Marc Beerwalker and the Dethronement of the Lion King

Back in a cell.

Back against a damp wall.

And, of course, Marcus had to start singing again.

“…Four hundred twenty-two bottles of beer in the jail… four hundred twenty-two bottles of beer…”

Without missing a beat, Gus chimed in.

“…Take one down, pass it around…”

“…Four hundred twenty-one bottles of beer… in the jail.”

A cough echoed from the corner.

“Four hundred twenty-one bottles of beer in the jail… four hundred twenty-one bottles of beer…” a raspy voice croaked along.

Both whipped around.

In the shadows, Caeriel’s ragged-looking dad was actually singing with them.

Marcus and Gus traded wide-eyed looks, then nodded respectfully, and kept going.

The guard outside the cell, a burly half-giant, growled in annoyance, stuffed some candle wax into his ears, and leaned back on the little wooden chair, soon snoring.

After a while, the cell finally went quiet and the elf leaned forward.

“So tell me… how do you even know my Caeriel? I never thought she’d ever hang around humans…”

Gus’s eyes lit up as he leaned back with a crooked grin. 

“Oh man, that’s a long story. But lucky for you, we’ve got nothing but time.”

So he cleared his throat and began to tell.

---

“…And then...” Gus doubled over laughing, “…her glasses slipped right off her nose, and she goes, ‘If you ever tell anyone, I’ll shoot an arrow straight up your rump.’”

He nailed her voice so perfectly Marcus was already rolling on the floor.

“…She really said rump! Who the hell even uses that word anymore?” Gus added, laughing.

Even Carrie’s father laughed so loudly that the floor shook with the sound, the guard outside grumbling in his sleep.

“You know… her mother was the same. And I drove her just as insane.”

He grinned, nostalgia flickering in his eyes.

“…She often called me a useless good-for-nothing. And yet she was always there when I needed her…” His face darkened, his voice trembling.

“…Who would’ve thought she’d end up being right about me…”

The cell went quiet, and for a moment, no one said a word.

Then Gus leaned closer and bumped the elf with his tied-up arms.

“Don’t sweat it, old man. Carrie acts tough, sure, but deep down? She’s softer than she lets on. Give it time, she’ll forgive you one day.”

The elf looked at him, visibly moved, before replying with a gentle smile:

“…And if not… at least I know she’s got friends like you. So don’t screw it up… and take good care of her.”

“Done deal,” Gus said with a wink.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, that’s really touching and all. But… shouldn’t we maybe focus on getting OUT OF HERE first?! Otherwise that whole ‘take care of her’ thing is gonna get tricky…”

Gus puffed up with confidence. 

“Relax, Marc my boy. We’ve wriggled out of worse. By tonight? We’ll be drinking beer and laughing our asses off about this."

Marcus arched a brow, while behind them, Caeriel’s dad sighed, closing his eyes.

“Gods… a beer would be perfect right now.”

Marcus’s head shot around as if someone had pushed him.

“Damn right you are. And… you know what? I could actually conjure one, freshly tapped even!”

He jerked his chin toward his staff, leaning just a few meters away against a chair, tight next to the snoring guard.

“If only I could just reach that damn thing…”

He leaned back, half closed his eyes, and his voice softened.

“…A freshly tapped, cold, golden, sparkling blonde…” He swallowed as if he could taste it. “…Foamy and refreshing, sliding down the throat…”

As he spoke, the staff outside on the chair began to tremble slightly.

“Dude,” whispered Gus, who noticed it, “your staff just moved.”

Marcus’s eyes snapped open. “What!?” He looked at his tied hands, then back at the staff.

His thoughts raced.

Slowly, he stretched his bound hands forward and began to hum a certain melody: gentle, solemn, from a galaxy far, far away.

“…Duuum daaaa-daaa da-da-daaa… daa!”

The staff shivered… then fell still.

“Shit! I can’t get it!” Sweat rolled down his face.

The guard stirred, squinting at the wobbling staff. 

“…Huh?”

His gaze shifted to Marcus,, where he was staring at his staff with utter concentration.

“HEY! Cut that out!” the half-giant barked, standing with his club.

Marcus didn’t even blink. 

“Come on… MOVE!”

“You’re overthinking it!” Gus yelled. “Don’t think about the staff, think about the beer! Trust the beer, Luke! Uh... I mean Marc!”

“THAT’S IT!” the guard roared, stomping toward the bars.

He was almost there when...

SWOOOOSH!

The staff shot through the air, slammed against the bars, Marcus grabbed it with bound hands, and the gem flared, blinding the guard.

“BEEEER EXPLOOOOSION!”

The cell door blasted off its hinges with a foamy shockwave, and the stunned guard was hurled across the room, crashing unconscious against the wall. 

The keys for their shackles skittered across the floor, landing right in front of them.

Beer rained from the ceiling, streaming down the walls, while Marcus just stood there, foam dripping from his hair.

Gus just stared, completely dumbfounded, before bursting out laughing.

“HA! Since when can you pull off THAT shit, Marc fucking BEERwalker?!”

Marcus grinned, panting. 

In the corner, Caeriel’s dad chuckled.

“By the gods… Caeriel really did find the right companions.”

---

A short time later, the corridors trembled with the sound of their footsteps as they fought their way through the narrow halls.

Thugs leapt from doorways, only to be smashed against the walls by Gus’s furious swings, his demon arm trembling with rage.

“Easy there, Handy. You’ll get your revenge soon enough!”

Finally, they burst through a heavy door, where humid sea air hit them in the face.

“…Wait,” Marcus wheezed as the floor swayed. “Are we on...”

“Dude,” Gus muttered, his gaze rising.

Mast. Sails. Anchor chains.

“This is a goddamn SHIP!”

Before they could process it, a crash thundered from the deck’s edge.

Raukhar pounced from portside like a predator, landing with a boom right in front of them, the planks groaning beneath his weight.

Before Marcus could blink, Raukhar's claw smacked the staff out of his hands, sending it spinning aside.

“Oi! Cheap shot!”

His goons circled, Leyrunit spheres glowing like bombs, ready to fire.

“Welcome aboard,” he growled. “But I’m afraid I must ask you to return to your quarters.”

Gus rolled his shoulders, fist tightening. 

“Nah, we’re checking out. And please, pick a lane, dude. Pirate or mob boss. Can’t be both!”

Raukhar chuckled darkly. 

“You should’ve learned by now you’re powerless against Leyrunit shackles. But apparently you’re even dumber than I thought… Fire!”

The spheres blasted forward.

But Marcus instinctively flung his hands out, and in the next instant, the countless barrels stored on deck began to vibrate.

Then they burst.

Before the spheres could strike, they were swept aside by rushing waves of beer.

“Holy shit, how are you even DOING that?!” Gus hollered as one sphere ricocheted into a thug’s face.

Marcus gritted his teeth, sweat dripping. 

“No idea. But trust me, Beerbending is… way harder… than it looks!”

Panting, he hurled a wave of beer that wiped most of the spheres clean off the deck.

Raukhar snarled, watching his henchmen drop one by one. 

“Useless trash… I’ll crush you myself!”

With a roar, he lunged, claws gleaming like blades, but Gus caught him with his demon arm, sparks flying.

They clashed, claw against claw, the whole deck shuddering.

Raukhar reared back and let out a deafening roar, the shockwave staggering Gus.

“Ughh, ever heard of breath mints, Simba?! And for the plaque, I know a pet shop that...”

WHAM! 

A claw smashed him mid-sentence, sending him flying into a barrel that exploded in beer and splinters.

“GUS!” Marcus shouted.

But Gus rose, dripping foam, scowling. 

“…The audacity of cutting me off mid-line!”

From the corner, Caeriel’s dad shouted hoarsely: “Careful! Raukhar’s feared not just for cruelty, he’s a gruesome fighter too!”

“Yeah? Well I’ve got tricks too, old man!” Gus barked back, blocking another slash.

Raukhar was faster now, claws hammering Gus’s arm in a relentless assault.

Finally, he clamped his paw around Gus’s throat, lifting him, while pinning his demon arm with the other.

“Pathetic human,” he snarled. “You think a drop of demon power makes you invincible?”

Gus choked, then grinned. “…For you, Mufasa? It’s enough. Handy, NOW!”

His arm shuddered, then blazed like a green star, tripling in size, sparks dancing around it as Raukhar’s grip faltered.

A surge of demon energy burst forth, and with a roar Gus drove his fist forward.

“POWEEER-SLAM!!!”

The air shuddered as his blow sent Raukhar crashing into the mast, wood splintering with a deafening crack.

Gus stood panting, arm smoking. 

“…And that was tonight’s onboard entertainment.”

Meanwhile Marcus whipped his hands, shaping the beer-clouds into foamy whips that lashed down on the last thugs until none remained.

Gus grabbed a remaining Leyrunit sphere and slammed it onto Raukhar, chaining him to the mast.

“So, Lion King,” he sneered, “I think it’s time for new elections in your kingdom.”

Marcus collapsed against a barrel, rubbing his temples, then he let a small beer-ball float toward his lips, slurping it with a loud, “Ahhhh, perfect.”

Finally, Caeriel’s father crept from hiding. He gazed over the wrecked deck, the defeated thugs sprawled among shattered barrels, the chained Raukhar hanging limp from the mast.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Incredible… you two are crazier than anything I’ve ever seen.” 

His voice was hoarse, but full of awe. “No wonder my daughter...”

A cold voice cut him off.

“No wonder I what?”

They spun.

At the far end of the deck, Caeriel stood.

Her eyes glowed icy, arms crossed over her chest.

“I told you, you lost the right to call me daughter.”

Then her gaze slid slowly to Marcus, then to Gus, following a long, audible sigh.

“…And what kind of mess have you gotten yourselves into this time?”

Silence.

Then, without a word, Marcus raised a finger.

A tiny orb of golden beer floated gently toward Caeriel, wobbling like a peace offering.

She just raised her hand and smacked it out of the air.

Splash.

Her eyes narrowed.

“…Idiots.”