VIOLINIST OF HAMELN TRIPLE FEATURE! 

Written by Aaron Shattuck

 Edited by Chippy the Transvestite Gnome

 All the characters and stuff (except for the ones I made up, which is quite a lot, actually, now that I think about it) are property of Watanabe Michiaki, the Enix Corporation and Pony Cannon. No permission was given for me to write this. Be creative! Add in your own witty/confusing comment here! 

Feature 1: GUITAR LIVES!... For a little while, anyway. 

Guitar felt his body humming with pure elation. Never before had he experienced such overwhelming power. He was, to put it bluntly, a god.
He was everywhere. A multitude of hydra-heads sprang forth from him, moving with an unstoppable force. A gift from his _dear_ friend, Drum. He could feel that disgusting little nuisance, Oboe, dying a distance away. He could feel the insides of the once proud Hawk King between HIS jaws. HE was a distance away! HE was EVERYWHERE. The terror of all those around him, even his own troops, filled him with pleasure. None could surpass him. Not Bass or Hamel or even that overrated Chestra-sama. Mazoku's number one... Guitar! 
Then he heard the laughing. That familiar voice... It wasn't the deep baritone itself that made his heart turn ice, it was that he could tell... it was coming from HIM... and it wasn't HIS voice. 
Hesitatingly, Guitar looked up and what he saw was the worst possible thing he could have ever imagined. In the air with all the other dragons, was Drum. Drum was attached to HIM. Drum _was_ HIM. This was... not what he had expected. 
Drum said something, but he wasn't listening. He saw the Dragon King, the Dragon King he was positive that he had killed, morph into a single, terrifying, head. 
Mouth held agape, Guitar could tell, in a detached way, what Drum was about to do. That, somehow, his former comrade was building a power within him, that would obliterate them both. That in a mere second, he would be no more. All his plans would be for naught, defeated by that imbecile. But Guitar's conscious wasn't really there anymore. It was flying, to some safer place, far away. 
He didn't even feel it, when he exploded... 

The woods were pleasant enough, as woods go. Very... green and brown... lots of trees and such. The woods bordered a riverbank, which was also pleasant enough, with grass and butterflies and mud and other things that riverbanks have, amongst which was a river to bank. One thing that river banks didn't normally have, however, was what looked like some sort of anthropomorphic dog-thing, with another dog attached to its waste instead of legs, wearing the uniform of a Roman soldier. This was definitely a very unorthodox addition to the riverbank, but the butterflies didn't seem to mind. 
The dog-thing groaned and opened its eyes a crack. "Splish splash!" it heard. 
That's funny, thought Guitar. Normally, "Splish splash!" wasn't the sort of sound you got from a very large Dragon King self destructing himself, with you attached. Normally, that sort of thing made more of a "Boom!" sound, with maybe a bit of a sickening crunch mixed in as well, if you listened closely enough. Definitely not, "Splish splash!" 
Beside the confused Beast King, the river burbled happily. 
The blood might go, "Splish splash!" Guitar reminded himself. He was a bit of an expert on blood, and he knew that if there was enough of it... But on closer inspection, blood never really "burbled happily." Not even very happy peoples' blood. Overwhelmed by curiosity, Guitar forced his eyes completely open and got up. He was, he suddenly noticed, very much alive and not obliterated one bit. 
This was an unusual, but not unpleasant situation, under the circumstances. 
He also noticed, that while he was no longer a god of sorts, he no longer had a very angry Drum attached to him, either. So it seemed that he had come out even. 
Surveying the landscape, Guitar decided that staying on the riverbank wouldn't do at all. It had way too many butterflies, for one thing. The woods, while certainly not foreboding, had a chance of providing a better atmosphere on the whole, he thought. And so he decided to enter them. 
The Mazoku lord walked aimlessly through the foliage, lost in thought. It was apparent, that his lifestyle had underwent a rather immediate change, from "doomed" to "taking a stroll through the woods." He was not at all sure how to handle this situation, as it didn't seem to involve killing anybody or toadying up to anybody, while planning to kill them much later, when their back was turned. And so he really didn't get anywhere at all, until a few minutes later, he heard the snapping of twigs. Something was approaching him, and the fact that it could approach him, meant that it was alive. Living things could be killed, he was on familiar ground now! 
Carefully concealing himself behind a large oak tree, he saw two figures step into view. They were obviously human children, of the male variety, he noted. But their dress was quite peculiar. It seemed to be a uniform of sorts, blue, with a yellow handkerchief tied around their necks. On their chest, they wore a variety of badges, the largest of which depicted a wolf's head and on their arms was sewn a patch with number "37" on it. Their cheeks were exceedingly rosy and leaves were pouring out of their pockets. 
"Gee-golly, Timmy," exclaimed the one on the left to his companion, "Do y' think we've found enough leaves for our 'Leaf Finder's badge?" 
"Well, gosh, Nigel, I think so." 
Suddenly, the two felt a shadow fall upon them. From behind, a voice hissed, "Well, well, what do we have here?" 
Timmy and Nigel turned around to discover the strangest creature they had ever seen. 
"Gee whilikers," wondered Nigel, "What's that?" 
"That's not important, little boy," growled Guitar. "The real question here, is who are you?" 
"We're Cub Scouts, Troop 37!" declared Timmy, proudly. "We're much cooler than that lame Troop 24, 'cause our Scout Master's the best!" 
"Yeah!" agreed Nigel. "Scout Master Willem's cool! He even blindfolded us and dropped us off in the middle of nowhere, so we could find our way back and earn our 'Navigator's' badges!" 
Nigel waved his compass to punctuate the statement. 
Guitar blinked in surprise. This wasn't the normal response he got from small human children. 
"Say, Timmy," wondered Nigel, nudging his fellow scout, "what do you think he is?" 
"I dunno," replied Timmy, honestly. "He's furry and he talks... Maybe he's Smokey's friend!" 
"Smokey?" asked Guitar, thoroughly confused. 
"Yeah! Smokey the Bear! He teaches us about how only we can prevent forest fires and stuff! He's Scout Master Willem's friend!" Explained Nigel, enthusiastically. "Scout Master Willem knows him, 'cause he's got connections and stuff!" 
"Are you Smokey's friend, too?" asked Timmy. 
Guitar's face shifted from surprise, to a sly smile. "Why, yes I am," he said sweetly. "I'm Smokey's special helper. Why don't you take me to your friends?" 
"Oh, boy!" shouted Timmy. "D'ya think there's a 'Finding Smokey's Special Helper' merit badge? Huh, do ya, Nigel?" 
"Scout Master Willem'll know if there is," confirmed Nigel. "Scout Master Willem knows everything." 

Traveling with the two Scouts, Guitar had discovered that they seemed to have an inexhaustible of supply of praise for their "Scout Master." It didn't take him long to deduce what they were really about. The uniforms, and the descriptions of their rigorous "Camping Trips" and "Activities" made their situation obvious to him. Guitar chuckled to himself, military training at such a young age, this "Scout Master Willem" truly had to be something. 
It was obvious that wherever he was, it wasn't the home he knew. Even the most backwater hick town had been forced to learn of the Mazoku, and these children obviously didn't. He would have to adapt to the environment, and perhaps drinking this "Scout Master"s blood would prove quite useful for that task. If he were as powerful as the two foolish runts claimed... The only problem, he figured, was what to do with this pint size militia, afterwards. Should he kill them or could they be of use to him? His train of thought was abruptly interrupted, by Timmy's shouts of glee. 
"Yippee! We made it! We'll get those merit badges for sure now!" 
The area was spotted all over with tents, all uniformly small, save for one big one. The tents circled a clearing, the center of which had a camping fire roaring in the middle of it. Out of the tents rushed other small boys, dressed the same as Nigel and Timmy and out of the largest one walked the Scout Master. 
The Scout Master was a slightly pudgy, middle aged man. His eyes were bright, his cheeks had dimples and his upper lip sported a small mustache. His uniform had more badges than any of the boys and one of them proudly declared "SCOUT MASTER" on it. 
"Glad to see you made it, boys," chimed Scout Master Willem, pleasantly. "You're just in time for the weenie roast!" 
Guitar eyed the jovial man warily. Could this be the fearsome leader, that had been described to him? 
"Scout Master Willem!" shouted Nigel. "We found Smokey's Special Assistant! Is there a 'Finding Smokey's Special Assistant' merit badge?!" 
"Hmm," pondered the Scout Master, inspecting Guitar. "I don't think so, really." 
"Aw," pouted the two boys. 
"Don't worry, boys! Because you didn't die, you two are up for some very special 'Navigator's' merit badges! And if I don't miss my guess, you've been working on those 'Leaf Finder's' merit badges!" 
This seemed to lift the two boys' spirits and they shouted with joy, running towards the direction of the campfire. 
"So, you're Smokey's Special Assistant?" the Scout Master asked Guitar. 
"Errr... Yeah," confirmed Guitar. His mind raced at a mile a minute. Did this "Scout Master" see through him? If so, could he be a threat to him? The risk was substantially high. 
"Well, I hope you like weenies!" laughed Scout Master Willem, his pot belly jiggling in delight. 

Guitar stared in amazement at the objects speared on the sticks, that the Scouts held over the fire. They appeared to be... some kind of meat... wrapped in intestines! Such a subtle nastiness, Guitar thought, his eyes moving to rest on the Scout Master. Such nastiness would spring from great power... 
"Hey, let's sing a song!" suggested Scout Master Willem, who was greeted with several enthusiastic cheers. 
Guitar ignored the song, which seemed to be about a bear eliminating all of his friends so he could have more sleeping room (a notion Guitar could sympathize with) and stealthily moved towards the Scout Master's back. He had decided that he would claim this man's power, and continue these humans' training. Soon, he would lead the most dangerous fighting force that this world, whatever it was, had ever known. 
Carefully... carefully... The man's bulbous back was now towards him. Just one, quick... 
Slash! Guitar's sword slid, with practiced ease, through the man's neck. His head slowly slid off and fell into the fire, roasting with all the weenies. 
The Scouts didn't move. 
Guitar grinned maliciously. No matter how powerful someone was, they always forgot to guard their back properly. He slowly licked the blood from his sword, feeling the molecules bond with his own. Yes! This man's power was now his! Suddenly... 
Suddenly all the stupid little human children looked extremely attractive. 
Guitar shook his head. This... this was definitely _not_ right! There were certain levels that even a Mazoku should _never_ sink to, and this was definitely one of them. No matter what, he had to make sure that he wouldn't take off their uniforms and... 
Guitar sighed, it was obvious that he was going to have to kill the lot of them. 

The former Beast King of the Mazoku groaned and rubbed his aching back. Just his luck, that the minute he had decided to kill them, the Cub Scouts had snapped out of their shock and ran screaming. It had taken _forever_ to track down them all, and he had to fight off _other_ urges the entire time, as well. 
Exhausted was definitely the word to describe him at that moment. Guitar wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, making sure that none of it got anywhere near his mouth. No telling _what_ would happen if he drank _that_ stuff again. 
Sighing deeply, Guitar realized it would be wisest to leave the scene of the crime. Slowly, painfully, he began to walk. 
As he walked, Guitar felt his spirits begin to rise. If that was what constituted as a fearsome lord in this world, then he shouldn't have any trouble taking it over, he thought. Yes! There would be screaming and blood and fire and s'mores...! No! No s'mores! Well, maybe some sort of blood s'mores... And... and gutting and killing and little boys in tight... No! Just killing! 
Suddenly, Guitar heard a sound very much like "Blam!" and his train of thought ended abruptly. 

"Say, Ewalt, whut's this here thang, 'xactly?" asked a very grungy man as he prodded the furry corpse with his foot. 
"Aye dunno, Vern," admitted another grungy man, carrying a smoking shot gun. "At first aye thought is wuz a dear. But now et looks layk some sorta... double-dog thang..." 
"Whay don' we take et home an' stuff it, anyway? Aye betcha th' 'Waykly World News'd come on bay t'say et!" 

The End. 

Feature Two: BASS STRIKES BACK!... Not really. 

Hell King Bass was not one to be caught without a plan. The possibility of Prince Lute waking up and escaping his possession, while far fetched, was not lost on him. Especially after that incident with the crying. Damn, had that been embarrassing. 
So, when the unbelievable happened, not due to the prince's willpower, but merely because of the intervention of that bitch, Queen Horn, Bass had a back-up plan to fall onto. 
It would mean the complete destruction of his Skeleton Army, but that was preferable, over the complete destruction of himself. 
Summoning his remaining power quickly, Bass transported himself to subspace, leaving a carbon copy of his head for the prince to burn with his power. The fools would think him dead, while he would secretly plot in the shadows, gathering strength until the fateful day of revenge! The overlord of the Mazoku chuckled to himself. Even in defeat, he could taste victory at the tip of his tongue. Scanning quickly, he found a hole in the absolute nothingness of subspace and flew through it. It was a tricky gambit; where he would appear would be completely random and he'd have to find a host body _fast_.

 A hole of complete nothingness appeared in the night sky and out of it flew a head, blue with death. Hell King Bass quickly looked around and moved to fall towards the only person available to him. 

Slide Whistle the baby, could tell that something was wrong. His undeveloped brain was still quite sketchy when it came to "logic" and "reasoning," but he somehow felt that this was not the environment he belonged in. He should've been in, well, possibly a crib of some sorts or at least a variation on that. He definitely _didn't_ belong in a dumpster. 
Slide Whistle felt that this situation called for him to fall back on what he did best, which was to cry. It never occurred to him that perhaps the reason he was in this predicament in the first place, might have something to do with that. He continued to wail, until a rather large (for him) object fell on him, and he didn't need to think, no matter how simplistically, any more. 

Bass had never realized how heavy his own head was before. Of course, he had never been an infant before, either. 
It had taken hours and hours and even more of those, simply to get himself from the dumpster, to two blocks down the street. He groaned as he inched forward, his head clutched in the baby's stubby little arms. It wasn't the fact that, crawling being the only possible means of transportation, his head was becoming seriously scratched up, that really bothered him. Nor was it the humiliation of wearing an unchanged diaper. No, what was really getting him down, was the fact that if he left this body for even a moment, he would rot and crumble like the corpse he was. He could _never_ leave this stupid body! Ever! 
He really wished he had foreseen the possibility of this predicament before, but couldn't imagine how he could have. 
Was it just him or was he going even slower than before? 
Oh, no! he thought, realization hitting him heavily. You're starving to death, aren't you, you stupid body?!! Aaaaaah!!! 
Out of a shroud of doom, walked a single man. The man walked up the street towards Bass. He was casually dressed and carried a bottle with him. 
"Hey! Hey, buddy!" cried Bass and Slide Whistle in unison. (Actually, for Slide Whistle it was more like, "Hggg! Hgg, booboo (grrgle)!") 
The man stopped short and stared at the baby carrying a corpse's head. "Hey, can you give me a bite to eat?" asked Bass, Slide Whistle doing the baby-talk equivalent. 
The man stared a bit more and then ran away as fast as he could. 
"Hey, get back here!" screamed the enraged Hell King. "What are you, some kind of... of baby hater or something?!!" 
Bass shook Slide Whistles head, mournfully. What was the world coming to? 

A half an hour later, Slide Whistle died of malnutrition, taking Bass with him. This event went unnoticed by almost everyone, save for a few stray alley cats, who were pleasantly surprised at the unexpected meal. 

The End. 

Feature Three: I Have A Friend In You, Mr. Clarinet! 

Clarinet walks onto one of the many balconies, high atop a tower of Sforzando's palace. 

The sound of The Birthday Party's song, "Mr. Clarinet" starts up. 

Clarinet: Being able to make a Nick Cave reference, was the only reason I was written into this story at all. 

Clarinet jumps off of the balcony and plummets to his death. 

Sorry, Clari. 

The End. 

Well, that's that! Anticipate Aaron's "serious" Hameln fic... eventually, folks!

 Chippy: I'm just beside myself with excitement. Now, where did I put that revolver?

 Ha ha ha! Chippy, you're such a kidder!

 Chippy: Aaah! Why won't you just die?!!

 E-mail's [email protected], by the way. C'mon, I get bored talking with my imaginary friends. All they want to talk about is how I'm the Angel of Death, sent to cleanse the Earth of its scum, like a fiery rain. Gets redundant, after awhile.