Egg for Breakfast

[Deadpool]

While the Namekian slept, the mercenary snatched his unborn, and fled into the forest.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

”This is definitely not the place I asked to be,” Deadpool said as he exited the portal; damp grass squished under his boots.

The air was moist, and humid. Somewhere far away, birds sang together without rhythm, accompanied by whooping whistles from other unknown creatures. Green—more vivid and lush that any sight the mercenary had seen before—popped from every direction. Not much light pierced the canopy of trees and branches, but the light that did hit the ground did so in fragments, which would dance across the grass every time a breeze swept through.

It reminded him of past missions, conducted deep within the Asia. They flooded his mind in vague, contorted video clips; memories of his past realm—life too it seemed at times—were beginning to fade away, but some fabrics to them were as durable as a quality pair of denim.

Deadpool expected a much less forested verse. This definitely wasn’t Camelot. He turned to see if the portal behind him still existed. Nothing. All he saw was more trees, grass, tall grass, and shrubbery. The connection between the Danteverse and neighboring verses was a one-way, one-time gig.

”That sucks,” Deadpool muttered, pouting as he turned forward.

There were no paths to guide him—no awkward little people lining up either side of a yellow brick road.

Go north.

The voice spoke with the same conviction as Baron, but lacked the bass. It was immature, not in attitude, but in tone. A child’s tone, too young to even be capable of articulating words.

A wrinkle curved over the right eyehole of Deadpool’s mask as he furrowed a brow. Da fuq?

I am a son of Retane—a son of the Namekian, the voice said, spawned from the battle you two had recently.

Deadpool instantly knew what the voice referred to: the first Face-to-Face of Dante’s Abyss—Deadpool versus Retane. That was like two months ago, the mercenary remembered (or only a week ago, for a normal Prime). He smirked. I remember my Super Move kicked the grammar outta him, too.

Make haste, my father will awake soon, the voice urged, carrying a mixture of anxiety and annoyance. You will go north, just over two miles. If you no longer see moss on trees then you went the wrong way.

”Well, looks like DP has holes to fill!” Deadpool pumped his fist and sprang his pelvis forward. ”Plot holes, that is . . . one of those things are bound to pop up in a group role-play thingy, which I’m sure is about to happen.”

Just go north.