Altered Bonds Extras
Omake 12 — The Storm That is Approaching
(Best read after Chapter 17)
(Canon? — Yes, weirdly enough)
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Lugia had been entering the innermost chambers of his Mystery Dungeon home when he saw it .
He’d taken a quick morning swim, fifteen minutes and no more, before returning back to the magnum opus he had built at the end of his dungeon — a great palace of white and blue hues held aloft by sculpted pillars, with a pristine marble floor that had a silver sheen, and magnificent arches supporting its high ceilings. Stained glass covered the walls periodically, depicting scenes of calm seas and stormy waters alike. At the very end of the palace was his beautiful throne, a plush, giant nest-like seat with elegant cloud-like cushioning and an azure backrest, tipped with scaly ornaments to give it a thorny and intimidating appearance. Behind it was a curtained door to the outside area.
This place was his sanctum, his sanctuary, his place of solitude and serenity. And some cretin had defiled it with an object most insulting.
In an act of unbridled mockery, it’d been placed right in front of his throne — a tiny, shoddy-looking wooden chair . The kind that looked like something an old, three-foot commoner would sit on, only for its legs to give way. Lugia stared at it, pure disbelief locking his emotions away.
It didn’t last long. And once his disbelief left, his rage broke out in a furious jailbreak.
WHAT?
Lugia slammed his wings down, the palace trembling at the massive force used. Outside, he could hear the seas screaming alongside him, waves chaotically crashing into one another while lightning crackled and boomed. The great silver bird immediately probed the entirety of his dungeon palace, seeking the miscreant responsible.
WHO?
No response. Not a soul to be found. The culprit had long escaped.
That only fueled Lugia’s anger further. He cried out, and the dungeon shook and cowered at his wrath. “WHO?” he screamed aloud, the pillars wobbling at his sea-splitting voice.
The scandal of it all! The sheer nerve! He’d just finished getting his dungeon back in order after those pesky Ruptures had made a complete mess of the place, and now some low-life had dared sneak into his palace! And left a stupid chair as an insult to its beauty!
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How was this even possible? Nobody could ever so much as approach his home without his Silver Wings and the pedestal locks he’d scattered in a few other dungeons. Only the worthy were to disturb this sacred place, and last he had checked, there certainly hadn’t been anyone in the last few decades whom he had deemed worthy of receiving his invitation! What kind of vile trickster had done this? And for such a childish joke too?
Lugia snarled, before shaking his head. No. This little slight did not matter. More important was if the crook had made the foolish attempt to steal one of his coveted treasures, an act that would need to be met with retaliation as swift as a Regieleki.
But first, the dumb chair had to be done away with. Lugia focused his mind, casually imposing his psychic might on—
The chair was immune. It didn’t budge.
Lugia made a face as he found his mental grip slipping off the chair, like a slippery mosquito. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a few black pieces embedded into the backrest of the wooden chair — cut gemstones, in fact. Dark Gems.
YOU ARE KIDDING ME.
Dark Gems, wasted on a stupid chair of all things. Lugia snorted, and then moved on to the next most reasonable course of action: smashing the chair into smithereens.
He thrust his wings forward with all his might, the winds blasting forward at his command. A mini-hurricane whipped up and shot across the palace hall, colliding right into the chair—
And it took the hit. Before Lugia’s widening eyes, the chair stood its ground, not so much as even twitching as winds violently bashed against it. Unbridled spite awoke within him, and Lugia cried out as he hurled sizzling bolts of electricity at the accursed chair, which absorbed them all as if they weren’t real. Then he cast more hurricanes and more lightning. Then he blasted Hydro Pumps, before launching an all-out storm within his desecrated turf. His scales stung from the howling winds and vengeful electricity he whipped up, soothed only by the downpour of rain he cast.
And the chair kept standing. It kept standing! It wouldn’t move a blighted inch! It just stood there, immobile, mocking him with its blank appearance! The gall of that chair! The unspeakable scandalousness of it all! That chair, that dumb, insidious—!
Lugia lost himself. He screamed, leapt in front of the belligerent excuse for furniture, and let loose an Aeroblast of truly apocalyptic proportions, lashing out at everything in sight. Only by pure dungeon magic did the palace shrug off such a devastating wind blast, able to shred faces off the skulls of any wretch who’d earned the privilege of tasting the vortex produced by his siren death cry.
And yet. The chair. Stood.
A point blank Aeroblast. And it didn’t even scratch it.
It was whole. The wood was as imperfect as ever, unsullied by his signature weapon of doom. Lugia’s throat and lungs gave out, and yet he still hadn’t done anything to harm it. The chair was invincible.
WHAT?
Lugia stood there, in reverence of the chair’s impossible craftsmanship. In fear of its nigh-indestructible nature. In awe of the binding magic that surely had to keep this horrible crime against the universe whole. Now that he was up close, he could see sigils carved into its seat, and more Elemental Gems subtly etched into its wood.
He poked the chair. It toppled to the floor and silently begged for mercy.
Lugia slowly covered his face in exasperation. THIS IS THE DUMBEST ARTIFACT ANYONE EVER MADE, he decided. And then, squinting at a particular part of the wood, rasped in disgust.
For there, at the right-topmost of the wooden backseat, was a carved-in name in teeny tiny letters. Hoopa.
OF COURSE.
Lugia shoved down his annoyance, reminding himself to better secure his dungeon against mischievous portal travelers who wasted their talents on the most useless things possible. At least he didn’t have to worry about whether any of his priceless treasures had been plundered — though he’d double-check, just in case. He glanced at the chair, and on a whim, decided to store it in his junkpile.
It would make for a good training dummy, if anything.