Chapter 2

Bisco ran to his cart without looking back and shouted to the hemp cloth covering the cargo, “Jabi! Plan B! We’re escapin’ along the wall! Wake up, Actagawa!” The cover flew up into the air, and the fluttering cloth gently parted, revealing a giant crab. It was about twice a human’s height, and it gave several spins in midair before landing on the ground with a loud bang. It proudly raised its huge pincers, and its orange shell shimmered under the desert sun. Bisco leaped up onto the saddle on the crab’s back as it dashed off across the sand. “I told you, sonny!” said the old man with a lush white beard and a tricorne hat who sat at the creature’s reins. “If you’re gonna pretend to be a monk, you gotta learn a verse or two! I can do it—listen! Jamonkin’nara, hosuyashai!” “You said Kanto people just wave the Flamebound through!” Bisco yelled from atop the moving crab. Suddenly, his voice was drowned out by the sound of cannon fire, and a tremendous explosion kicked up dust and sand nearby. “…Those bastards,” he said. “They’re bringin’ out the hippos!” Bisco shot a look over his shoulder and peered through the clouds of dust to see a pack of Sand Hippos geared for war, machine guns and artillery mounted atop their backs, approaching in a cloud of dust. The smaller specimens were able to catch up to the giant crab first, and they swiveled their machine guns toward him. “Out of our way!” he cried. There was merely a twinkle of light as he nocked and released an arrow with incredible speed, scoring a direct hit. The hippo gave a cry before collapsing to the ground, rolling like a ball as bright-red umbrellas blossomed all over its body. Before long, there was a Gaboom! as the mushroom grew to full size, taking out the hippo and all the others behind it. Meanwhile, Bisco let loose a second shot, then a third, scattering the approaching hippos with a barrage of exploding mushrooms. Gaboom! Gaboom! As powerful as Bisco’s mushroom arrows were, the Sand Hippos had sheer numbers on their side. Eventually, one of them got close enough to fire its machine gun at the legs of the giant crab. The creature expertly deflected the shots with its steellike carapace, taking out a few of the pursuing hippos, but the sea of enemies drew relentlessly closer, and tiny beads of sweat, not entirely owing to the heat, began forming on Bisco’s forehead. He gulped. “This isn’t looking good,” he said, before turning back to the old man and shouting over the wind. “We’ll have to use the King Trumpet! Give me ten seconds!” “That again?” said the old man, slightly annoyed. He closed one eye and added, “Well, at least we get a soft landing.” Then he whipped the reins, shouting, “Fire away, Actagawa!” The giant crab turned around, brandishing a vicious claw, and smashed it into the herd of hippos like a sledgehammer. As sand and bodies erupted into the air, Bisco nocked his King Trumpet arrow and aimed it at one of the falling hippos. The arrow landed in the creature’s ear, and Bisco heard a satisfying bubbling noise as it began to grow. “Jabi!” he yelled. “Aye, aye!” As the hippo fell toward them, Bisco grabbed its body, holding it aloft as though it weighed no more than a stuffed toy. “Snakes alive!” cried the border guard. “That kid’s a monster!” Meanwhile, Bisco squatted down, and with a herculean grunt, he tossed the infected Sand Hippo’s body into the path of the giant crab. The King Trumpet disappeared underfoot before suddenly swelling up to incredible size, almost the same height as the one-hundred-foot wall. The crab carrying Bisco and Jabi was launched up into the air like a tennis ball, before tumbling down on the other side of the border. As they fell toward the ground, Bisco righted himself and grabbed onto Jabi, who was clutching his hat for dear life. Then he turned and fired an anchor arrow toward the crab. The crab caught it in one claw and wound its two friends toward it like it was reeling in a catch. When they reached it, it embraced them in its eight legs and curled up like a ball before touching down on the opposite side of the border and rolling away across the sands. “I-it’s huge…” Ota gazed at the mushroom, dumbfounded. Even the bearded guard could do nothing but stare in shock at what he had just witnessed. The King Trumpet stood tall like a marble column growing out of the desert sands, slightly curving toward the wall. Sand fell from its cap like rainwater off an umbrella, and even now its white skin churned as though it was not done growing. It was a majestic sight, life growing tall and proud from the barren land. “I’d heard the Mushroom Keepers could grow mushrooms in the desert, but I didn’t think it was true…” The Mushroom Keepers were a group of people who lived alongside the mushrooms and used them as tools. Mushrooms were unpopular these days since it was rumored they spread the Rust. The Mushroom Keepers were similarly ostracized and forced into hiding. To see their techniques in person was a rare event indeed. The bearded guard nodded, slack-jawed, at Ota’s words, before coming to his senses and shaking his head. He marched over to his subordinate, who was snapping some shots of the King Trumpet with his camera, slapped him over the head, and shouted in his ear. “You dimwit! Look at you getting all weak at the knees! It’s them spores that’re causin’ the Rust, y’know! We gotta get rid of this massive pain in the backside before things get any worse around here!” “Hey, pork chop! Yoo-hoo!” From across the wall came a voice. The two turned, rushed up a nearby maintenance elevator, and looked down at the source. “That mushroom can’t live on just sand! For best results, it needs hippo manure once a week!” The red-haired outlaw shouted from atop his giant crab. Beside him sat an old man in a tricorne hat, holding the crustacean’s reins with one hand and leisurely puffing on a pipe with the other. “You… You want me to look after that thing?!” “Just listen to me, lard ass!” Bisco took on a serious tone of voice. “That mushroom feeds off rust! Take care of it, and before you know it, this place’ll be—” Bisco was cut off by the border guard’s bullet grazing his shoulder. For a moment, he stared in awe. Then his face changed into a visage of wrath. His scarlet hair flared, and his emerald eyes glinted. “I’m trying to help you! Why does no one ever listen?!” he yelled. His hand went for his bow, but Jabi decided now was a good time to book it and lashed the reins. The giant crab jumped to its feet as if it had been waiting and scuttled off, putting the Gunma southern checkpoint behind them and disappearing into the distance. “I know what you look like, Akaboshi! Next time we meet, I’ll cut out your tongue!” yelled the border guard. The wind kicked up immense clouds of dust, but Bisco didn’t even blink as he turned back and flipped his middle finger, giving a diabolical scowl with his jade-green eyes. Ota snapped the shutter on his long-range camera. The photo that came out depicted wrath incarnate. “Man… If looks could kill, huh, boss?” That photo would go on to become the new face of wanted posters across the land, kick-starting Ota’s career as a professional photographer. However, that’s a story for another time. Today, we look out onto the horizon, and follow those dust clouds, to see just what becomes of Bisco Akaboshi.