climbing over each other to topple over the top. Launchpad gasped and hugged Henri closer, watching the destruction.

“Well, heh, we could use a hand!”

The two partners swapped a look of determination, and then darted to the edge of the roof.

“Chickie - we’ll be back!” Henri called over Launchpad's shoulder. The hen looked up from the books spread out before her - absorbed in the mad ramblings of Waddlemeyer - and blinked after them.

“What?”

They darted closer to the edge of the roof, and Chickpea watched a monster spill over the edge of the wall, thrashing its many legs and spinning around to roar at the pelican and chick. Launchpad, still running right towards the beast, pushed Henri over his shoulder, who clung to the back of his t-shirt. With a battle cry, the pelican grabbed the monster as it lunged at them. They wrapped their limbs around each other and pushed and shoved. The monster shoved forward and Launchpad tripped back, Henri nearly falling from his back. Something in her pocket rattled, and her eyes brightened with an idea.

As Launchpad grunted, feeling the monster’s claws dig into his hands, he blinked when a flash of gray feathers and white overalls flew over him, and Henri leaped between him and the beast in his grasp. Her spray paint cans hissed as they sprayed the monster’s face, covering it with green and purple paint. Its head rearing back, the beast roared, and Henri hit the floor and jumped back up, shoving the can into its mouth and kicking it in the face. The monster staggered backwards, shoved off balance by Launchpad, and tumbled and stumbled around, spray paint filling its face and mouth when its teeth punctured the can in his jaws.

“Woah,” Launchpad gasped, glancing down to Henri, who stared up at the monster. She turned and flashed him a wide smile, an exhilarated spark in her eye that Launchpad would recognize anywhere. He put his arms out, and she stood and flung herself into them and onto his shoulders. “Let’s go, partner!” Launchpad charged forward, squeezing through the hole between the vines and the glass walls around the roof that the monster had tumbled through.

On the other side of the wall, Launchpad and Henri looked around, stunned by the chaos they found. Izzavolts was blazing around and keeping up with Riptide as they swept monsters off their feet, Negaduck was laying motionless by himself, Darkwing cradled Quiverwing, Steelbeak was working his way closer to them, and Quackerjack -

He was riding around on the back of one horrific creature with a giant cowboy hat in one hand and a pair of spurs on his leather boots.

“Woo-hoo! Git along, little doggy!” he was whooping, and gasped when another monster lunged and tackled him off his bucking bronco’s back.

“NO!” The duo cried, stunned when the monster sat up, its paws empty. They jumped when a pink explosion of glitter and confetti erupted next to them, and Quackerjack appeared, sagging against the wall and waving his cowboy hat under his bill like a fan. His suit was torn and charred - even more so than when Henri and the others had found him in that abandoned building - and he looked exhausted. The stripes in his outfit had more color in them than the gander did in his feathers.

“What’re two city slickers like you doin’ in these parts?” he huffed at them, and they ducked when Izzavolts blasted in their direction, knocking some Knights away from them. They tumbled to the roof in a charred heap, and didn’t look eager to get back up. Quackerjack turned and waved to the lizard, who darted away.

“We’re here to help!” Launchpad said, and motioned to the wall beside Quackerjack that stretched down the length of the roof. “Monsters are tearing down our wall!”

Quackerjack looked in that direction. Sure enough, there were monsters clawing and tearing at the wall, one of the ugly brutes not even a few feet away from the clown. It, as if sensing his presence, stopped and turned to Quackerjack, blinking at him. Without flinching, Quackerjack drew a plastic revolver from the holster on his hip and fired it at the monster, scaring it away with a pop of confetti.

“So there are,” he stated.

“We need to find Gizmoduck!” Launchpad said, and Quackerjack’s scuffed, scratched face split with a grin.

“Well, why didn’t yah just say so!” he sprung up off the wall and tucked his fingers between his teeth. A whistle pierced the air, and from where she cracked onto the roof’s surface, Izzavolts turned in their direction. “Volts! These two are lookin’ for the big metal fella! We need reinforcements on border control.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder where the monsters continued to claw at the wall. The closest one turned to him, and growled. Quackerjack snarled back and stuck his tongue out at it.

“I’m on it!” the lizard called back, flashing a salute. She leaned on her knees and panted for breath for a moment, before launching upwards and into the air. The roof was churning with turmoil and chaos, but it didn’t take long to find a green cocoon isolated in the corner, snuggled up against the glass walls that surrounded the roof’s edge. In a flash, she reappeared before the others. “Got him! I’ll spring him out and send him in your direction!”

“Thanks!” Launchpad called, and turned back to the wall. He stopped, however, when a flash of twisted metal caught his attention. Steelbeak was pushing and stomping his way towards where Darkwing cradled Quiverwing, and the two Mallards were on their own. A surge of emotion filled his chest, and Launchpad turned and pushed Henri back towards the wall. “You go, get back to the others!”

“But, where are you going?” the chick protested.

Launchpad stood, and reached up. He grabbed his greasy baseball cap with both hands, and spun it around so his curly, red hair stuck out over his eyes. A particular glint was in his grin as his shoulders straightened and he looked back out over the roof. “I’m going to go be a sidekick!”

Izzavolts zapped to Gizmoduck’s side, nearly collapsing to the roof under her. She panted and gasped for air, unaware that lizards could sweat. Pushing herself up, she hurried to the large knot of vines before her.

“Girl, when you get outta this, you gotta start working on your cardio! Giz!” Izzavolts threw herself against the vines, clawing and beating against them. “Giz, can you hear me?” No response came, and the lizard groaned loudly. She stepped back, rubbed her palms together, and zapped past the vines and into the suit.

Fenton couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t move either, which he had been trying to do for the past eternity. Even his bill had been wrapped up with vines, clamping it shut, rendering him incapable of commanding the on-board computer. He strained and grunted, and another alert flooded his vision.

“ALERT: GIZMODUCK INCAPACITATED.”

Fenton rolled his eyes and his bill curled. Yeah, no kidding! His eyes closed and he dropped his head against the back of the helmet, his mind spinning desperately through his available options. Again.

Since there weren’t that many, it didn’t take long.

Suddenly, a familiar buzz covered his skin, and Fenton’s eyes popped open when the screen before him began to glow yellow, and Izzavolts’ icon appeared.

“Heya, Giz,” the lizard greeted, her voice sounding much more thin than the last time she’d hitched a ride in the armor, “you wanna come out and play or are you a little … tied up?”

Fenton glared at the screen the best he could, and Izzavolts’ sighed, her laughter tapering off.

“Sorry, I’m running a little low on juice. Uh, listen, I got an idea to get you outta this, but you might not like it.”

Fenton stared ahead at the graphic, grunting and nodding his head up and down as much as he could.

“Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket. Just gimme a minute, and get ready to jet!” Before she left, Izzavolts rifled through the files for a minute, and a new command prompt appeared.

“Thrusters on stand-by.”

Fenton sighed, and the yellow graphic vanished when the lizard left him. He waited, eyes roaming around as seconds ticked past.

The next time Izzavolts leaped somewhere, she wasn’t able to stop herself from collapsing. Gasping and gagging, she pushed herself onto her elbows with a grunt, and before her stood a bamboo tiki-station, and the lizard grabbed it and heaved herself up the closest stool she could find and onto the bar.

Behind it were shelves full of glass bottles. Glass bottles full of alcohol. “YES!” she cheered, throwing her fists up and nearly slipping off the bar. She snatched it and pulled herself back up, turning around and searching the roof for her tall, handsome drink of water.

Or, in this case, a tall glass of booze.

Fenton was getting restless. He was sure that Izzavolts would return, but not knowing what her plan was was starting to make him nervous. He’d waited just about long enough when a new sensation crept closer, and an alert flashed before him the second smoke tickled his nostrils.

“ALERT: FIRE IMMINENT!”

Fenton’s eyes popped open, and he shook and strained, the vines around his bill burning away enough for him to peep out, through gritted teeth, “engines - engage!”

The jet-engines on his back rattled the suit as they powered up, and Fenton gagged when they boosted him, tearing him and the armor around him free of the burning pile of foliage and into the air. Fenton gasped and panted for air, barking out rapid commands and running status reports. He scanned the roof for fires, of which there were many, it seemed whatever Izzavolts had pulled had worked a little too well. The computer spotted Riptide, who was splashing around the roof and dumping bottles of alcohol around it, mixing the liquids from a distance, and conducting them to all corners of the madness.

Fenton couldn't remember Liquidator ever having the ability to control liquids that weren't water before, much less without touching them, but he'd already seen the Otter drink up an entire Bay, so he really shouldn't have been surprised.

They each seemed to be evolving at an exponential rate.

And, if nothing else, the fires were keeping the resurrected Knights occupied.

His scanners circled multiple figures then, scattered about. The computer ran its analysis, and then rang out an alert. The integrity of the vine wall surrounding Chickpea, Dr. Waddlemeyer, and Henri was nearly compromised, monsters tearing and ripping at it.

Fenton gasped, and growled, and rocketed towards the wall. Lasers emerged from his shoulders and cut down the monsters near the top of the wall, who hurtled backwards and knocked down the beasts behind them. Gizmoduck soared down and zoomed through the remaining beasts, plowing through them and dragging a few up into the air. He spun and threw them as far as his massive metal muscles could hurl them, and then multiple robotic arms emerged from the suit, propelling pies at any monsters left standing. They abandoned the wall in favor of clawing for him and devouring the pies, and Gizmoduck lifted his gauntlets and from his palms fired flares, which circled through the air and crashing onto the roof. Flames erupted upward and sparks flew through the air, scattering the Knights and sending the beasts scrambling out of the way.

A snarl still curling his bill, Gizmoduck hovered below the wall, and readied more flares, standing at attention and ready for whoever would come for his friends next.

Negaduck stirred and whimpered as he returned to consciousness, blinking heavy eyelids open as his fingers and face twitched. His entire body throbbed with pain, his ears rang, and this time he was sure his vision was tinted red because of a brain bleed.

Damn, that rooster packed a wallop.

Ahead of him, a blurry, glowing speck darted back and forth in every direction, and flames followed them. Eruptions fired off next, making the duck flinch and throw his hands over his head. Flaming, plant debris rained down onto the roof, and Negaduck pushed himself onto his heels with his good arm, looking around.

Above the roar of the fire and flames, he heard Callie wail.

"Catnip!" he cried, pushed himself to shaky legs and staggered further into the fire, towards where the cry had come from.

Heat beat in on him from all sides, but fire never bothered Negaduck. He understood it. He didn't fear it. In fact, more often than not he had used it. And its oppressive weight against his senses gave him something to focus on and fight through.

He turned and searched, scanning the towering flames around him.

"Callie!" he cried again, the smoke making his voice hoarse.

Above his head the flames and smoke began to spin, pulling the fire upwards even higher and feeding the heat. The fire was roaring so loudly Negaduck couldn't hear the whirl of helicopter blades.

He didn’t hear Gizmoduck shoot the helicopter from the sky and snatch it from the air, carrying it away while crushing the vehicle like an aluminum can.

And Gizmoduck hadn't seen someone jump from it.

A shadow emerged among the flames, and Negaduck blinked at it, his arm thrown up to protect himself from the heat.

"Catnip!" he cried and inched closer. The shadow turned to him, and its ears perked up. "Callie! Come on, we gotta get outta here!"

Then, Negaduck paused. Every feather on his body stood on end in a ripple from his tail to head, and a shiver ran up his spine.

"Outta here?" laughed Slick Adder, and Negaduck's blood ran cold. The ferret slid forward, hands tucked behind his back as he strode, confidently, through the flames and stepped over debris. "But Dive, I've got you exactly where I want you!"

Negaduck wasn't the only one who had used fire before.

Slick flew forward, and Negaduck watched. He didn't so much as twitch as Slick beat him once over the head with the baton, knocking him off his feet and sending another deafening shock of pain through his body as he tumbled and rolled across the roof. He gasped and did nothing to stop Slick from kicking him, skipping him like a rock down a road.

"You could have at least," Slick grabbed Negaduck but the collar and lifted him off his feet, "made this fun for me!"

He threw the duck, who crashed into the roof’s surface, and then downward through it, his body shattering against plaster and wood, and he hit the next floor with a CRACK .

Slick laughed down at him and then leaped into the hole Negaduck had made.

Negaduck was panicking. His heart was beating so quickly it made his chest ache, his lungs had been disconnected entirely from the rest of him and though they pumped and pumped he wasn't drawing in any air, and his eyes were blown wide, fingers numb and twitching. His bill was stretched open, gasped and working for air that didn't come - had Slick knocked him into a vacuum? Where was the air?!

He turned, squirming, and crawled desperately for any place to hide, but his eyes were unfocussed, unable to see anything besides shadows and plants - the whole room was swallowed in plants - every stinking last inch of it. His arm was immobile, but even the radiating pain coming from it felt distant and hazy.

"D-Drake!" he whimpered, his eyes screwing shut as he hacked and gagged, blackness creeping into the edges of his vision. He rolled into the fetal position and gripped his shoulder, cradling his arm close.

He felt like he was on fire again.

Behind him, Slick landed on the carpet behind him with so much force the whole floor shook, and Negaduck's heart - as if it wasn't already bouncing around wildly - fell into his stomach.

"I like being Bully," the ferret said, flexing his arms and stomping his feet. "I've always been on the slender side, but this guy's all muscle!" He dragged Negaduck backwards by the cape and kicked him over, grabbing his weakly kicking legs in each hand and yanking the duck further underneath him. "Doesn't this take you back?" Slick knelt with one knee on either side of Negaduck's chest, yanking the duck’s arms away from his chest and pinning them to the floor. Negaduck screamed when his shoulder finally dislocated completely, a wave of white-hot agony spreading all over him. Slick sat on him, stroking Negaduck’s chin and neck with the baton. When the duck’s eyes rolled back into his head, Slick grabbed him and aimed his gaze upwards into his handsome face. “I never got to really have my fun when I was still a cop, and you got too good at not getting caught too quickly, but now…" he leaned forward and Negaduck clawed at the carpet underneath him, the ferret purring into his ear, "we're all alone, and I'm in charge! I see they glued your bill back together. Well, I won't have that! You know me, I like to mark my property!"

Slick raised the baton back over his head and all Negaduck could do was whimper pitifully in his throat and let his eyes slip closed.

God, he wished he were dead.

A fleshy, rustling sound crept into his senses past the rushing of blood in his ears, and suddenly the pressure on his arms was gone. Negaduck flipped over, groaning and gasping, and curled into a tight ball as he struggled to breathe. Aches wracked his body and his muscles spasmed, his bad arm hanging limply on the carpet.

When he finally cracked his eyes open - instincts were screaming at him to keep his eye on the target - he gasped.

Slick stood over him, but nearly every inch of his wrinkle-free suit was covered like a mummy with tight, coiling vines.

"What - what is this?!" he cried, squirming and thrashing in the hold, but the vines only snaked further and further up his limbs. "YOU!" he screamed over Negaduck's head, and the duck craned his head upward to see Bushroot unfurl herself from a large potted fern. She raised her head and her white eyes glared up at the ferret. "Traitor -!" Slick barked out only one insult before the vines lashed out and covered his snout, crushing his jaws together. Negaduck could swear he heard teeth crack.

Bushroot's ears twitched, and she dashed forward suddenly, her leafy paws driving against Slick’s chest. Slick grunted, the air knocked out of him, and he flew backwards and upwards. Bushroot pushed her arms up and then smashed her paws together, and from the ceiling two massive leaves unfurled, reaching for Slick and wrapping around him. She hissed and snarled, and the buds on her head unfurled into big, blooming purple flowers as she wailed.

Her cocoon began to grow, and she continued to bloom.

"Can't… fight…" she screeched, an unnatural airiness to her voice, "can't… breathe!"

Slick's eyes were blown wide and he kicked and thrashed, and Bushroot shrieked, her raised paws trembling with the strain before she threw them down out of the air, and with a defending crack the giant plant pod slammed shut, muffling Slick's enraged cries.

Bushroot lowered her hands, her whole body shaking, and looked upon her work.

Moisture collected at the corners of her eyes and she grinned. She grinned so, so brightly.

A groan from behind grabbed her attention and she spun around just as Negaduck nearly collapsed onto his face, having heaved himself upwards onto his good arm. Callie flinched, and then rushed closer. Negaduck was staring at the carpet beneath him but he wasn't seeing any of it. He was gasping and wheezing but no air was reaching him. His whole body trembled and shook but he didn't feel it.

All he felt was terror.

And then, he felt a pressure curl around his chest and back, gently and slowly, and the pressure helped remind his brain that his chest was moving - and he could move it. It gave him something to feel other than numbness and the static of panic. The duck clenched his eyes shut and curled his claws into fists, leaning into the weight and straining to feel his lungs again - to feel his tightening chest.

At last he did, like connecting to a live wire, and Negaduck leaned into the pain.

Pain had never really bothered him, either.

It took minutes, several minutes, before Slick's screams and coughs had finally fallen silent, suffocated inside his new personal prison. It took another minute after that before Negaduck rose enough out of his panicked haze to realize he was being hugged .

He gasped and sat back, staring up at Bushroot. She had crept closer, unseen, and wrapped her arms around him from above, pressing her chest to his back and her arms across his chest. Now, she withdrew, her wide, white eyes watching him.

Her whiskers, Negaduck glanced at them as his vision began to clear, had also sprouted little purple buds, except for the whiskers Steelbeak had plucked.

Before he could stop himself, he reached one shaking hand for them, but stopped, his hand recoiling. Bushroot glanced at it and then she leaned forward, nuzzling into it. Negaduck blinked, drawing his hand back in shock, and she grinned at him. She reached forward then, and he followed her, and touched a large gauze strip on his hip where his feathers had been torn out.

Negaduck understood what she was saying.

They were a matching set.

"I think," Negaduck giggled, a little raspy and a little winded, "that I'm going to start going paperless."

Callie's whole face lit up, and she shook with silent laughs, her paws flapping happily in the air. Negaduck smiled up at her, and then reached forward and stroked her cheek, scratching behind her ear. Callie purred and nuzzled into the touch, nuzzled against his forehead with her own, and they pulled each other to their feet. Negaduck gasped, suddenly, falling back onto his knees. His arm and shoulder were alight with pain, and he trembled, gasping through gritted teeth. When he glanced back up, Catnip was watching him carefully, her face a twist of concern. Her whiskers rose as she smiled, and she reached one leafy palm slowly for his shoulder. When he didn’t object, she scooted closer and wrapped both hands around it gently. Negaduck watched her carefully - he gasped when warmth spread through the joint and into his chest and fingertips. Catnip’s ears pinned back in concentration and her tongue poked up as she squeezed the joint, and Negaduck yelped when his arm snapped back into place, and the warmth increased. It soothed the pain, he still gritted his teeth, and after a moment it faded. Catnip released her grip and sat back, and Negaduck spun around to stare, with wide eyes, at his shoulder. When he lifted his arm, there was no pain, and the tingling was gone. He turned and looked at Catnip, and she grinned.

“You grow,” he said, chuckling, and the feline shrugged her skinny shoulders at him. Negaduck slowly smiled back, and then he shook his head and laughed. "Alright, Catnip…" the duck said, still a little breathless, and let her help him to his feet. They looked upwards through the hole in the ceiling that cast a column of light down onto them. The sounds of the fighting drifted down to them. "You're not a villain, and I guess I'm not either. So, let's go do some weed whacking. But," he glared and pointed at her quickly, "you ever repeat that and I'll come after you with hedge clippers!"

Catnip's eyes brightened, and she offered him one leafy paw.

He took it and held on tight.

Chapter 18: The Chapter With The Glow-Ups

Chapter Text

"Dad…" Quiverwing wheezed, and she blinked a few times, a grin stretching across her bill.

"Hey, kiddo," Darkwing smiled and brushed her bangs out of her face. Quiverwing’s face curled up in pain and Darkwing held her tightly, helping pull her upward when she strained to sit up.

"That…" she rubbed absently at her chest where Darkwing had ground his knuckles, "was your worst plan… ever."

"I know," Darkwing scooted to her side and rubbed circles into her back, and Quiverwing slumped against him. Her head hit his shoulder, and her arms hung in her lap. "Scrooge and Max are trying to find something to stop all of this, and Chickpea and your -"

"LOOKOUT!" Quiverwing cried when Steelbeak appeared, swinging for them. Darkwing ducked, drew his gas gun, and pulled Quiverwing close - but the blow never came. His eyes popped open and he looked up.

Launchpad stood over them, holding the Bō in both hands and using it, a little awkwardly, to block Steelbeak's punch. The rooster's eyes popped open.

"No - not you again!"

Launchpad grinned and shoved, pushing Steelbeak away from him just enough for the big pelican to barrel into him, tackling Steelbeak around the shoulders. Steelbeak broke free of the hold and punched Launchpad in the face, driving him backwards.

"Why… are you… always… getting… in… my… way?!"

Steelbeak reared back and kicked Launchpad in the chest, who staggered backwards and fell to his knees.

"Because," the redhead huffed, wiping a trickle of blood off his lip, glaring at the rooster and pushing himself to his feet, "I'm… a… sidekick!"

With a cry, Launchpad threw his fist back and charged, swinging at Steelbeak -

The rooster plowed forward suddenly, his ruby red comb flashing through the air as his molten, jagged beak ripped into Launchpad's face. Launchpad hurtled backwards, crying out.

"Launchpad!" the Mallards shrieked, scrambling to the fallen pelican. Darwking scooped up the Bō and swung it against Steelbeak’s jaw, knocking him sideways. Planting the Bō against the roof, he vaulted at the rooster’s back and kicked him between the shoulder blades, knocking him forward onto his face with a loud grunt.

Quiverwing knelt by Launchpad and pulled him up by the collar, scooping his hair out of his face.

"Launchpad, are you okay?!" He had a jagged cut running along the side of his temple and jawline, and blinked up at her with a dazed expression. "Launchpad!"

Darkwing appeared by her side, the Bō still in his hand, and he leaned forward to inspect the wound.

Launchpad, however, couldn’t quite focus on them, or what they were anxiously saying to him. He was busy trying to clear out his blurry vision, and raised one hand to clumsily push Darkwing’s fedora aside so he could look past it and into the air high above their heads. Swirling, gray clouds were appearing underneath the dome’s peak, spinning and spreading outwards, red flashes of light drumming among them like a heartbeat.

"Launchpad? LP, can you hear us?!"

"You think that’s normal?" he muttered, and Quiverwing and Darkwing blinked, turning to each other. Then, static energy began to spread through the air, and every feather on their bodies stood on end in a ripple from their tails to their heads, and a shiver ran up their spines.

A voice they never thought they’d hear again sang melodically through the air, and they spun around just as red, twisted lightning cracked through the air.

"OH, ROCKY!"

The body that hovered upwards into the air looked almost like two at once, fighting and thrashing for the same spot in space. One had blonde hair and yellow scales, and cried in agony. The other had pale feathers and a blood-orange bill, and she was cackling with wicked, nefarious elation.

"Camille," Darkwing whimpered, and the storm over their heads grew larger and larger, darkening the roof and blocking out the pink glow that covered them. A rushing wind kicked up, swirling around the group and extinguishing the various fires, guiding the smoke upwards into the storm clouds. Each lightning bolt lingered in the air like exposed film, casting red, angry light on every surface.

Izzavolts was knocked from the sky by one lightning bolt as she shot for the witch, and she slammed into the top of the vine wall and tumbled over the top of it and to the other side. Chickpea and Waddlemeyer, surrounded by books, Henri, who stood guard nearby, and Honker, from where he sat with his laptop in his lap, gasped when the lizard landed among them, electric sparks flying from her. They looked up for the first time, and scrambled to their feet.

The vine wall near them began to glow red, suddenly, like invisible fire was burning it up and leaving black ashes behind. The wall, turned fully black, collapsed into smoke which swirled and flew upwards into the storm clouds. Chickpea and Honker jumped up to help Izzavolts to her feet, supporting her between them, and Waddlemeyer clutched his books close, his gaze darting back and forth among the monsters and Knights that began to surround them, their defensive wall gone.

Gizmoduck dodged the lightning and also soared for the witch, summoning any weapon he could think of, but she lifted one hand and a blast of magic swept over him, his computers going dark. But this time, Izzavolts wasn’t around to recharge him. He fell, tumbling, from the sky, and fell onto the stage, shattering the wooden floorboards under his weight.

He blacked out the second he made contact.

Riptide dashed forward to catch him, but collapsed, spears of magic skewering him like a pinned insect. The magic spread throughout his body from each spear, holding him in place in pieces and chunks. He cried and strained to break free, but couldn't manage.

Quackerjack, watching his friends fall aside one-by-one, spun around to the witch and snarled. "I don’t find any of this very funny!" he cried, and from his pocket he drew a massive, round black bomb, the fuse already lit. "Hey, Morgy!" the gander whistled, and swung the bomb behind his head, "catch!"

But he never threw the bomb. His arm, like the rest of him, froze in place in the grip of tingling magic, and all Quackerjack could do as the fuse counted down was watch.

BOOM!

It erupted in a massive explosion. Floorboards were sent hurtling through the air, the concussive shockwave knocked everyone’s hair and clothing askew, and as the smoke cleared, Quackerjack stood still, frozen in place, his feathers and clothed charred black.

"No… fair," he wheezed, and when the magic retreated his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a heap to the debris around him.

"HARLAN!" Darkwing shrieked, flinching when Steelbeak staggered past him. His metal beak split in a gaping grin, and he stared with wide, dilated eyes upwards to the witch.

At last, her form convulsed and then snapped into place, a red glow emanating from her in a beating, rhythmic halo. Morgana’s blood-orange eyes opened, her tattered, red dress whipped around behind her like a tail, and she laughed, inspecting her new body with fondness.

"ROCKY, DARLING, YOU SHOULD HAVE STARTED WITH THIS ONE!"

"Morgana!" Steelbeak darted forward and fell to his knees below Morgana, who hovered low to stare down at him. "Morgy! I’ve ruined the city for you - I’ve brought it to its knees just to bring you back! All of this -" he swung a large arm to the destruction around them, "was for you!"

Morgana stared at him. His feathers were ruffled and dirty, his eyes were wide and bloodshot, his suit was ashy and tattered, and his beak was a molten, mangled metal mess. With a blink, her eyebrows screwed together in a cringe, and a wide, strained grin spread across her pointed bill.

"OH! HOW … NICE! YOU’VE CERTAINLY BEEN WORKING YOURSELF… DOWN TO THE BONE…"

"YES!" Steelbeak sprang forward and grabbed her arms, leaning into her face and bending her backwards. "I’ve done it all for you! Now you’re back, and you can finish the job!"

"Steelbeak!" Darkwing shouted from behind him, and Steelbeak’s face twisted into a bare-toothed snarl, squeezing Morgana’s arms in his grip. Darkwing stepped away from Quiverwing and Launchpad, the Bō raised. The circuits within it glowed purple. "It’s over! Your little gal-pal might have Camille, but she can’t do anything without the staff!"

Morgana gawked at him. "His gal-pal?!"

Steelbeak threw his head back and laughed, staggering away from Morgana and towards the masked mallard with co*ck-eyed, shaking steps. His shoulders and hips moved as if disjointed from each other, like he was going to fall apart into pieces.

Actually, based on the crazed look in his eyes, he might have already.

"Darkwing, baby, after everything I’ve gone through to make this happen - you think I’d let you foil it that easily? You think one little bullet can stop the Knights?!"

Darkwing frowned, and glanced back at Quiverwing and Launchpad, who looked just as confused as he was. "But we shattered your little toy! The magic amplifier! She can’t - no one can just make magic out of nothing!"

"Shows just how little you know, Darky!" Steelbeak spun back around, rushing to Morgana in shaky chunks and disjointed pieces. Morgana watched him, her skepticism growing. "Morgana, baby -" he grabbed her shoulders again, leaning close so she couldn’t look away, "listen!"

Morgana stared at him, taking in his condition - and then gasped. Distantly, miles away, she heard it: chanting. Morgana’s blood-orange eyes snapped open wide, and he stared at Steelbeak. His own grin widened.

"What -" Darkwing blinked, "what’s happening?"

"OH, ROCKY," Morgana purred and patted his cheek, "YOU BRILLIANT LITTLE MADMAN!" Morgana grabbed his messy cheeks and mashed them together, before shoving the rooster aside and stalking towards Darkwing. "LOOK AROUND YOU, DARK! MY DISCIPLES HAVE GATHERED! AND WITH THEM, AND WITH THIS NEW BODY, I FEEL JUST LIKE MY OLD SELF AGAIN!" Morgana cackled, and magic began to crackle and snap around her, gathering like lightning bolts around her body and filling her eyes.

Across the roof, where the Featherlights, Honker, and Waddlemeyer watched, the old duck blinked, and glanced at the youngsters over his shoulder.

"‘Disciples’?"

By the time Max and Scrooge made it down to the bottom floor of Canard Tower, they could feel the whole building shaking with whatever was going on high, high above them. When they burst open the doors, they rushed out into the street and looked up, straining to see any glimpse of what they were missing.

What they were missing, it looked like, was a massive storm cloud that was thrashing out red, unnatural lighting.

"Morgana," Scrooge hissed. "Blast that witch!"

"Maybe we should head back up there!" Max turned to him, gesturing wildly. "I mean, that can’t be good, right?"

"Nay, I’d say not," Scrooge shook his head. "But, where they need us is right down here, finding something to stop all of this! Now, which way did they say this confounded deposit was?"

Max didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he was lost in thought, eyes wandering around. When they spotted something further down the road, they popped open.

"Uh, Mr. McDuck?"

"Please lad, don’t call me that," Scrooge shook his head. "Only Launchpad calls me that, and I’ve yet to figure out why -"

"Well do you mind if that thing calls you that?!" the pup screeched, and Scrooge spun around, gasping. Further down the block was a massive, tentacled pigeon creature, its head twisting back and forth as both yellow, bulging eyes looked at them. While Max stared at the thing in terror, Scrooge looked entranced.

"Look at that!" he cooed, leaning closer and adjusted his glasses as if he could get a better look. "It resembles the monsters that Morgana created on the roof, except more…"

Finally, the creature spotted them, and charged, cooing loudly. Its wings spread and its beak flashed - when CRASH! Another creature, a giant doughnut of some kind, crashed into it from an alleyway. Both monsters tangled up and tumbled around, finally landing in the middle of the road in a cooing, hissing mess.

"... Of the ‘Horror Movie Monster’ variety?" Max suggested with a shrug, and both heroes blinked, and their faces fell.

"Gosalyn."

Scrooge began to creep for a nearby alley, but Max paused, his eyes perking up. He turned and looked over his shoulder, towards City Hall, and hissed after Scrooge.

"Wait - Scrooge! Do you hear that?"

Scrooge frowned at him.

City Hall was just around the corner from Canard Tower’s front entrance, and the two crept there quickly, peaking around the corner and towards the regal, marble building.

It wasn’t the building’s facade or big purple banner that caught their attention, however. It was the rows and rows of hooded figures that surrounded it, bowing to the ground. They chanted in unison, a garbled, unnatural sound, like audio playing backwards. Before them, across the Hall’s front steps, was the projection screen Steelbeak had used, but it showed images of runes and unrecognizable glyphs.

"What the heck is that?!" Max gasped, and Scrooge inched closer.

"It’s a ritual of some kind. To help out the Knights, no doubt." Scrooge heard the electric click of a camera shutter, and when he looked up at Max, the pup was busy aiming his cell phone at the masses before them, quickly taking a few pictures. "What are you doing?!"

"Sending pictures of this craziness to the only Knight on our side!" Max replied, and quickly texted the images off to Honker. "If they’re using it against us, it would help to figure out what it is!"

Scrooge nodded, and began to creep back around the corner. "Aye, good thinking. Come on, we’d better shake a tail or else those photos won’t matter much."

"Like I said," Max rolled his eyes and followed, "you must be a thrill at parties!"

Morgana continued to draw power from the air, which sparkled and crackled around her in lightning bolts, and she lifted back into the air.

On the other side of the roof, from where she hung between Honker and Chickpea, Izzavolts snarled. "Hey! That’s my thing!"

"Doctor -!" Chickpea whimpered, turning to the old duck as their feathers whipped around in the wind, "what’s going on?!"

Waddlemeyer adjusted his glasses and studied the witch, not even caring when some of his books clattered to the floor, their pages flapping about. After a moment, he gasped, and stumbled backwards as if he’d been struck in the chest. Henri appeared at his elbow, helping steady him. "Oh - oh no!"

"What?! What’s happening?!" she chirped.

"The worst possible thing," he muttered, rushing backwards to the group. "She’s drawing power!"

"Like, creating it?" Honker asked, and Chickpea shook her head.

"No, no you can’t create magic! You draw it out of somewhere that it already exists and then reshape it to whatever you want it to do." For not the first time since meeting her, Waddlemeyer stared at the hen, stunned. "But - Negaduck destroyed the staff! Where is she getting this magic from?"

Honker’s laptop, which he’d discarded nearby, dinged loudly, and he glanced at it. Swapping his place under Izzavolt’s other arm a bit awkwardly with Henri, who couldn’t match his height, he dashed to his laptop and checked it. A text message from Max came through with a couple images, and they made the canary’s eyes pop open. "Uh…" slowly, he stood, carrying the laptop with him, and spun it around to show the others the images on it. "Maybe from here?!"

"City Hall!" Henri clucked. "Who are all those people?"

"And what are they doing there?" Honker added.

"And where did they get all those matching robes?" Izzavolts frowned.

Dumping the lizard off her shoulder suddenly, Chickpea seized the laptop and spun it around into Waddlemeyer’s face. "Those runes they’re surrounding - what are they?"

Waddlemeyer blinked at the device and took a closer look, his eyes squinting a little. Then, his feathers paled. "It’s exactly what I feared. They - all of these Knights here - are using a spell that gathers magic up, and that is what Morgana is drawing from! They are doing all of the hard work for her!"

"Why is there so much magic in City Hall?" Honker frowned, and Waddlemeyer frowned, tapping his chin.

"I’m not sure that it’s City Hall they’re pulling it from, that may have just been a gathering place. But this kind of ritual, they are pulling magic from living, breathing beings! It’s the most potent kind of magic, and the hardest to control! That’s why there are so many of them!"

"So they’re serving up a jumbo shot of magic steroids," Izzavolts said, motioning with one arm. "What happens when she fills up?"

By then, the chanting from the street far below filled the air around them, and Waddlemeyer turned back to Morgana.

"She’ll be strong enough to do whatever she wants."

On the other side of the roof, Quiverwing frowned, her black mask knotting, and she began to look around.

"Dad! Dad! Do you hear that?"

Darkwing looked to her quickly, and then his own mask twisted. He lowered the Bō and looked around. Voices, distorted strange ones, began to creep into the air from all sides, their words impossible to distinguish. Then, the mallard’s eyes popped open, and he spun back around to the Knights.

"Her disciples!"

"INDEED, DARK!" Morgana laughed, and Steelbeak did the same. Portia and Mark crossed to him, looking proud of themselves, and the other Knights and monsters - who weren’t currently surrounding the heroes and licking their chops - also began to move forward, surrounding their queen in one big ring. "MY FOLLOWERS ARE TOO GOOD TO ME!"

"In order to restore the Knights," Steelbeak flashed a grin at Darkwing, "I knew we needed my partner back! And, well, thanks to your brother, there was no one left in this rotten, stinking town who would willingly help us, so we made our own volunteers!"

The heroes stared at him in horror.

"St. Canard," Darkwing breathed, "City of Knights."

Another crack of lightning split the sky, and Izzavolts snarled and pushed away from Henri. "Again, that’s my bit - ack!" she gasped when runes appeared around her, tugging her, Riptide, and the unconscious Quackerjack to the center of the circle, binding them back to back.

"I SEE YOU BROUGHT SOME TOYS TO PLAY WITH," Morgana snickered.

Steelbeak turned and glared at Mark, and the macaw rolled his eyes.

"Oh, get over it!"

"NO, NO, ROCKY," Morgana cooed down at them, "I DON’T MIND! IN FACT, I FIND THE WHOLE THING RATHER… INSPIRING! THEIR BETRAYAL JUST GOES TO SHOW THAT YOU CAN’T BEAT THE REAL THING!" Morgana swung her hands in intricate circles, her long, slender fingers dancing, and glowing spellwork etched into the air around her. She looked down to Steelbeak, Portia, and Mark, who smirked outward to the trapped, or fallen, heroes. The lighting and shadows as Morgana gathered power made their eyes gleam. "WHAT DO YOU SAY WE SHOW THEM HOW IT’S DONE?"

The magic, forming a ball of lightning around her, burst and cracked outward, crashing downward onto the trio with a deafening boom that shook the whole roof. Light pierced outward from the center of the dust cloud, and when Morgana, cackling again, swept it all away, three new figures emerged.

Steelbeak stepped forward towards the Mallards and Launchpad. He stood upright, tall and proud, and reached up to smooth back his shiny, chrome comb. His hands, his joints, even his bowtie were all transformed into flawless, shining iron, which had been polished to a smooth, gleaming surface. Even his beak had been repaired, and his iron teeth flashed at them when he grinned.

"HE GOES BY MANY NAMES," Morgana sang, putting on her best announcer voice, " ‘ROCKY,’ ‘SILVERBEAK,’ EVEN ‘STEELBEAK,’ BUT NOW HE’S BACK AND READY TO FINISH THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL! COWARDS AND CREEPS, I GIVE YOU… IRONCLAD!"

Next was Mark, whose eyes opened with a flash of electricity and pixels, and his whole body glowed and zapped around. He was a form of pure digital energy inside a pixel shell, buzzing and blipping and flashing a quick selfie.

"THIS ONE COMES ALL THE WAY FROM DUCKBURG, A KAJILLIONARE PLAYBOY INVENTOR, THE MEANEST STREAK TO EVERY HIT THE SOCIALS, THE BIGGEST BULLY ON THE INTERNET, AND THE ONE GUY YOU CAN’T SEEM TO KEEP BLOCKED… ALGORITHM!"

Portia was next, and after Morgana had cleaned up her hair, Algorithm grabbed some lights from the lighting rig, yanked them closer, and as they flew through the air they disassembled and reformed into a microphone and camera, which Portai grabbed and posed in front of.

"A ST. CANARD NATIVE AND LOCAL HERO, PORTIA FEATHERLY HAS NEVER BEEN ONE TO SHY AWAY FROM A STORY, EVEN IF SHE HAS TO PUT HER OWN LIFE ON THE LINE TO MAKE IT! HARD HITTING, QUICK CUTTING, AND ALWAYS READY WITH A HEADLINE, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR… NEWSFLASH!"

Quiverwing pushed herself onto her heels and then, swaying slightly, up onto her feet.

"Dad!" she called, but Darkwing didn’t move. "Dad!" she called again, limping to him and grabbing his shoulders. Darkwing stared at the villains before them, his hands shaking. Quiverwing turned, and stared at them too.

"WHAT WILL IT BE, HEROES? NOT LOOKING SO BRAVE NOW THAT YOU'RE OUTNUMBERED!" Morgana laughed, hovering to the roof below her comrades and crossing her arms. The bound supers grunted when they were scattered suddenly, knocking to the far corners of the roof in tumbling heaps, knocking out a few Knights or monsters along the way. "YOU THINK YOU STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THE REAL FEARSOME FOUR, FEARSOME THREE?!"

The heroes stared ahead, their eyes wide, packed together in nervous, trembling circles. From where he laid, Quackerjack groaned. He lifted his head and gasped, hauling his burnt hands under him and trying to blink away the tears in his eyes. Painfully, slowly, he pushed himself onto his elbows, but collapsed back to the roof with a defeated, soft, jingle. Before him, swimming in and out of his vision as pain spread over him, laid one dented, golden bell, ripped free from his hat and laying lopsided. He turned, gritting his teeth and dragging his head off the floorboards beneath him, to search for Chickpea.

She stood in a clump with Waddlemeyer, Honker, and Henri.

She stared up at Morgana, and at the newly transformed Knights beneath her.

She looked scared.

They all did.

Quackerjack turned, waves of pain spreading across his skin with every movement of the burnt feathers, and stared up at Morgana.

His bill curled in a snarl.

And then, the roof trembled.

Portia and Steelbeak pitched forward when the quakes reached them, the other Knights and monsters stumbling. Mark, who blipped through the air, looked around in confusion.

A smile spread across Morgana’s bill seconds before -

BOOM!

The hole left by Quacerkjack’s bomb burst open as a tower of blooming, green vines erupted from underneath the floor. The tower continued to climb, reaching higher and higher, and the Knights gasped, staring up at it. They failed to notice the smaller, thinner sprouts that crawled up from among the floorboards around their feet until it was too late. Those, too, sprung upwards and snagged ankles, tails, wrists, whatever they could reach, squeezing and lifting, raising the Knights off the floor. Monsters were tangled and Knights yelped, and the heroes gasped when a new wall, which sprouted purple flowers, emerged and surrounded them, long, jagged barbs protruding from the outside and facing anyone who dared get too close. Izzavolts and Quacerkjack were lifted gently off the roof and from among the debris that surrounded them by beds of purple and golden buds, which glowed and warmed their wounds. A pitcher plant the size of Steelbeak scooped up Liquidator and filled in his holes and crevices with sweet, warm sap.

"NO! NO!" Steelbeak shrieked, watching his army be swept off their feet and lifted above his head. He roared and spun around to the plant tower. Flowers and buds began to bloom around it, turning it purple and pink, and the largest bud at the top split open, and from it stepped Catnip. Her body was covered with colorful buds and tree-bark armor, and she smiled proudly down at the furious rooster.

Morgana lowered herself to Steelbeak’s side as he shook with rage. She, however, began to tremble with excitement.

"Better count again, Morgana!" shouted a husky, gravely voice, from the top of the tower. Silhouetted against the lightning, a flash of hornet-yellow and red streaked through the air and landed heavily at the base of the tower. Negaduck stood and snarled up at the Knights from under the brim of his fedora, the scar that ran across his bill shining under the red lightning. His tattered cape flapped in the breeze behind him, and his hands curled into fists. Everyone stared in shock and awe as he declared, loudly, "I count the Fearsome Five!"

From where they were scattered among the roof, the supers pushed themselves from their healing pods, and stared at the masked mallard. They turned, their gaze found each other’s, and they smiled.

CRACK!

Izzavolts appeared at Negaduck’s side, tossing his torn, tattered cape about. She bared her snaggletooth and whooped, and electricity rushed to her, gathering under her scales and making her glow. Negaduck didn’t flinch.

WOOSH!

Riptide splashed and spun to the group, towering behind them as a wall of running, flowing water. He raised his watery fists, and flashed his million-dollar smirk. A stream of yellow, sugary sweep sap ran through his body, energizing him. Droplets of water scattered around the group, but Negaduck didn’t so much as glance at them.

POOF!

A pop of pink dust and confetti appeared on Negaduck’s other side, and Quackerjack appeared, laughing. He juggled more bombs in his hands, and rocked back and forth on a unicycle. The knicks and cuts in his costume had been snitched together, and soft cotton filled the holes. Aloe of some kind had been spread across his charred feathers, and cotton wraps were around his hands. The missing bell had been replaced with a golden bellflower.

His presence, Negaduck smirked at.

Across the roof, Darkwing didn’t dare try to stop the proud smile that spread across his bill, or the laughter that bubbled out of him, and he could feel the pride oozing off of Quiverwing and Launchpad as they stepped to his side.

"Only Dive," he shook his head.

Negaduck strode forward, his Glock shining as he drew it from his pocket and removed the old clip. He moved easily, like he didn’t have a care in the world. "Now, the way I see it, fictional or not, the villains have always run this town. So, we can kick you out the easy way, or," he clicked the new clip into the pistol, and his brown eyes slid to Morgana, as if bored, "the hard way. Personally, I prefer the second."

Morgana giggled, and soared back into the air. Algorithm zapped to her side, and Portia and Steelbeak stepped side by side in her shadow. "VERY WELL, DIVE." Her hair waved as runes erupted from her skin and spun in circles and glyphs above their heads the size of buses. "JUST REMEMBER, YOU ASKED FOR THIS."

Negaduck grinned a smile of jagged, shining teeth. "Hell yeah we did."

Shaking her head, Morgana’s eyes began to glow, and her voice boomed outwards through the air. "KNIGHTS…!"

"Five…!"

The Five prepared their attacks, a look of crazed exhilaration in their eyes, and the Knights across from them did the same.

Together, they shouted, "IT’S PLAYTIME!"

Illustrations by yours truly!

Chapter 19: The Chapter Where Everyone Is Put In A Blender And Someone Hits "Puree"

Chapter Text

Many different things happened at once.

The Fearsome Five leapt into battle, and the Knights and their lackeys did the same. Izzavolts blipped forward, yelping when Algorithm appeared in her face.

"H͆̚e͌́͋y͊͛͝ '̓͛̚I̾͝͝z͒̈́͠z̒̿ä́̾͝v͆͝o̽͘͝l͒̓͒t͒͌̾s͊͌͘'̓͛͝," the macaw laughed, blipping and glitching through the air and blocking the lizard’s path every time she did the same, "ý̀̓o͊̈́̾u͆̓̔ l͐̽̒i̿͝͝k̈́͘e̿͐͝ g̀̓͝a͐͛͛m̈́͛̓e͐̐͋s͌̈́͌,͋͛͘ s̓͠o̾͊͘ l͒̀̕ë́̔̽ẗ́̕’̐̐͋s͐͆͘ p̓̔l̀̾͐a͐̀̐ỳ̔͘ ä́͊̔ g͋͆͘a̿͆̽m̚͝͝e͝͝!́̓͛ I̾̾̔t̓̒͝’̀̓͐s̒́͝ c̿̕͘a͌̿͘l͊̓̐l̓͝͝e͛͆̾d̈́̾̚ ‘̓̕K̿̐e̓͐̓e̽͋͑p͐̔͝ A͌͘͘w̒͠á͌̔ý͐̓’͠͝!̈́̈́͆" Cackling, Algorithm charged headfirst into Izzavolt’s chest, a smear of jittering pixels as he rammed into her, knocking the lizard from the air and to the roof below. She shook her head and hissed up at him, her mohawk trembling.

"Alright Nerd, you’re on!" In a crack of lightning she was gone, and Algorithm laughed. The two chased each other through the air, darting every which way.

Quackerjack watched the monsters stampede towards them, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I’m running out of ‘animal wrangling’ bits," he grumbled, tossing the bombs he juggled into the air, hopping off the unicycle and tossing it behind him. Instead, he drew a wooden baseball bat from his pocket, and his clown clothes were replaced with a dusty, red and white striped baseball uniform. "So how about we cut the routine short?!" The bombs fell from the air before him, and the clown swung the bat. It cracked against the bombs and the black, round orbs sailed through the air, peppering the monster stampede with small, noisy explosions. "It’s going - it’s going - it’s going - it’s gone!" Quackerjack cheered, waving the bag of peanuts in his hand through the air and scattering them everywhere. "Homerun!"

Growling and contorting so their monstrous bodies cracked, the beasts staggered back to their feet, and turned to the gander with a snarl. Quackerjack grinned back. He swung the bat behind his head again and twirled it around a couple times. "Alright fellas’, it’s the bottom of the 9th, and the bases are loaded! Let’s finish this!" In a flash, the gander darted forward and swung the bat, whooping excitedly as the "Charge!" song played loudly. He bellowed, "CHARGE!", and swung the bat against a beast so hard it rocketed up into the air, bounced off the pink barrier, and fell - screeching - to the ground far, far below. Quackerjack swung the bat onto his shoulder and turned to give the remaining beasts a stink eye. They whimpered, looking conflicted, like they wanted to retreat, and Quackerjack summoned more baseballs, pelting them as they scrambled for safety. He cackled the whole time.

Catnip watched the clown with a grin, giggling at his antics. Her pink shoulders flinched when Morgana unleashed a wave of magic, the glowing red razors slicing through the towering vines with varying success. Some Knights were freed as their bonds were severed and tumbled down into battle, some dangled loosely, others were missed completely. Gasping, Catnip’s ears pinned back and she hissed at the witch. Morgana turned to her and winked.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," she purred, slowly curling one finger in Catnip’s direction. With a huff, the feline waved her hands, and a massive flower bloomed beneath her feet, lifting her off the roof and into the air. When it rushed forward, she rode atop of it, spreading out vines and stringing whatever lackeys she could reach back into the air. Morgana shot after her, slicing through the vines as fast as she could and flinging various objects - debris, other Knights, rubble - at the feline.

Catnip squeaked when her flower bud was decapitated from its stem, tossing her to the roof. She rolled briefly, and sat up with a small shiver. A shadow loomed closer, and Catnip looked up quickly, seeing Ironclad standing over her. His eyes were narrow and he snarled, his claws flashing. He slashed at her, and Catnip scrambled away, lashing at him with vines and stems, but he tore and sliced through them all.

"You no good, thankless, heartless birch -!"

"HEY!"

Ironclad cried out when a flash of red appeared in his vision, and something wrapped around his head, yanking him backwards and off his feet. He thundered to the roof, shaking it with his weight, and then ripped the fabric free, spinning and turning around to snarl at whoever had attacked him.

This time, he was the one blinking up a shadow, and Negaduck’s Glock flashed in his vision as he snarled down at the rooster.

"No one gets to call her that," he growled. "Especially not you."

Ironclad’s bill twisted and he lunged forward, deceitfully quick for how much he weighed. He threw one fist behind his head and swung it at the masked duck, who tossed his cape into Ironclad’s face and dodged the blow. His fist, a big twist of metal, smashed through the roof like an anvil, and he ripped the cape off his face. Pupils dilated with rage, Ironclad spun around and yanked his fist free of the shattered wood around it. Negaduck had vanished, and Ironclad searched for him. He saw a flash of red and roared, charging after it. The form crumbled under him when he tackled it, and Ironclad sat back and tore the thing to pieces like a rabid animal, little bits of cotton and fabric filling the air around him like confetti. When the snowfall around him registered, the rooster blinked down at the item he clutched by the neck and he tore the remaining red fabric away from it. It was a soft, cotton mannequin, wearing a hand-sewn version of the Negaduck suit, and Ironclad gasped. Someone whistled at him, and he looked up, seeing Quackerjack before him. The gander wore a tailor’s suit, a measuring tape around his neck and a bobby pin cushion around his wrist like a corsage. Catnip stood next to him, cotton plants surviving her feet.

"What’s wrong?" Quackerjack frowned, his hands waving. "I thought you’d be the kinda guy who appreciates high fashion!" Ironclad roared and raced at him. Quackerjack turned to Catnip with a wink. When she grinned back, Quackerjack watched her speed off, back to work, and turned back to Ironclad. He grinned excitedly.

The last to charge forward was Riptide, who took a moment to replenish himself on the water pipes he’d previously burst upward through the floor. Catnip’s sap still spread across his skin in ripples like he was a piece of kintsugi art, bright golden against the cooler tones of his watery form. Flexing his chest and arms, he decided he liked it.

The otter scanned the chaos. Izzavolts was busy with Algorithm, Catnip was far across the roof distracting Morgana by stringing up the resurrected Knights as soon as the witch cut them down, Negaduck was darting here and there and pummeling anyone in his path - presumably trying to reach his family, and Quackerjack was keeping Ironclad busy with a big grin and lots of laughs.

There was only one of them left, and Riptide’s gaze narrowed in on her.

Newsflash was also watching the chaos around her, a disapproving frown on her bill. She rolled her eyes and tossed her perfect hair behind her shoulder. "Seriously, can’t any of these morons keep themselves even a little bit organized? No wonder the Knights fell apart…" Hearing the sound of rushing water, she turned just in time for Riptide to appear and sweep her off her high heels. The duck squawked and tumbled and turned in the current, and the otter laughed.

"Now that’s what I call a ‘roving reporter’!" he bubbled, dumping the soaked duck onto the roof in a heap.

Coughing and sputtering, Portia pushed herself up and swept her hair out of her face, shrieking at Riptide. He only laughed more, and shrugged.

"What’s wrong, Portia, I thought you wanted to be in on the action!"

Portia’s face curled up in a twisted, ugly snarl as she huffed, but then, she stopped. A thought crossed her mind and a grin stretched across her bill, and the green duck stood and tossed her hair in a wet flap back over her shoulder. Riptide rolled his eyes and charged forward again -

"Newsflash! Liquidator Freezes Before Competition!"

Riptide yanked backwards in shock when Newsflash's cameras circled him and filled his vision with bright flashes from their bulbs. His vision dotting with stars, the otter shook his head and gasped. "What?! Sean Ottoman never freezes!" But then, the otter frowned, and spun around. Starting at the tip of his long tail, a chilly, icy sensation began to spread, leaving behind a frozen, stiff shell in its place. "Wait - hang on!" Riptide gasped, straining and stretching to get away from the ice that was rapidly covering him. Portia strode closer, and laughed.

"Sorry, ‘Bubbles’," she mocked, the cameras that circled her like buzzards swinging around Riptide’s head and flashing their bright lights at him, "but around here, I’m the one who writes the headlines!"

Riptide’s body continued to freeze, and he shivered, his teeth chattering as he grunted and tried to pull himself free. The ice reached his hips and spread quickly up his sides and to his arms. "N-not - cool!" he stammered, and then the ice reached his neck and swallowed his face, and he was still.

Portia smiled up at her work, feeling proud of herself. "Oh, on the contrary...!" Sashaying closer, she knocked on the big ice statue a few times, and he rang sharply, like any other ice statue. "Well, that’s one down!" the duck chirped and spun around, rubbing her hands together and surveying the remaining heroes one by one. "Now, who wants their turn in the spotlight next…?"

Before she could go far, however, a loud, cracking noise reached her, and Portia spun around as large cracks punched their way through the ice. She gasped and flinched when the ice erupted in a wave of freezing water and icy chunks, and Riptide pulled himself out of the remaining frozen shell as if emerging from a cocoon. A sizable part of him remained behind, still frozen in place, but the otter shivered and straightened, looking his double over in confusion. He turned to Portia, and she looked just as shocked as he was.

"But - but - how?!" she cried, stomping towards him, and Riptide sloshed behind her, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.

"B-because," he grinned, raising up as he pulled more water from the busted pipes, "the name’s not ‘Liquidator’ anymore! It’s Riptide!" Charging forward, the otter scooped Portia up one more time and stuffed her into the frozen shell. He waved around and tugged, bending the ice and refreezing it into place to trap her there. Portia wailed and hissed at him, kicking and clawing at her prison, but the otter just shrugged and sauntered away. "Next time try doing a fact check!"

He laughed and splashed into battle, leaving behind a manic, furious duck.

Fenton hadn’t been knocked out too many times in his life. Usually, the kind of foes he faced weren’t the kind to fight back, and if he was struck by something the suit did the heavy lifting of protecting his fragile body stashed away inside it.

Today, however, was one for the history books.

As Fenton slowly, painfully came back to consciousness, he decided that he very much didn’t like it.

The first sensation that returned was a pounding in his head, a deafening knocking that only got louder and more clear the more the fog in his head rolled away. The light of the computer was filling his vision, and he rolled his aching head around as far as he could in the confines of the suit.

Blinking helped his vision stop swimming, and Fenton stared at the monitor as the images slowly stopped doing the same. Someone was above him, knocking on the suit and tapping on his bill, and he could faintly make out whiskers and big, pink blooms.

"Bushroot…?" he croaked, and the feline perked up. She climbed off the suit quickly and waved her arms as if beckoning the metal duck closer to her. Fenton gasped when the suit began to lift upward, pulled free of the stage’s rubble by a massive pink blossom. Warmth was spreading through him, and the throbbing in his head began to dull.

Once he was upright, Catnip smiled up at him, her tail flicking. Gizmoduck blinked and looked around. "Uh, are we on the same side now, or…?"

Suddenly, red alerts and warnings flooded Fenton’s vision and ears and he yelped, slamming his eyes shut as each flash drilled into his head. The suit around him began to jitter and spasm around him, as if someone was shaking it. Catnip flinched and recoiled, reaching out towards the suit as if she could help.

"I - I don’t know what’s going on!" Gizmoduck cried, jostled within the bucking, twisting suit. That certainly wasn’t helping his head. "Computer reboot! Computer - ah!" Suddenly, the suit’s chassis spun, his arms spread outward like helicopter blades. He knocked Catnip off her feet and sent her tumbling across the roof, before stopping, stretching, spinning, and contorting like someone was shaking a puppet’s strings. "Bushroot! I’m sorry - Computer - reboot! Stop this! Cancel the current command! Computer - why isn’t it responding?!"

Then, a voice laughed its way through his suit, slowly circling Fenton’s head and echoing into his ears. "O͆̈́̽h͆͐́,͌͐̓ s̐͠o̽̾͆r̔̿͝r̿͘͝ý̿̿!͒̀͘ T͐͊̚ḧ́͑̽a͛̒͝t͛͌͘ w͌͌o̓͒͠u͒̔ĺ͛̀d͋̈́̽ b̀͊̈́e͑͋̀ m̾͐̚e͒̐͝!̓͝"

Finally the suit froze stiff, Gizmoduck’s arms co*cked at awkward angles. Catnip picked herself up and frowned at it in concern. She yelped when Algorithm’s head popped out of the suit’s chest suddenly, smiling to himself with a crazed expression. Laughing, he slipped from the suit and hovered in the air, turning back to the large contraption and scrutinizing it.

"Q͛̚ú̽͌i͘͠t͊̾̚e͐͌͝ a̾͑͝ l̀͆̀i̓̓t̓͛t̒̓̒l͊̒͐e͛͠͝ g̒͒̈́a͋͌͝d̓̐̓g͋̈́e̒͘͠t͛̚͝ y͛̀͝o͛͛̚u̒͘͝’͛͝͠v̐͆͝e͒͝ g͛̔͝o̒͆͛t͑̚ h̽͠͝è̓͐r͑̈́͆e͒͝,̽̓͘ G͋̾̕i̓͋͌z̔̒͘," he purred, tapping a finger against his glitching, glowing chin. The suit stood before him, but Algorithm didn’t see what others saw. Instead of shining white armor with a glowing "G" on the chest, he saw a form of one’s and zero’s, electric circuits like veins, running blue with energy and code. It was positively tantalizing. The world was a ghostly, empty grid, except for the codes rushing around through the surrounding electric devices.

"O̓̾͒h͐̿,͐̔͆ G͛̓i͆̐͝z͆͌̕," the macaw moaned, kicking forward with his hands cupping his chin. "J͋͝u̓̈́̽s̽͒͘t͛͊̕ l͊̽͝o͒̚͠o̓͘͝k̐͑͝ a̓̕͝t̓̾̾ y͊̾͑o̔̕̕ǘ̀͒!͊͋͌ I͐̀͘ n͆̒e̽͛̕v̈́̓͘e̾̒̕ŕ͐͝ r͋̓̔e͛̈́̓á͊l͋̾́i̐́̿z̈́̀͒e͐͆̕d͐́͠ h̒͐͝ö́̚̕w̾̓̒ m̿̈́͝u͒̀͘c̀̒h͐̾̿ ć̈́͛ò͑͌d̓̐́è̀͝ y̓͐̾o̓̚ù̈́͝’̐̔͆v̓̀̓e̐̾ g͋͒o͐̓t͌͋͑!"

"What -? What are you talking about?" Gizmoduck replied, grunting as he strained to move the suit out of its frozen position. "Get away from my systems! Let - let me go!"

Algorithm laughed, a whiny electric sound, and lunged forward. He pressed against the suit’s chassis like it were a pillow, stroking it with his hands. "B͒͛u͑̿͠t͒̐͝ t̒̾͠ḧ́̐̕ä́̽̀t̽̚͝ ẃ͐̕o̔̓̚u̓̾͝l͑̈́̐d͌̾́ r͋̈́͐u͑͐̀i̒̈́̔n̿̔̐ o̓͆͠u̾̓̚r̚͝͝ m̓̕̚o̽͆̚m̒̾͆e̽͌͒n̈́́͆t͒͊͝!"

"We are not," the duck grunted again, hissing, "having a moment!"

Algorithm sat back and stretched his arms out, motioning between himself and Gizmoduck. "B̚͝u͛͑̐t͆̚ G͒͌i͒̀̒z̈́̈́͐,͑̚͝ l̀̓͘o͐̓͝o̿͛͠k̒̒̓ a̓̿͆t͌̽̓ ǘ͐͊s̀͆͊!̈́͒̿ I͋̚’̓͐̒m̿̿̾ a͊͝ w͊́̾a͐͊͑l̓͐̈́k̀̓̕ì̐͌n̿̓͛g̀͛͠ g͐͋͠l͆̒́i͆͐̈́t͆̽̓c̀͝h͋̔͘,̈́͛͌ a͐̓͆ f͌͊͘l̔͐͌o͛̚á̚͝t̐̔͐ì͐͆ń̾̿g͆͆̒ v́͊͘i̓͐͋r̽͛͝ǘ̓s̀͑͝,͛̀ a̐̀̕ ĺ̈́͘o͋́͒n͒͊̀e͛̔̓l͊̽̾ỳ͆͘,̐͝ w̓̽a̾̚͝n͌̔̽d̐̈́͝e̒͛̕r̕͝i͊̓̕n̒͛͊g̀͑͝ l͊̚͝i͋̔͘t͌̒̚t̒̀͋l̒͌̈́e̔̓̓ p͋͆i̿͌͆e̓̈́̔c̀̐̓e͠͝͠ o͋͌͠f̽́͝ s̀͛́o͆͑̽f͛͛͘t͐̈́w̿͛͠à̔͑ŕ̚͠e̓͋́ j͒͒u̔͛̚ś͆͆t͐̈́̽ w̒̔͐à̀̈́i̐̾̔t̓̒͝i͛͒͐n̈́̔̒g̔͋͐ f̾́o͛̈́͝r̾̒͆ s̀͆o͋͑͝ḿ̓̈́ë́̓͒ b͝͝ì̈́͝ǵ̈́͊,́͆͝ s̾̽t͋͐̚r̈́̓ò̒̔n̾́͠g͛̓̚,̒̔̿ h͒͛͌u͐̀͝n̔͑́k̾͆ o͒͛͊f͋̕͝ c̿̓o̐̔̓d̔͑͝é͌̈́ ẗ́̐͝o̔̒́ ẅ́͑͆a̓͝͝ń͒̕d̐̾͝e̽͑r̔͑͠ b̈́̚y͑͛͋ s̽̓̓ó̐̚ I͑̈́̓ c͛͐̈́a̚̚͝n̓͒̾ s̓͘͠c̔͋̀r̽̓͋a̔̒͋ḿ̒͘b̽̀͝l̈́͌̚e͌́ i̾͛̽t̓̚ a̐̚͝l̒̓̈́l̽͛͝ u̒̿̕p̾́̓!͆͒͠" Suddenly, Algorithm plunged his hands into the suit, which began to shake violently, shooting out sparks.

"NO - STOP! STOP!" Gizmoduck shrieked, the sound of the suit groaning and twisting around him filling his ears. "Computer - stop! Shut down!"

"T͛͑͘s͒̀̈́k̚͠-͆̐ẗ́̀s͐̽͠k͘̚͠-́̀̓t͑́̿s͆̾̾k͌̽̒," Algorithm giggled, withdrawing his hands and waving one finger in Gizmoduck’s flushed face. "C̓͌o̐̒͐m͋̈́p͋͠u͑́̀t͛͐͛e̓̓̀r̒̓͘:̐͝͝ p͛̓̓ǘ̒̚n͛̈́͘c̈́̒͊h͐͘͠ y͊̔̿o̓̀̀u͑̿r̈́̔̚s̿̕̕e͋͌̀l̕̚͠f͌̐͝ i͊͘͠n̔͋̈́ t͐̕͝h̾̓͘e̾̈́ f͐͊͠a̿͋̽c̈́̽͌e͐͝͝!"

"What -?!" Gizmoduck gasped when the arms moved, smashing into his bill and half-shattering the visor. Then it repeated the motion again, and again, and again. With every blow, Algorithm’s maniac giggles increased, and soon he was rolling through the air with laughter, tossing himself backwards and kicking his legs.

Suddenly, the assault ended when leafy vines whipped up and grabbed the suit's arms, stabilizing them.

"W̐̾̒H̀̐̈́A̾̾͒T̀̕͝?!" Algorithm gasped, his shoulders hunching unhappily. "W̓͒͋H͌͆̕O͛͋̐ T͐͘O͌͊͑Ĺ̒̾D̒͌͒ Y̾̒̿O͒͒͝Ǘ͋͝ T͑̈́͠O̿͋͑ S̔́̚T̓̾Ó̕͝P̈́͊͌?!"

Behind him, Catnip grunted as the suit strained against her hold. When Algorithm swam forward to yell at Gizmoduck, he hit one of them, grunting and rubbing his arm.

"H͒͠E̐̀͝Y̔̓͑!͌̓̓ W̿͘H̒̽̈́A̓͘T͒͋ G̀͌I̒͌͑V͌͒̕E̓̐̒S͋͝͝?!"

Inside the suit, Fenton shook his head, blinking the stars out of his eyes and shattered glass off his bill. Half of the visor had been smashed to pieces, missing completely. The remaining half filled his vision with angry, glitching static.

"E-enough!" he barked as forcefully as he could, and the suit relaxed. The vines released him, and Gizmoduck glanced quickly at Catnip. She, however, was frowning up at Algorithm. "Mark -!"

"Í̈́͝t̓͝͝’̈́͐͊s̿̚͘ A͊̈́̿L͋̒͆G̈́̾͑Ö́̔̕R̓͑͠Ḯ͒̔T̾́̓H̿͆̔M̒̽͝ N̿̽͑O͐̈́͘W̔̚͝!" the macaw screeched, his form multiplying and glowing in rapid blinks and jitters. "A͛̈́͝n͆̔̕d̓͛͝ y̓͌̿o͐͌̈́u͐̐͘ d̓́͠o͒͝ǹ̿͆’̒͋t̀͆͑ g͒̾̒i̿͐͝v̓̓̚e͆͆͝ ẗ́̾͠h̽͛͠e̓͌͝ ò̈́̓r͋͑͐d̐̾͠e̿̐͠r͋̓̔s͛̈́͝ a͛͌̾n͋̾y͐͆̈́m͐͊̒o͆̈́̾ŕ͠é͐͋,̈́͆͘ d͊͒̓w͛̚͝e̒̓͝e̓͌͛b̕̚͝!̓̓͊ I̐͠͠ D̀̐͊O͒͝!" Crying out, he lunged forward and buried his arms deeper into the suit, tearing and clawing it apart while laughing loudly. Fenton couldn’t comprehend the carnage, over-stimulated because of the electric buzz across his skin and alerts and alarms blaring from every side. The suit began to churn and bend, groaning as cracks formed.

"STOP!" he shrieked. "STOP! DARKWING -!" Piece by piece, the suit continued to fold inward, twisting and tearing itself apart, drawn like a magnet to Algorithm.

"SUIT INTEGRITY AT 84%," flashed the computer, unheard among the cacophony. "59%. 31%."

Catnip watched in terror, and then she hissed. Her ears pinned back and she threw her arms at the blue static-ball before her, and vines lashed out. They tore through Algorithm, leaving behind square shaped punctures in his shell.

"Ẃ͠h̓̔a͌̽̚t̾͐ t̾̐͝h̐͑̕e͆͛-͆̓͊?!" Algorithm gasped, spinning around. "O͌̽̀w̾̽͒-͌͝͠w̒̿͝a͆̚̚!͊͊͌ T̚͠h͛̐̚a͊͘͝t̔͌͆ h̽͝u͑͊͝r̾͛̕t͌͐̕!͒̾͐ W̓̒̓h͛̐͝o͊͆͝ d̓̚͝a͒̓́ŕ͑͠e̚̕̕s̐́̽ t͑͐o̽̀͐u̔͌̓c͛̈́͠h͑̕͘ m̀̀̓ë́͊͝?!" He scanned and looked around, but the feline was invisible to his binary vision.

"Bushroot - run!" Gizmoduck panted, and the macaw spun back to him. "Algorithm," he cleared out the alerts as fast as he could, "please! You’re tearing the suit apart!"

Algorithm just shrugged and plunged his ghostly hands back inside. "W͑͊̕h̽̚̕a̓͒̀t͑̓͌ d͌͛͝o͛̓̀ I̔͐̓ c͆̈́͘ä́͑͘r͆̒̿e͋̔̿,̕͘ i͌̿̕t͒͑’̈́͛͌s͐͛̕ n̓̈́̚o̓̈́͑t̾̿̚ m̾̚͝ÿ́͝͠ t̿͐̓o͛͌̚y͒͝!̐͋̔ U̓͝n͐̿̕l͊͊͠ë́̈́͆s̓͒͝s͐͌̚…!" his yellow eyes sparkling, Algorithm reared back and pointed, irate, at the duck before him. "Á̓́l̓͘͝r͊͒i͌̓͝ǵ̒̒h̿̈́͋ẗ́̽̾ y͛̒̀ö́͊̽u̐͑ -͛͆̕ s̓̔͘c̈́̿ó̒̚ó̒͝ẗ́͒̕!"

Gizmoduck blinked at him. "... What?"

"G̔͘̕e̽̔͘ẗ́̀͛ o͒̀̈́u͐͌͐ẗ́͒̈́!̽͋͌ V̈́̔͐a͐̽̿c̾̒͝a͆̔̚t́̈́̓e͒̿̽!͛͛ Ǵ̈́̓i͝͝͠v̽͝͝e͐̚ m͊͒̐è̓͆ t͛̈́͝h͐̔͆e̔͑̾ s̽͊͌u͊̓́i͊͌͛t́͋͐!̓̓͐"

Gasping, the duck’s eyes popped open. "What?!"

"G̓͌̕Ḯ͋M͒̈́͊M͑͘E̒̀́!́͛͆ G̈́́͘i̿̔͋m̈́͝m̓͋͝é͛̚ g͛͑̕i̐̾͑ḿ̔̕m̔͑e̐͘̚ g̽̓͌i̿́͝m̽͒̕m͐͘͠e̿͐̽ g͋͒i͆́m̈́̓̓m̿̕e͝͠͠!" Algorithm shrieked, repeatedly punching his hands into and out of the suit as he threw a tantrum. "G͐͑̈́i̔͝m̈́͌͝m̐͆͝e̽̔ b͑͒͝e̾͒̒f̒̒̕o̐̔̔r͋̚͝e̓̚͠ I̒̽̿ j̓͑̓u̒̀̓s͛͋̕t͐̈́ r̈́͆̚i͌̿̒p͒͛ ḯ͌̕t͋̽͠ r͐͆ḯ̓͠g͊̔h͑̒̚t͛̔͋ ó̓͌f͋͛̽f̽̿͐ o̒͐͆f͊̿͒ y̐͠͝o̓͠u̾̔̈́!"

"NO!" Gizmoduck growled, pushing the suit upwards as far as he could. "You’ll never get this suit, you fiend!"

"U̒͆͐u͋̓͘u͋̓̚u̓͑͋u͐͋͝g͑̿͝h̕͝͝," Algorithm whined, tossing his head back. "Y͌̽o͠͝ù̓͘’͐̽͘r̀̿e̐̓͌ n̐̕͠o̔̚ f̐̐̕u͐͆̕n̽͛͘!͊̽̚ Ẁ̀͆h̽͐̈́a͋̿͛t͒̽̒è͊͌v̒͘e̐̈́͠r͛̈́͌,̈́̽͒ I͑͝͝’̒͝l̓̾̔l̽͐͐ j̓͛̈́u̚͘s͒̿t̽͐̔ t̒̀̚a̽͆͊k͆̽̚e̽̒͌ i͆͝t̓͑ i͊͘n̓͌̚s̐̕͝t̐͠͝è̐͘a͛̈́̐d̔͋͊." WIth a shrug, he whooped and dove, headfirst, for the center Gizmoduck’s chest.

Before he could make contact, however, the jet engines on his back ignited, and erupted in a fiery boost. The suit rocketed backwards, and Fenton steered the suit up into the air as fast as it could climb.

The computer was very unhappily reminding him of how little force the suit could withstand.

"I don’t care!" Fenton barked, rerouting power and struggling to maintain control as the suit shook. "We need to get some distance!"

"‘D̓̈́̕i̓͛̕s̿͋̽t͊͊͝a̓͒͝n͆̓̒c̾͠e̽͛̽’͆͛́,̓̚ ý̽͠o̓͛͆u͊͒̕ ś͑͠a̓̕͠ÿ́͘͠?" laughed Algorithm as the whole suit shuddered, knocking the duck inside it around violently. The computer monitor burst into corrupted pixels, flashing before Fenton’s eyes, and veins of blue code spread through the helmet and outwards around the suit. Fenton yelped, curling up away from the infection. "Y͋͊̚ò̾̚u͊́ c͌͝͠a̐̀͝n̔̈́͘’͋̾́t͐͊͝ h͐̽͝i̒̒̾d̿͌͠e͆̾̾ f̔̒͘r͌̔́o͒͋͝m̒̾ m͒̾̕e̽̈́!͛́̓ I͌́͋ s̓͋͝e͌̒̕e͋́̚ e̽͐͆v̿͛͛e̾̈́̐r͊͆͝ÿ́͑͊t́͝h̀͠ḯ͌̽n͐̽͝g̒͊͘!"

The suit, shaking and rattling as it was, climbed higher and higher, and Fenton could feel the buzz of static across his skin as Algorithm dug deeper and deeper.

Far below them on the roof, Catnip watched the whole scene play out, and when Gizmoduck vanished behind the churning stormcloud, she turned and ran across the roof in the direction of the closest heroes she could reach.

Still climbing, Fenton grunted when a particularly rough tremor rocked him, and Morgana’s angry stormcloud whipped by. The harsh, pink glow of the dome flooded his vision, and the suit slowed as the jet power dried up, and Algorithm took control of the remaining reserves.

In one last ditch effort, the computer summoned Fenton’s contact for Drake, and the duck blinked up at the static-filled, cracked photo. It was a picture that had been snapped at his graduation party, of him and Drake side-by-side. They had champagne glasses in their hands and Fenton had his black, pointed graduation cap on. The tassel was hanging in Drake’s face, and he was blowing it clear with an annoyed look.

Fenton laughed, finding himself staring at the small, golden key he held up proudly. The key had come inside the card Drake had gotten him. It had been simple; smooth, white cardstock with the Gizmoduck emblem embossed on the front. The inside had been covered with deep blue paper, and the key had been tucked among the fold. Drake had written a note in thick, golden ink:

"The key to the city for the smartest duck who doesn’t live in it. Congrats, Doctor. Remember, it’s not the suit that makes the hero, it’s the duck who wears it. And you’re one of the best."

Fenton couldn’t remember the last time a gift had meant so much to him.

His eyes slipped closed, and the blaring and groaning and buzzing faded away.

An odd thought occurred to Fenton, showing up out of nowhere and planting its feet in the middle of his mind. Fenton was a little stunned.

It told him that actually, Drake was right.

He was one of the best.

Fenton’s eyes popped open, and a surge of bravery and courage flared up in his chest.

"Computer," he said, "initiate ‘Failsafe: Bad Ending’."

"H͛̾̾A̔̿͝!" Algorithm laughed as the computer struggled to summon the desired program. "Y͒̈́͘o̒͝ù̿͠ c͘͠a͆͛͝ǹ͊́’͋͌͝t̔͒͒ -̈́͝͝ w̽͐͠a͊̾̒í̚͝t̕̚͝ -̓̓̈́ w̓̽ḧ́̓̀a͊̐͒ẗ́̈́͘ a͌͋͠r̾̒͋e̐̔ y̾͒̐o̒̿̀u͆͒̓ d͌̈́͝o̾̾̕i̐͛n̿̒̽g̈́̐͌?́̒͝ W͊͆͠h͑͘͠y͆̈́̾ c̽͒͊a͊͘̕n͊̿͊’̈́͝͝ẗ́͆͘ I̓̔̕ s̾́͆t͊͘o͛̐͒p͐͛̾ t͋̓̾h̔͑͐i̒͘͝s͒̾͝?!"

"Passwork?" the computer stuttered, and Fenton giggled and rolled his eyes.

"DarkwingSucks01," he said.

It had been Drake’s suggestion.

"Password Accepted. Initiating ‘Failsafe: Bad Ending’. Please stand by."

"Ẁ́̀H͒͑͘A͛͒͠T͌̈́͑ Ḯ̀̚S̐̈́͘ T̽͑̐H͐͑I͑̔͊S̒̕?!" Algorithm wailed, and Fenton could see him darting about in the suit, chasing down the command. But this one he wouldn’t catch. "Ḧ́͛̈́O̾̿͝W̔͆͝ A͆̽͒R͐̾͐Ë́͘͝ Y͒͌̐O͊̒̕Ù̓͘ D̒̀̚O͑̓͘I͆̀̒N̈́̈́͘G͐̕ T͊͌͝H̒̾͊Ḯ̓͘S̿͆͠?!"

"You may now extract from the suit. Thank you for flying McDuck Enterprises. Have a good day."

Fenton threw his head back and laughed, and cried, "Blathering Blatherskite!"

Algorithm blinked at him, and then shrieked a shrill, wailing sound when the suit around them launched away from them, splitting and tearing into pieces. It ripped Algorithm into pieces and abandoned Fenton in the open air. For a second, he hung in the air, and then the rush of wind filled his ears and rushed through his feathers, and he quite suddenly remembered he was free-falling.

Fenton quickly spread out his arms and legs, trying to control his descent. He could hear Algorithm behind him, shrieking and blipping from piece to piece, as if trying to pull them together -

BOOM!

One by one, the pieces began to explode, detonating and shattering into clouds of useless debris. "Failsafe: Bad Ending" was exactly what it sounded like. A program that left no trace of Gizmoduck behind should it ever fall into the wrong hands.

And Fenton would consider Mark Beak’s hands some of the worst out there.

Though he had hoped he would never have to use it, Fenton was glad at that moment that he did. Although, it would have been nice to have not been left free-falling through a cloud of magic and then straight for the roof of the coastline’s tallest building.

Around Fenton’s chest and arms were wrapped some thick, kevlar straps. They secured a shiny, metal jetpack to his back, and Fenton pulled a helmet and visor from where it hung, strapping it to his head. The visor powered up, quickly calibrating and displaying location information and wind conditions, mapping out a flight path, and analyzing the surrounding area for safe landing spots. Fenton’s fingers hovered above the Gizmoduck insignia sewn into the thick strap across his chest.

"I hope this works!" he cried, and pressed the button. "Blathering Blatherskite!"

Obediently, the insignia flared to life, glowing brightly, and the jetpack behind him hummed as it powered up. With two small bursts of fire, the engines ignited, and Fenton screamed as he was rocketed forward through the air.

"Woohoo!" he cheered, throwing his arms up as he flew. The fin on the helmet helped steer, and Fenton dipped into a barrel roll, lowering to the top edge of the stormcloud. He reached for it, and his fingers grazed the edge of the misty plume, his fingers damp and buzzing with energy.

The joy ride didn’t last long before the helmet began to warn him of rapidly depleting fuel levels. Fenton aimed for the roof, scanning it desperately as the alerts began to pile up. As if the onboard computer wasn't already yelling at him, the calculations in his head began to run, and told him with no small amount of confidence that he was about to come to a - very hard - crash landing. The gear, after all, wasn’t meant to keep him in the air for long, just long enough to avoid blowing up with the Gizmoduck suit, or splattering on the ground.

One after the other, the engines began to sputter, and Fenton yelped when he dropped a few inches at a time out of the air. "Can’t find a good place to land," he whimpered, "too much chaos, and not enough soft surfaces! I’m a doctor," he cried, curling up into a tight ball as the engines died and he plummeted downward, "we’re very fragile by nature -! Oof!" Fenton grunted when he came to a sudden - and oddly soft - stop. He blinked his eyes open, and looked around.

"Heya, Fenton!" smiled Launchpad McQuack down to him. "You crash even better than I do!" Fenton gasped. He sat up in the big pelican’s arms quickly and looked around. Launchpad stood on a big, pink flower, Catnip at his elbow, both lifted a few feet off the ground.

"Launchpad!" Fenton cheered, throwing his hands up. "Bushroot!"

"Catnip," Launchpad corrected.

"Catnip!" Fenton cheered instead, and Catnip grinned brightly and waved at him.

Catnip waved her arms and the flower lowered them gently to the roof, where Fenton leaped out of Launchpad’s arms. They were near the east end where Chickpea, Waddlemeyer, Honker, and Henri were still tucked away within their hedge of protection.

Suddenly, a ray of magic cracked over their heads, sending them dashing for the thorny wall, which Catnip quickly lowered so they could rush into. Catnip, however, turned and flew back into the flight.

"Launchpad!" Honker cheered, glancing up briefly from his laptop. "Fenton?!"

"I'm okay!" Fenton replied, still a little breathless. "The suit on the other hand..."

A gray chick with pastel hair appeared suddenly and threw her arms around Launchpad’s waist, before jumping up and punching him in the shoulder. "Don’t you ever abandon me like that again!" she scolded, and Launchpad blushed, raising his hands.

"Sorry! But a sidekick's gotta do what a sidekick's gotta do!"

The group gasped when a shrill scream, like an electronic toddler throwing a temper tantrum, pierced the air. The group spun around and spotted Algorithm - his body shattered and flicking with glitches and stray pixels as he shoved against the vine wall - glaring at Fenton.

"Y͛͐̓o͒̕͝u͋͆͘ B̾̚͝ŕ̿͝o͝͠ K͆̓̚e̔͋ m̚͝͝m͌͠ y͒͌́ T̐̈́T͋̒͌T͌͑͋T̐̚ ö́̈́̕o̓͌̕ö́̕͠O̐̕͝o͑͛ỳ͝!"

"Technically the suit belongs to Mr. McDuck," Fenton stammered and shrugged innocently, before Algorithm launched himself at the cinnamon duck. He yelped and threw his hands up -

"GOTHYA!" Honker cried, lunging forward and catching Algorithm in his laptop, slamming the device closed. Algorithm's pixelated head emerged from the device suddenly, screaming at them, and the group shrieked in fright. Out of nowhere, Launchpad swooped in, grabbed the laptop, ducked out of the cage, and hurtled it for the edge of the roof like a discus. It sailed cleanly over the glass barriers and vanished out of sight, and Algorithm’s wines and protests faded with it.

"Oh, and by the way," Honker called after it, "I QUIT!" Huffing, his chest puffed up and he crossed his arms.

Then, realization dawned on him, and his hands flew up to grab his head as his eyes blew wide.

"WHY DID I DO THAT?!" he cried, clutching his head feathers as the others gawked at him. "I'M SUPPOSED TO HACK THE WADDLEMAKERS WITH THAT!"

"HONKER!" they shouted.

"Guys!" Fenton hopped forward, "we still can! Look!" The group turned the direction Fenton pointed, and saw - all the way on the other side of the very much destroyed and supervillain filled roof - the sound booth.

"O-okay," Honker gulped. "That, that could work!"

"Did you make a copy of the program?" Fenton asked, and Honker rolled his eyes and blew out through his lips. He waved his fried cell phone at the mallard.

"Of course I did! What kind of scrapbooker would I be if I didn't?"

Fenton looked skeptically at the dark device, and then at Honker. "I'm not entirely sure you know what ‘scrapbooking' is..." he muttered as he crept to the edge of the wall, glancing around it and at the rest of the roof.

"Right," he grinned uneasily, "okay. We’ve got one very powerful witch, a very angry rooster made entirely out of metal, a news reporter that makes things real, and various monsters all trying to eat us! Oh and now, I don’t have my suit!" Fenton watched the chaos, and then turned back to Honker with a strained thumbs-up. "Shouldn’t be too hard!"

Honker looked unconvinced.

Nonetheless, In the next second, they both vaulted out from behind the vines and charged, screaming, into the fray -

Morgana knocked them off their feet with a single wave of her hand. They bounced back behind the wall, and once again Launchpad caught them.

"You dummies!" Henri cried, "can’t you fly!"

"What? Oh!" Fenton knocked on the jetpack on his back. "I would, except I’m out of fuel!"

Launchpad blinked. "‘Fuel’? Hey, wait a minute!" Darting away briefly, Launchpad returned with his arms full of glass bottles, inside which bubbled various kinds of alcohol. "What kind do yah need?"

"Launchpad!" Fenton took one of the bottles and inspected it, "where did you get these?!"

"Riptide dropped them when he was setting fire to the place," he shrugged.

"Can you mix rocket fuel out of alcohol?!" Honker gasped, also inspecting a bottle before Launchpad snatched it away from him and replied, seriously, a dark shadow crossing over his face.

"Honker, you wouldn’t believe the kind of things I’ve made fuel out of."

The group stared at him, looking very much like they didn’t, and they didn't want to find out either.

"Well, okay!" Fenton giggled, and turned his back to the pilot. "Go ahead, Launchpad, pour me a drink!"

Launchpad, gasping excitedly, dumped the bottles and began to pick a couple up, shaking them.

At the same time, Negaduck was knocked aside by Ironclad’s fist, which sent his body and vision spinning. He landed on the ground with a grunt, instincts pushing him to get back up - but he hissed and collapsed, so many spikes of pain stabbing into his skull he figured actually cracking the thing in half would hurt less.

"You know what, ‘Negaduck’?" Ironclad sneered as he said the name with exaggerated air-quotes, teetering closer with a series of loud, metal screeches, "I don’t think you appreciate how important you are to us!"

"Got a funny way of showing it..." the duck growled up at him, managing to get himself onto his elbows as the rooster stalked closer. Negaduck swayed, nearly toppling sideways, and a lens of red blood flooded one eye. Every image caught in that eye doubled, swimming in and out of alignment, and Negaduck rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, trying desperately to clear his vision.

Ironclad laughed, his arms sweeping outward, and Negaduck could feel him stomping forward through the floorboards. "Really! This is all thanks to you! If you hadn’t ever come back to life -" he drew one foot up and stomped down, but the duck dove out of the way at the last second, "we never would have known just what we were fully capable of!"

"Don’t -" Negaduck grunted and barely managed to get his hands under him, "mention it! Ever!"

Ironclad grinned down at him, beak curling to reveal a mouth full of barbs and fangs. He swung again, and Negaduck flinched -

Ironclad cried out suddenly, and Negaduck looked up as something green and leafy rushed the rooster and scooped him up into its massive jaws, shaking Ironclad back and forth and then spitting him out onto the roof, not unlike a dog depositing a toy he’d chewn through. Ironclad rolled and flipped back onto his feet, glaring at the creature that separated him from Negaduck.

Negaduck stared up at the animal in shock, and it turned its huge, flytrap head towards him. The pod split into two jaws. A tongue rolled out, and the creature jumped onto Negaduck, licking him happily. Negaduck laughed and shoved the creature off him, who sat down, its head tilted to one side expectantly. Its body was made of thick vines, and pink petals made a soft collar and a fuzzy crown around the thick, bark head.

It was a plant-dog of some kind.

Negaduck wiped the creature’s sappy saliva off of him, stunned to find the sap warming up where it met his feathers, helping ease the pain. He turned and scanned the roof for Catnip, who he caught sight of quickly. She waved, and he waved back, before the creature’s growling caught his attention. Ironclad was circling them, and Negaduck gripped the creature’s leafy hide and pulled himself to his feet as it backed over him, circling to follow Ironclad. It lowered its head and its growls rumbled through its body, large, wooden spines emerging from its back and rising in aggression.

Negaduck chuckled and petted the animal’s side. "Well, I always wanted a pet."

"You’re fools!" Ironclad spit, smoothing back his comb in an awkward, jerky motion. "You’re all fools! This is the future, Negaduck - the Knights will conquer everything! All of your defiance, it’s done nothing but made you and those you care about a target! If you," he stomped closer, and Negaduck growled up at him, "had only stayed loyal, none of this madness would have happened! How can you live with yourself, knowing that the only thing you’ve ever done is make things worse?!"

Negaduck’s free hand curled into a fist, and he flashed his fangs up at the rooster. "One thing never changes: you Knights talk too much!" Before the rooster could blink, Negaduck drew his Glock and fired, hitting Ironclad twice, knocking the rooster backwards as he recoiled, and at the same time the plant-dog rushed forward and gobbled up Ironclad again, shaking him and throwing him against the roof. Negaduck staggered after them, both hands gripping his Glock. His eyesight may not be steady, but his grip was.

Ironclad grabbed the dog’s jaws when it leaped at him again, and tossed it over his head. The pup landed with a yelp and Ironclad seized one of its leafy legs and ripped it free, tossing the discarded foliage over his shoulder. The dog wailed and twisted, limping to its feet and out of reach, but it kept growling.

Ironclad straightened and turned, and two more bullets hit him in the face, one in the forehead and one directly in the eye. He staggered backwards and fell to his knees, gripping his face. Negaduck crept closer, his gun raised and ready.

Ironclad rubbed his face, and when he pulled his hand away from his face, two smashed, crumbled bullets rested in his palm.

He, apparently, was bullet proof.

He cackled manically, and grinned up at Negaduck.

And Negaduck felt a single tendril of fear rise inside him.

Not far away, Quackerjack watched Ironclad stagger backwards as Negaduck fired at him, and he smiled. The clown began to hum, and from his pockets he drew some chattering teeth.

"Let’s see how you like being turned into a silver filling!" He laughed, drawing back and preparing to throw the teeth at Ironclad -

"Quackerjack!" "Quackerjack, over here!" "Quackerjack, this way!" "Quackerjack!"

The gander flinched when flashes of lights and a chorus of disjointed voices surrounded him, the teeth falling out of his hands as he threw his arms up to cover himself. He peaked upwards, and saw several cameras surround him in spinning, zipping circles, their lights flashing and microphones being shoved into his face from every direction.

Newsflash emerged from the blur, haloed by the lights, and she held her microphone aloft towards him. "Quackerjack - Porita Featherly, Action 5 News!"

"Ooo!" the gander sang, balling his hands up under his chin and batting his eyelashes at the duck before him. "The press! I do so love an interview! How’s my hat? My bells shiny enough? I hope I don’t look too much of a wreck, it’s been one heck of a week!"

"This past week," Newsflash’s eyes shined and she grinned widely, "where you and the Fearsome Four have been battling nonstop against Darkwing Duck and his interdimensional clones?"

That stunned the gander, and he paused, his pose - and exhilarated grin - dropping. "What?" he frowned, his head shaking. "No, no, that’s not -"

"But that’s not fair!" barked Roxanne Rose Dane, pushing into Quackerjack’s face from behind him. He spun around and squawked at her, and she glared, shoving her own microphone into his face. "You’re the Fearsome Four! This is your city! Darkwing can’t just bring other Darkwings into your city and try to take it from you!"

"You!" Quackerjack’s face shone briefly, and he pointed at the redhead pup, but it didn’t last long. "I - we know you…"

"Quackerjack!" Newsflash pushed forward again, making the clown flinch, "you’re the leader of the Fearsome Four - just what are you going to do about this blatant insult to the laws of fairness in battle?"

Quackerjack stared at her, and Roxanne appeared again.

"You already kidnapped me!" She hissed. "You’re a bad guy - one of the worst! So be a bad guy!"

Quackerjack shook his head, digging his hands into his hat and pulling at it. "No! No - we’re - we’re the good guys!"

"You’re Quackerjack!" Newsflash snapped, grabbing the blue lapels of Quackerjack’s collar and yanking him down into her face. "You’re the Clown of Crime! The Mad Menace! The Laughing Larcenist! You are a bad guy! And…" the duck’s face brightened, and she winked at the clown, "you make it so much fun!"

Quackerjack’s hands shook, and he stared into Newflash’s eyes, which glowed and spun like a camera lens. Beyond the light was a dark pit, a hole of darkness that reflected an image back at him, like a mirror made of murky, black ink.

He saw himself, clown hat in perfect condition, grin wide, and bells shining.

He was Quackerjack.

"Hey," he giggled, a grin slowly spreading across his bill, "I think you’re right! And I don’t think very often! Haha!" Quakcerjack leaped into the air with a loud laugh, kicking his heels together and cartwheeling in a circle around the duck. She watched him, tossing her hair out of her face and stepped closer.

"Newsflash: Quackerjack New Leader Of Fearsome Four; Defeats Darkwing Duck!"

Music began to fill Quackerjack’s head, a lively, dark melody. It was the old villain theme from the show, and he giggled, his shoulders rising. Ambling around, he turned to face the masked mallard as he fended off Knights, and dug his hands into his pockets. From them, he drew a candy-striped bazooka, which he slung onto his shoulder and aimed directly at the hero.

"No one," he cried, "ruins Quackerjack’s fun! Darkwing!"

Darkwing, leaping over a monster and kicking it sideways, tumbled to the roof. He turned quickly at the shout, and when his eyes processed the weapon Quackerjack held, he frowned.

"Don’t move," the clown shouted, "or I’ll wrap you up just like a Birthday present!"

Darkwing stared at him, his hands raising to his sides. He glanced at Newsflash, who had slunk a few steps away from the clown, and hissed.

"You! What did you do to him -?!"

"Freeze, Darky!" Quackerjack shouted, hoisting the bazooka upwards again. Darkwing did so. "I warned you! No one comes to our city and tramples over the Fearsome Four!"

Across the roof, Negaduck glanced at their direction, briefly catching Darkwing’s confused gaze.

"But -" Darkwing raised his hands above his head and waved them, "you’re not the -!"

"PEW!" Quackerjack laughed as he pulled the trigger, firing the massive weapon at the duck. Darkwing gasped and flinched - confetti filled his vision when something crashed into him, knocking him to the roof. Grunting, Darkwing pushed himself up, and saw a bundle of brightly colored streamers laying across him. Out of the top of the bundle was a leafy feline, and she turned her wide eyes up to him frantically.

"Bushroot!" the duck cried, and sat up quickly, tearing at the bounds. "Hang on, I’ll get you out of this!"

"Hey!" Quackerjack cried, tossing the bazooka aside and jumping up and down in a temper tantrum. "You can’t use the other bad guys as shields! That’s not fair!"

"Quackerjack," Darkwing said again, raising his hands and slowly standing, "come on, snap out of it! We’re not fighting each other here, we’re trying to stop Morgana!"

"MORGANA," purred the swan from somewhere over Quackerjack’s shoulder, "IS PERFECTLY HAPPY TO WATCH!"

"Ha!" Quackerjack squawked at him and jumped a few steps closer. "As if Darkwing Duck and the Fearsome Four would ever team up!"

Darkwing jumped between him and Catnip quickly, his hands still raised. He could feel the commotion on the roof still as their little stand-off grew more and more interesting by the second, all eyes turning to them.

Behind the group, far on the other side of the roof, Chickpea glanced up when she heard the boom, and when she couldn’t catch sight of the clown, she rushed out from behind cover and past Launchpad and Henri.

"Chickpea!"

"Harlan?" she called, and then saw him aiming a bazooka directly at Darkwing, the colorful form of Catnip laying nearby. "HARLAN!" Chickpea saw the clown flinch before she dashed forward - only for Newsflash to appear in front of her.

" Newsflash -" the duck raised her hands, "Local Cheerleader - ouch!" Newsflash gasped when Chickpea punched her across the bill, laying her out.

"You got something against cheerleaders?!" The hen shrieked down at her, and then quickly glanced up at Quackerjack again. She continued to run, slipping around Ironclad - who reached for her only for Negaduck to appear and interfere with a quick toss of his cape over the rooster’s head - past other monsters, and came to an awkward stop just steps away from the gander.

"Wait, ‘Harlan’?" Negaduck blinked and grunted when Ironclad grabbed him and threw him to the roof.

"Harlan?" the clown repeated, and slowly glanced over his shoulder as Chickpea neared. She had stopped a few steps away, her hands hovering in the air. Quackerjcak’s eyes were wide, and flicked back and forth between Chickpea and Darkwing.

"Chickpea!" Darkwing called, "get out of here! He could hurt you!"

"No, he won’t!" Chickpea argued, and chanced taking a step further. Quackerjack swung the bazooka around and aimed it at her, a wild look in his eyes. She flinched, looked at the damage done to Catnip, and then back at Quackerjack. If she looked closely, she could still see the char marks the other Four had left all over him, and smell his singed feathers. His eyes were blown wide, unfocused, but they seemed to hover desperately in her direction. Like some part of him was looking for her.

Well, maybe not "part." Maybe, another side.

Slowly, Chickpea smiled widely and dropped her hands. "Quackerjack doesn’t hurt kids."

Slowly, the clown blinked, and his grip on the bazooka wavered.

"I -" he stammered, "we - do we… know you?"

"My name is Chickpea," the hen nodded, and crept forward another step. "And those are my friends. So are you! You saved me! You’re not a bad guy," another step, "you don’t want to hurt anyone!" Another step. "You’re just a little confused - both of you."

Quackerjack stared at her, and Chickpea gave him the warmest, most sincere smile she could. Beyond his shoulder, Chickpea could see Darkwing standing, frozen, refusing to interrupt whatever it was that was happening.

At least someone around there trusted her.

Behind him, however, Catnip continued to panic, and finally vines shot out of her in every direction, tearing through the streamers. One hit Darkwing and knocked him forward, and Quackerjack spun around and swung the bazooka at him.

"TRICKS!" he cried, and pulled the trigger. Darkwing barely managed to avoid the blast, and Chickpea threw herself forward, but stopped, frozen. Red magic surrounded her and pricked her skin, and she was sent flying backwards across the roof. Chickpea tumbled across it with a grunt, and when she stopped rolling, she didn’t get back up.

Something inside Quackerjack snapped like a rubber band breaking.

"CHICKPEA!" he wailed, pivoting on his heel and dashing for her. He staggered to a stop when Morgana hovered before him, cutting him off and filling his vision with her red runes and dress.

"ENOUGH INTERFERENCE!" the witch snarled at the hen. "I'VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF YOUR MEDDLING, YOU SORCERESS WANNABE!" Runes formed under her palms, and she lifted them, aiming right for Chickpea.

Various voices around Darkwing cried out in panic for the chick - except his own. He was too busy giving the whole roof one frantic, panicked sweep.

Fenton and Honker were sputtering on Fenton’s jetpack, making a nose dive over the glass barrier and tumbling to the roof. They slipped quickly to the sound booth and began to type and take stock, Honker plugging his phone into the computer while Fenton ducked under the desk and began to rewire things. Darkwing didn’t have a clue what they were doing, but it looked important.

Quiverwing pushed herself to her feet and huffed, leaning on her knees. She stared at where Chickpea laid, her whole body trembling. Darkwing wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or rage that had her shaking, but figured it was probably some uncomfortable combination of both. She dashed forward, but a small battalion of monsters jumped forward to block her.

"Oh - come on!" she shrieked.

Launchpad had rushed Chickpea and was checking her, scooping the hen’s feathers from her eyes and trying to wake her up. He scanned her a few times for injuries, and Darkwing once again balked at the idea of calling him a mere "sidekick."

Henri stood nervously by the barrier, her hands clenched into fists as she watched Launchpad check on her sister. She was desperate to dart out there and be with her, but was already developing a enough sense to know better. She didn't stand a chance.

Behind her, Waddlemeyer didn’t seem privy to the events, his back hunched over as he scrawled away on his books.

Riptide was growling at and trying to break himself free from the monsters who gripped him, trying to tear him into pieces. If he got scattered again, he might not be able to piece himself back together.

Izzavolts was surrounded by Knights, out of energy to get away. They hissed at her, and she hissed back, her mohawk standing tall.

Negaduck couldn’t take another hit, and Ironclad looked like he had plenty more to give. He threw the duck into the roof, and Negaduck didn’t get up. He didn’t even try.

Darkwing turned back to Morgana, who was eyeing Chickpea excitedly, like she'd caught a fly in her web.

Quackerjack stood between them, shaking. Confused, he discarded his bazooka in favor of his giant wooden mallet. He looked between the witch and Chickpea nervously, his face flicking from one expression to the other faster than Darkwing could blink. Newsflash hovered just in the corner of the gander’s vision, always present no matter where he looked.

Darkwing saw a pair of plastic, chattering teeth, and scooped them up before hurling them directly at the back of Morgana's head.

"Morgana!!"

The teeth bounced harmlessly off her hair, but the swan froze in her tracks. She turned, slowly, to glare at him.

And now that he had her attention - heck, he had everyone’s attention - the mallard realized he had no idea what he was going to say.

He was just so tired.

"Morgana," he said again, and made no effort to keep the exhaustion from leaking into his voice as he staggered forward and threw his arms down, "just… stop. Please. Stop. All of this. What good is going to come from so much destruction?"

"‘GOOD’?" Morgana repeated in shock. "YOU MEAN BESIDES THE GOOD OF THE KNIGHTS?"

"‘The good of the Knights’ - who cares?!" Darkwing cried, throwing his hands into the air. His head throbbed with every shout, and he gripped it, lowering his voice. "What does that even mean? Look at yourself, look at everything you and your Knights have done! All the people you’ve hurt! Lives you’ve ruined! The damage, the destruction! What good is your little cult and all its history and all its studies if you just doom yourself by attacking - destroying - everyone around you?!"

Morgana blinked at him. She glanced around, noticing that every Knight was watching her - and listening intently to what Darkwing had to say.

"You’re never going to succeed at whatever it is you’re trying to do if you keep being the bad guy. At some point," Darkwing sighed, his shoulders slumping forward, "you have to realize that the harder you fight, the harder people are going to rise to fight back. You’re never going to succeed if you do nothing but make enemies."

Morgana sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "IS THIS," she glanced at Darkwing with a hint of a smirk on her bill, "A LESSON OF SOME KIND IN THE ‘POWER OF FRIENDSHIP’?"

"Well," Darkwing shrugged, "I’m not one to get all sentimental -"

"YEAH, RIGHT!" his family cried out on all sides, and Darkwing flinched.

"... but, we have beaten you before. And we’ll do it again, together. But, Morg," Darkwing’s face softened, his blue eyes shining, and he stepped closer, "we don’t have to fight. You and I used to fight all the time, sure, but not always. Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes I think we really cared about each other. So, it’s an option, at least."

Morgana blinked at him. "ARE YOU ASKING ME OUT?"

"Um," Darkwing’s spine snapped straight and his shoulders hiked up towards his blushing cheeks, "not - not necessarily! I mean you’re in someone else’s body right now and there’s the whole ‘trying to destroy the city’ thing - that’s kind of a buzz-kill, not going to lie - but I’m not saying I’m not - not that I didn’t enjoy our time together or anything it’s just -"

Morgana giggled and shook her head at the sputtering, blushing Mallard. Slowly, she hovered to the roof, landing delicately on it. "DRAKE," she sighed, dreamily, "YOU NEVER CHANGE." Then, her face darkened, and she hit him square in the chest with a bolt of magic. Darkwing gasped when he was sent tumbling across the roof, pain spreading through his very bones.

"NO!" a dozen voices shrieked.

He didn’t get up when he stopped rolling.

"ENOUGH STALLING!" Morgana shrieked, gathering more magic and floating back into the air. "THIS WAS MILDLY AMUSING FOR AWHILE, DRAKEY, BUT NOW YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR! IT’S TIME WE END THIS, SO THE KNIGHTS CAN PROPERLY TAKE CONTROL - LIKE WE WERE ALWAYS DESTINED TO!"

Darkwing peeled his eyes open a crack, and his vision spun. He watched, his body trembling with agony, as Morgana’s glowing, angry shape in the sky cast out wave after wave of magic. Then, she turned to Quiverwing, and reached for the dame.

"DON’T WORRY, MISSY," Morgana laughed, and Quiverwing felt something inside her tug towards the witch as she beckoned, "YOU HAVE A PART TO PLAY AS WELL! IT’S TIME TO COME OUT AND PLAY, ARCHIE!"

From within Quiverwing’s uniform, her obsidian arrowhead began to glow red hot, and it darted upwards, through the suit's collar, and outward, tumbling to the stage. The silver chain it hung on snapped, and the arrow warbled and glowed with magic. Then, it began to change, morphing into a creature with sharp spines, beady eyes, and a jaw filled with shining, obsidian daggers. It grew, shooting upwards and towering over Quiverwing and the others, nearly to the size of the stage, and reared back on its legs to roar at them.

Its eight, jointed legs.

"He’s been there the whole time?!" Quiverwing wailed, waving her arms at the massive, monstrous arachnid.

"ALWAYS MY FAITHFUL LITTLE BEAST," Morgana purred, scratching the monstrosity under it's grotesque, toothy chin. "THE PERFECT THING TO FINISH YOU OFF PERSONALLY!"

Quiverwing raised her Bō quickly, ready for a fight. But when Archie turned to her with its blank, glinting face, her own expression looked a little less confident.

Morgana found it all hilarious, and zipped back into the air. Another wave of magic surged out of her, knocking everyone off their feet and tumbling across the roof. Vines were uprooted, Riptide scattered, and the wall Waddlemeyer and Henri hid behind was torn in half, ripping to green, leafy pieces.

Morgana lifted her hands, and more pieces of the stage, floor, and equipment around them began to contort and twist, clawing to freedom and hissing and snarling at Chickpea and the others alongside their fellow fleshy-monsters, surrounding the two groups. Chickpea groaned and came back to consciousness just in time for Launchpad to snatch her out of the jaws of a monster. They jumped to their feet, backing away. Monsters crawled towards the Mallards, and Quiverwing swung her Bō up - a monster’s steel cable tongue lashed out and wrapped around her ankle, yanking her feet out from under her. Quiverwing didn’t have the energy to catch herself, and crashed to the floor painfully.

Darkwing watched it, panic beginning to flood his body, yelling louder than the pain.

"We can't beat her!" cried Negaduck, having gotten to his feet at some point, ducking when a monster jumped over him and a Knight swung for him. He yelped when Ironclad grabbed him by the neck suddenly and hoisted him off the ground, wrapping both metal hands around the duck. Spike lunged for them but Archie appeared. They tangled up for a moment, the clashing of Titans, but Archie stabbed several of its arms into Spike's hide, and ripped in different directions. A piece of the leafy pup came with each leg, and it didn't move again after that.

"The best part is," Ironclad grinned, his metallic eyes flashing in the setting sun down at Negaduck, "I don't even have to squeeze! With metal hands, you could say I've got an iron grip!"

"Uncle Negs!" Quiverwing called after catching the flash of a black and red cape in the corner of her eye. The dame dashed forward - "Omph!" She grunted as she flew, stumbling, to the floor. Behind her, the monster with its tongue lashed around her ankle yanked again, sliding her kicking and struggling across the floor. She twisted around and kicked at it, but the beast refused to let go. Others began to circle them. "Get off, get off! Dad, little help!"

Instead of his daughter’s voice, Darkwing’s ears were filled with the sound of Morgana's cackles. The witch levitated back off her throne, a sickening, fiery red glow emanating from every pore.

"FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE," Morgana motioned one slender hand in Negaduck's direction, "THE SAD, USELESS MALLARD IS RIGHT! YOU CAN'T BEAT ME, DARKWING! NOT WITH A WHOLE CITY BEHIND ME! AND SOON, IT WILL BE MINE FOREVER!"

The only thing Darkwing heard was his racing heart in his own ears, and the pounding of his blood. Blinking his wide eyes, he looked to where he had last seen Quiverwing. The monsters were advancing and he darted to her - but a choked gasp from behind him had him spinning, ready to jump to his brother’s help and pull Ironclad’s hands off him.

Then, he remembered they weren’t the only ones who needed help.

Izzavolts had snarled and darted for Morgana, but Algorithm materialized and stopped her, grabbing her and they both zip-zapped up into the air, higher and higher. She was getting tired, and Algorithm was feeding off her energy.

Fenton and Honker were jamming on the keys at the soundbooth, casting panicked glances up at the others as they worked through firewall after firewall. Honker shook his phone when it wouldn't turn on, slapping it a few times in desperation.

Quackerjack was standing still, his shoulders slumped, the mallet in his hands laying on the roof. His face looked distant, worn thin, scared.

Ironclad continued to squeeze his brother’s throat, and when Negaduck raised his Glock the rooster grabbed his hand and the weapon in his metal palm, squeezing and crushing them both.

Riptide - the blast knocking the of his energy out of him - rose and gripped his aching head, his body quaking and trembling. He made a move to lunge forward and help, but could barely find the strength to keep himself in one piece. He slid, groaning, into a puddle on the floor.

Waddlemeyer, Chickpea, Launchpad and Henri backed closer to the far end of the roof, Morgana’s monsters and Knights circling them and chewing right through any of the pieces of debris hurled at them and popping Henri’s spray cans.

Catnip looked exhausted, curled up on herself and her whole body wilting and trembling.

Quiverwing continued to tear and thrash at the monsters that surrounded her, but her movements were slowing and she was outnumbered quickly. Especially when Archie turned to her and licked its lips.

Scrooge and Max were long gone.

Darkwing barely had the strength to lift his gas gun.

Looking around, he came to a realization…

… they were going to lose.

But then, somewhere near the emergency exits, Launchpad had an idea.

Chapter 20: The Chapter Where Launchpad Has An Idea

Chapter Text

But then, somewhere near the emergency exits, Launchpad had an idea.

"Wait a minute," Launchpad said, and Henri looked at him attentively, "‘soon’? That means the city isn't hers yet! All those transformations aren't permanent!"

Henri’s eyes widened, and she bounced to his side, fists raised. "We've got to wake them up! We did it with Izzavolts and Riptide - we can do it to the Knights too!"

"Come on, partner!" Launchpad cheered, waving one arm and running for the stairs.

"Henri!" Chickpea cried as she snagged her little sister's wrist. She still sat on the roof, feeling a little dizzy. Henri spun back to her, bright eyes wide.

"Chickie - I have to go do this! I have to help!"

"I know," said the young hen, her blue eyes shimmering. She sat up on her knees, putting her hands on Henri’s shoulders. "I'm just making sure you keep an eye on him," she nodded to Launchpad. Henri blinked at her, stunned, but then moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes and she threw her arms around Chickpea's neck.

"You too."

Then, she turned and ran after Launchpad.

By the time they reached the final floor of Canard Tower, Launchpad and Henri could hear chanting, and followed it out the front doors and around the corner to City Hall where they ran directly into the scene Max had warned them about: the resurrected Knights gathered and chanting. But the picture hadn't captured the sound. Or how loud it was.

"What do we do?!" Henri shouted, her hands flying up to cover her ears.

"We’ve got to get their attention!" Launchpad replied.

"How? We can barely hear each other!"

Launchpad looked around. The big projection screen that Steelbeak had used hung above the front steps, covered in strange looking runes, and the podium he’d stood behind had been shuffled to the side. It, however, was still covered in microphones.

"The speaker system!" he shouted, pointing to the microphones. "It was plenty loud when Steelbeak was making his speech, I bet it still is!"

Together, they took off running for the front doors, tiptoeing their way through the rows of kneeling Knights, and quickly dashed up the front steps. The microphones were still plugged in, and the cords lead to a small booth that had wheeled outside for the presentations. There were all kinds of plugs and buttons all over it, and while Launchpad began to turn them and press buttons, movement from the front doors caught Henri’s eye.

Curiously, she stepped closer and cupped her hands around her eyes, leaning against the glass - "AH!" she cried, stumbling backwards when the view beyond the doors became clear. Launchpad looked up quickly and dashed to her side.

"Henri -!"

"Look! Look inside! Look!"

Frowning, Launchpad did so, also gasping.

The doors were locked, barricaded from the outside with chains wrapped around the handles. Inside, standing around like swaying, tipsy statues, was what looked like half of St. Canard - probably more. Among the crowd, Launchpad immediately spotted the bird and others the Knights had escorted out of the "Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice Bakery". The civilians weren’t looking at him, however, not even when he and Henri banged on the glass, or around at each other. Their heads were tipped back and their mouths hung open, like they were in a trance. The weirdest part was that they almost seemed to glow, like brightly colored smoke was wafting up slowly from their bodies and passing through the ceiling.

Launchpad turned and looked at the Knights surrounding them. "It’s those Knights," he said, "they’re doing something to everyone!"

"We’ve got to get them out!" Henri cried, yanking on the chain’s padlock.

"We’ve got to stop the Knights," Launchpad argued, tugging her away by the shoulder. "And then all of this will stop!"

"But this isn’t like with the others!" Henri cried. "We knew their names and who they were! These - we have no idea who these people are! What are we supposed to remind them of to snap them out of it?"

Launchpad blinked, stumped by the question, and looked around. Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Turning, he scanned the scene before them again, scratching at his head.

There were Knights all around them, but they weren’t helping. The civilians were trapped inside, also of no help. The big screen above their heads still displayed the spooky looking runes and shapes, and there was abandoned cameras from the press conference at the edge of the square, vehicles abandoned in the road, shops that were lit up but empty, hanging flower pots with purple ribbons and a big banner that stretched between light poles -

Launchpad perked up, and turned back to the street. His eyes darted between the big banner strung across it, the purple ribbons tied around the flower pots, the purple and pink balloons that hung from every surface, the decorations, the signs, the booths of unlicensed merch…

Finally, the idea finished clicking into place.

"‘What do we remind them of’?" Launchpad repeated, laughing as he ran back for the booth and mashed a final button. The speakers standing around the steps screeched to life with feedback, and Launchpad twisted the volume dials as high as they would go. He dug into his jacket pocket, and drew out a clear, plastic case. "We remind them why they’re here in the first place!" Launchpad flicked the case open, pulled out a CD that was labeled "Darkwing Duck Theme Song Official Mix and Remix Tape" and inserted it into the slot on the CD player tucked among the booth. He pressed play, and Henri just watched him in confusion.

She flinched when the speakers began to blast out music so loudly the ground itself shook.

"Daring duck of mystery, champion of right!

"Swoops out of the shadows, Darkwing owns the night!

"Somewhere some villain schemes, but his number’s up!"

Henri didn’t recognize the song at first, but when it moved to the chorus her eyes popped open…

"3 - 2 - 1 - Darkwing Duck! When there’s trouble you call DW!

"Darkwing Duck! Let’s get dangerous!"

… and she spun around to stare at Launchpad with a tremendous smile stretched across her beak. "Launchpad - you’re a genius!"

Launchpad blushed and shrugged, and Henri spun around, staring up at the projection screen above her head. A different kind of smile grew, and from her pockets she drew two spray cans, shaking them.

As a sidekick in training, it was her turn to have an idea.

Darkwing grunted as he hit the ground, the wind flying out of him so fast he felt like his chest was going to explode. Blinking the stars out of his vision, he searched the roof desperately, until the still, monster-surrounded Quiverwing swam in and out of focus. She continued to kick and struggle, but it was a losing battle as more and more monsters surrounded her.

"Gos ...!"

"Aw, what's wrong?" asked Quackerjack as he danced into Darkwing's - still spinning - line of sight. He brought the mallet down from onto his shoulder and slumped forward. "Don't say I already broke my favorite toy! I'm so good at that!"

With another sharp inhale at the pain that spiked through his neck when he moved his head, Darkwing glanced in the last direction he had seen Negaduck, and found his brother's black and yellow form hovering in the grip of Ironclad.

"Hey!" Quackerjack shouted at him suddenly, and blew an air horn into his ear. Darkwing yelped in pain and pressed his hands over his ears as a bolt of pain shot through his skull.

Various voices protested, some shouted encouragement, others laughed, but the more of them spoke up the more muddied the whole cacophony became. He wondered for a moment if Liquidator had swallowed him.

Then, past the ringing and warbling and echoing, his WaddleMaker buzzed.

"Hey," Darkwing put one hand up to signal for silence, and was totally ignored. "Excuse me - hey everyone …" sitting back on his heels with a sigh, Darkwing tucked two fingers between his bill and blew. The resulting whistle cut through the noise effortlessly, and made Darkwing's head ring anew.

"I need to take this," was all he whimpered, raising the wrist with the watch on it into the air while gripping his head with the other. Quackerjack, huffing, sat his mallet back down and leaned on the handle. Newsflash, from where she stood, gestured angrily at him, but the gander just motioned to Darkwing and shrugged. Newsflash, her eyes rolling, smacked a hand across her forehead.

Darkwing lifted the WaddleMaker to his bill and spoke. "Hello?"

"DW!" It was Launchpad, and Darkwing noticed for the first time the pelican wasn't on the roof.

"LP!" He stood - staggered, really - to his feet, and stepped away from the others and closer to the edge of the roof. "Where are you? What's that noise?"

"It's you, DW!" Launchpad replied, his voice loud and bright. "Well - it's everyone! Look!"

Launchpad turned his phone around and aimed his screen at the crowd of Knights - well, ex-Knights.

It had started with one of them, just one, breaking concentration on the spell and looking up.

"Hey," she had said, "I know this song."

"I do too," another had replied, also breaking pose.

"Is that…?" "Darkwing Duck!" "Look!"

It had taken one to look up at the projection screen and point, and their excitement had spread through the group like wildfire.

On the projector, covering up the ugly spell, was the positively gigantic purple and yellow "Darkwing Duck" logo.

"Launchpad ..." said Henri as she bounced excitedly into the camera’s frame while smearing paint all over her face as she swept her bangs out of her eyes, "figured that most everyone who got changed was here for DWCon, so what better way to snap them back to themselves than play the old theme song!"

Then, faintly at first, Darkwing heard it. He looked up slowly, his eyes wide and bright and scanning the open air for the source of the melody.

"Ú̕͝m̐͒͝m̐̈́͑,̓̚ e͑̀x̓̐̐c̾͛u̓͒̚s̓̓̚e͛͒̀ m̔͊̓è͌͝," whined Algorithm from somewhere above him, "b͐͋u͆͌͝t̐͋͛ Ḯ͘͝'̿͛̕m̿͊͆ p̽̽̔r̓͠͝e͆͝t̀͋͝t̿͒̐y͐͒͛ s̓̓̈́ǘ͌̓r͊̚e͊̀̀ w͊̾͛é̒͝ ẅ́͐͝é͘̚r̽͋̓e̽͐͐ i̽͊͑n͐̽͝ t͋̈́̕h͒̐̿e̔͛͑ m̓̓̈́i͆͐͛d͛̈́d̔̚͠l̽̽͐e̔͝͠ ó͌͝f̾͛̕ -͊̔̚"̾͆̐

"Shhh!" Darkwing bit, and turned slowly back to everyone else. His eyes landed on Quackerjack. "Do you hear that?"

One by one, they did.

"Is that -?"

"The theme song," said the heroes in unison. In the sound booth, a grin spread across Honker's face and he scooted around Fenton and to the sound board. Within seconds the speakers lining the entire roof began to play - not the song itself - but the audio of a choir hundreds strong singing along.

It filled the air like a wave, and not even Morgana's laughter could smooth over the chills it sent over everyone's skin.

"YOU THINK A LITTLE MUSICAL PERFORMANCE CAN BEAT ME?!"

"DW," Launchpad called, and Darkwing's eyes turned back to his watch, "it is!"

Launchpad moved away from the booth and down the steps, closer to the crowd. And the further he moved, the more and more flickering faces filled the screen. Dogs, cats, birds, reptiles - faces of all kinds began to change, flashing to different faces for a moment, and then longer, and then longer.

"It's working," Henri breathed as she stuck close to Launchpad's elbow, "they're changing back. The spell is breaking!"

Darkwing, stunned speechless as he was, didn't even flinch when Morgana toppled gracelessly onto her mangled throne from the air.

"Morgana!" Ironclad cried, but he was the only one to move forward to help the fallen sorceress.

"WHAT - WHAT IS THIS?!" the swan shrieked. "YOU CAN’T BREAK ONE OF MY SPELLS WITH A SONG!"

"It's not just the song," wheezed Negaduck, and Darkwing looked at him quickly. His brother's brown eyes met his own. "You wanna know - why I refused to sell Beaks Darkwing - even though you wanted to give it up?"

Darkwing blinked.

"Because I love Darkwing!" Negaduck snapped. "I loved being Darkwing, I loved being - being a hero! And damn it, look around, Drake! I'm not the only one!"

"I love Darkwing too!" cheered Honker suddenly, probably a little too loudly. But, even while blushing, he pressed on. "You know how much I idolized him as a kid! Well, I still do! I can't wear a cape and beat up bad guys like Darkwing, but I can try to help people! That’s why I started working at Waddle - for what it’s worth."

"It helped us save the city," Fenton suggested, and Honker stared at him.

"Yeah! My internship under a narcissist helped save the city!"

"Ḧ́̿͠ë́̈́͝ý͋̕!̈́͆͘" whined Algorithm from somewhere above Honker's head, "I͊̈́'͘͘m̕͝ ŕ̒͊ḯ̚g̾̿h̽͐̐ẗ́̚ ḧ́͋͠e̾̿̓r̔͒̕e̒̾̔!̔̓͊"

"Your encouragement," added Chickpea, standing to her feet and calling to Darkwing, lightly massaging the bump on her head, "was what got me into college on the other side of the country! I never would have had your advice or mentorship if you hadn't played Darkwing for all those years!"

"I love Darkwing too," echoed Izzavolts, a little unsure of herself. Riptide, catching her gaze, slid forward proudly.

"Me too! I love Darkwing too! I mean, look at us! We got picked out because we loved it so much!"

Izzavolts caught his smile and her own spread across her scaly cheeks.

From the corner of the roof, Catnip smiled and unfurled her arms, a garden of purple flowers - like the buds on her head - blooming on every leafy surface around the roof. The Knights and monsters all stumbled away from them, gagging.

"You know Darkwing has become something of a…" Fenton blushed, "... personal hero of mine, but even now as a hero myself, when I'm scared or lost or stuck, I ask myself, 'what would Darkwing do'?"

Darkwing looked at Quiverwing, who was starting to sag forward.

"I… already told you," she panted past a shaky, sweaty grin, "when I needed a hero … in my head… I went to Darkwing. And now… the whole city is too… your city."

"There's one thing more powerful than magic, my boy," said Waddlemeyer lastly, inching closer, "and that's the very thing magic is made of: belief. What is it," Waddlemeyer grinned at Darkwing kindly, "that you believe in?"

Darkwing stared at him. No, he couldn't. He shook his head. "You don’t understand - Darkwing was - he was the worst of me! Look at what he made me do - how he made me treat everyone! He’s as much of a stain on this town as he is a hero!"

"And yet," Negaduck smirked, "you’re wearing the cape."

Darkwing stared at him too, before gesturing wildly with his hands. "He’s - it’s practical! This is just - Darkwing is -"

"Dad," Quiverwing called softly, and her father turned to her. Quiverwing gave him the most confident grin she could muster. "It's okay for you to have a hero too."

When Drake Mallard was a kid, he had hoarded comic books of all kinds - superhero comics, thriller comics, adventure comics, and especially mystery comics. The stories of regular people who were just a little smarter than everyone else and just a little tougher than everyone else using their gifts and mind and skills to solve capers, stop the bad guys, and help people, had resonated something inside him. His favorite of all had been Double O'Duck, a charming, clever, super spy whom the world turned to in their greatest hours of need.

Double O'Duck wasn't a superhero, and he didn't have any incredible skills that set him apart, like super abilities or special gadgets. He was simply good because he had the chance to be. Actually - he had the responsibility to be. So, every issue, he would don his white coat and purple fedora, and decide to save the world.

Darkwing removed the purple fedora from his head and stared down at it. He gripped the brim and squeezed his eyes closed.

Darkwing was, in his conception, Drake's attempts to be a hero, and all his dreams of one day becoming one. He was as much a part of Drake as he was the others around him, as he was to the choir on the street, or to the town that turned itself purple and pink to celebrate him.

Well, maybe, if Drake was being honest with himself, his piece of Darkwing was a little bigger than the other’s.

And pulling the old masked mallard out of his emotional detention and grasping him with both hands felt something like regaining a lost limb, and a little like opening an old wound.

It felt risky. It felt regretful.

It felt right.

To himself, a writer scorned by his own creation which brought hurt and harm onto his family, and a writer who brought the unimaginable to life, Drake said, softly, "it’s okay for me to have a hero too. I guess… I always have."

Drake felt something like a figure standing beside him, an army surrounding him, an image that came to life and gave him just a little bit of the confidence and pride he always put into his work.

Then, to the character he wrote and lived and loved and lost, as he rubbed the fabric of the fedora in his hands, Drake asked, softly, "what would Darkwing do?"

After all, they were one in the same, so if anyone would know, it would be him.

Deep, deep inside Drake, buried in his chest past locked doors and buried corridors and forgotten corners, beyond evolutions and drafts and scripts and broken promises, a little voice answered him back.

And when it spoke, the response made Drake's cheeks curve up into a grin.

Of course.

"He’d get dangerous."

Drake replaced the fedora to where it belonged. Raising two fingers, he touched the turquoise insignia on his chest. And upon the touch the plastic piece began to glow.

Instantly, purple circuit lines began to spread all over his suit, racing across his chest and down his arms, and the second they reached the alabaster gloves, those glowed too. The eye pieces in his mask flashed purple and then glowed white, and his cape billowed behind him. Project: Keen Gear was about to undergo its first trial run, and what a doozy it was going to be.

Darkwing brought up his fists and let his exhilaration shine through.

"So, let's get dangerous!"

His stunned audience had no time to reply before a glowing, purple circular shield materialized on Darkwing's forearm, and he hurled it at Quiverwing. The spinning disk collided with one monster and - as Quiverwing gasped and ducked - it bounced back and forth between them all, a razor of purple light tossing each and every monster off their feet.

Soon, the whole group was flattened and the shield jammed itself into the floor.

"Whoa! Keen Gear! What -!" Quiverwing glanced down at her chest, and the green insignia glowed. "Oh, heck yes!" she cried, mashing the button. Like Darkwing's, green circuitry spread outward, making her gloves and mask glow, and then when one of her palms began to fill with circuitry, Quiverwing thrusted it up over her head and her Bō spun directly into her grip.

The device glowed at the seams, and Quiverwing planted one end against the roof, propelled herself up, hooked an unconscious monster with the curved end of the Bō, tossed it into the air, and swung.

CRACK!

The monster howled as the Bō - in baseball bat form - sent the creature flying across the roof with one hit, and Quiverwing spun the weapon around under her palm and then slung the staff over her shoulder.

"What's that I heard about 'playtime'?" she asked, grinning not unlike a madman. "Because we just hit over time!"

"HELL YES!" cheered Negaduck from across the roof, and punched the insignia on his chest. It glowed red, and by the time Ironclad had realized what was going on, Negaduck had already sunk his claws into his metal wrists. The gloves hummed softly with electric energy, glowing.

"Gah!" The rooster snarled, and tightened his grip. "I don't care how fancy your new costume is, baby, you can't break metal!"

"Maybe not," Negaduck smirked, "but I can tear it apart!" The glow around his gloves amped up a notch, and Ironclad gawked as the claws dug in further, and further, and -

BOOM!

The metal shattered, and Ironclad howled, dropped Negaduck, and stumbled backwards, his wrists nothing more than knots of mangled metal on the ends of his arms.

Negaduck landed on the ground and vaulted to Darkwing's side.

"I thought you said this gear wasn’t ready yet!" He bit as he skidded to his brother's side, raising his fists as they pulsated with power.

"It’s not," Darkwing shrugged as Quiverwing leaped to his other side. "So, don’t over do it!"

"Ha!" laughed Negaduck, "no promises there!"

"What's the plan, Darkwing?" Quiverwing asked, readying her Bō. Her eyes shimmered.

"We win," was all he said. "And it's gonna get dangerous."

His teammates had never looked so excited. They swapped a grin, and then cheered, in unison:

"So, let’s get dangerous!"