Ben, Flygirl, Gwen, Laura, and Max stepped through the arched entrance of Zombozo's Traveling Circus of Laughs. The air immediately thickene
Ben, Flygirl, Gwen, Laura, and Max stepped through the arched entrance of Zombozo's Traveling Circus of Laughs. The air immediately thickened, a cloying mix of cotton candy sweetness and something vaguely metallic.
[🤡🤡🎪🎪 WELCOME! WELCOME! TO ZOMBOZO'S TRAVELLING CIRCUS OF LAUGHS! 🤡🤡🎪🎪]
The area was a riot of color—garishly painted stalls lined the perimeter, each offering a different game or attraction. Children shrieked with laughter as they tossed rings at oversized clown noses, while adults lined up to test their strength with a sledgehammer and a bell.
The scene felt off to Ben. Zombozo's face was everywhere—plastered on the sides of stalls, grinning from banners overhead, even printed on the prizes handed out to winners. Each smile seemed a little too wide, a little too manic. The air crackled with a false gaiety, like a forced smile plastered over something sinister.
Flygirl tugged at Ben's sleeve, her yellow eyes wide with wonder despite the hat pulled low over her antennae. "Look, Ben! A shooting gallery! Can we go?"
Ben swallowed his unease and forced a smile. "Sure, Flygirl. But stay close, okay?" He scanned the crowd, his senses on high alert. This was exactly the kind of place Zombozo would thrive.
Gwen, ever the enthusiastic one, looped her arm through Laura's. "Come on, Laura, let's see what kind of prizes we can win!" She steered them toward a series of game stalls, her red hair bouncing with each step.
First up was the shooting gallery. Rows of plush Zombozo dolls lined the back wall, ripe for the plucking—or rather, the shooting. Gwen grabbed a cork gun and took aim, squeezing the trigger. The cork popped out with a pathetic thwip, missing its target by a mile.
Laura stepped up next, her expression neutral. She hefted the gun, her stance solid and balanced. Pop. Pop. Pop. Three corks, three perfect shots, three Zombozo dolls plummeting to the ground.
Gwen's jaw dropped. "Whoa, Laura! You're a natural!"
Laura shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I trained with real guns."
Gwen's eyes widened. "Oh. Right." Maybe not a circus natural, but a killing-things-dead natural, yikes.
They moved deeper into the grounds, the main tent looming before them—a colossal, striped structure promising spectacle. A stream of people flowed toward its entrance, their faces alight with anticipation. Ben hesitated, his gut churning with a warning he couldn't ignore. This felt like walking into a trap.
"Showtime, folks! Get your seats, the performance is about to begin!" A barker's voice blared through a megaphone, adding to the chaotic atmosphere.
Despite his reservations, Ben allowed Flygirl to pull him along, the lure of the unknown too strong to resist. Inside, the tent was packed, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and anticipation. They found seats near the center, the red velvet cushions surprisingly plush.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated the center ring. A figure in a sequined tailcoat strode forward, a wide, painted smile plastered across his face. The Ringmaster.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the greatest show on Earth!" he boomed, his voice amplified by hidden speakers. "Tonight, we present a showcase of talent and thrills that will astound and amaze you!"
He gestured dramatically, and a drumroll echoed through the tent. "First, prepare to be amazed by the incredible strength of... Thumbskull!"
A hulking figure lumbered into the ring. Thumbskull, just as his name implied, had a giant, toenail-like growth jutting from his forehead. His skin was a sickly pale, and his eyes seemed vacant. He wore a black and yellow striped jumpsuit that strained against his immense frame. The Ringmaster handed him a thick metal rod. With a grunt, Thumbskull pressed the rod against his neck, bending it into a sharp V with a show of brute force.
"And now, the mesmerizing agility of... Frightwig!"
Frightwig sauntered into the spotlight, her pale skin and olive-green eyes gleaming under the lights. Five long, red-orange tentacles sprouted from her head, twitching with a life of their own. Dressed in a form-fitting black bodysuit, she snatched the bent rod from Thumbskull. With a flick of her wrist, she used her hair-like appendages to contort it into a pretzel shape.
"Finally," the Ringmaster announced, his voice dripping with anticipation, "prepare for the corrosive talent of... Acid Breath!"
Acid Breath shuffled into the ring, a hunched figure with pale, wrinkled skin and mismatched red eyes. His teeth were mostly gone, revealing sickly green gums. He took the pretzel from Frightwig, and with a wheezing cough, spat a stream of acid onto it. The metal hissed and dissolved, leaving a smoking puddle on the ground.
The crowd was intrigued by the Circus Freak Trio's spectacle, applauding politely as they took their bows.
"Are they... mutants?" Gwen murmured, glancing at Laura.
Laura considered the question, her gaze intense. "It's possible. Their abilities are certainly... unusual."
The Ringmaster returned to the center ring, his smile widening. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! The master of mirth, the sultan of silly, the one, the only... Zombozo!"
A spotlight flashed on a small stage, and a tiny, brightly colored car drove into view. From the miniature vehicle stepped Zombozo himself, his oversized clown shoes making him appear even more comically large. He was half the vehicle's height.
Zombozo bowed deeply, his painted grin stretching impossibly wide. "Greetings, my fun-loving fiends!"
He launched into a series of classic clown gags—pulling endless handkerchiefs from his sleeve, honking a comically large horn, and juggling bowling pins that seemed to defy gravity. The crowd chuckled, their initial apprehension fading into amusement.
For his grand finale, Zombozo gestured towards the little car. An assistant started it. The car, now driverless, sped towards him. Zombozo took a matador stance, holding a bright red cloth. As the car zoomed closer, he waved the cloth. At the moment of impact, the car didn't crash. Instead, it exploded into a shower of confetti, showering the stage and the front rows with colorful paper scraps.
"If you love clowns," Zombozo boomed, his voice echoing through the tent, "this is the place to be!"
A wave of laughter erupted through the audience. Max guffawed, slapping his knee. Gwen giggled, shaking her head in amusement. Flygirl clapped her hands, her antennae twitching with excitement. Laura offered a small, almost imperceptible smile.
Ben, however, remained stone-faced. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, a prickling sense of foreboding washing over him.
Something isn't right, Ben thought, his senses on high alert. He scanned the stage, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. He was on the lookout for some sort of contraption that Zombozo might use to drain the joy from the crowd. He knew that the clown needed to feed to get stronger.
But the laughter was short-lived. A subtle shift occurred. What had been mirthful became shrill, almost frantic. Ben's Vulpimancer senses, heightened since his night with Wildgirl, picked up on a distant tremor, a chorus of screams too faint for human ears. It was a call for help, laced with a distinct note of fear.
"Flygirl, we have to go," Ben murmured, his voice low and urgent.
Flygirl's antennae drooped, her eyes fixed on Zombozo, who was now balancing a unicycle on his chin. "But Ben, it's just getting good! I want to see what happens next!"
"I know, but something's happening outside. There is trouble in town." Ben reached for her hand, his grip firm. "I need you to come with me. Now."
He didn't give her a chance to argue, pulling her from her seat and towards the tent's exit. Flygirl stumbled, her wings fluttering in protest. "But Ben—"
"No buts, Flygirl. This is important." Ben's tone left no room for debate. He was the leader, and she had to obey.
With a sigh, Flygirl relented, her excitement fading into reluctant compliance. "Fine, Ben. But you owe me big time!"
He turned to Max, Gwen, and Laura. "Grandpa, Gwen, Laura, Flygirl and I are going to step out for a minute. I'll be back before you know it." Ben wasn't sure if that was true, but he needed to investigate.
"Be careful, Ben," Max called after him, a flicker of concern in his eyes.
Ben squeezed Flygirl's hand and led her away from the tent. Once they were a safe distance from the circus, he spoke. "Flygirl, can you give me a lift? There's something I need to check out."
Flygirl perked up, her earlier reluctance forgotten. "You got it, Ben! Hang on tight!" She wrapped her arms around his waist, her wings beating with sudden force.
The wind rushed past them as Flygirl ascended into the air. Below, the circus shrunk to a miniature spectacle of lights and sounds. Flygirl flew in the direction of the town, her movements swift and sure. The enhanced senses did make her useful for navigation.
As they approached, a scene of chaos unfolded below. People in a familiar getup were running in and out of stores, stuffing bags with anything they could get their hands on. Ben spotted the distinct figure first. A green suit, a flowing purple cape, and a smooth, reflective fishbowl helmet—Mysterio. The Mysterios were looting. The henchmen rushed to load the haul into a getaway car.
Flygirl slowed her pace, hovering above the scene. "Who are those guys, Ben? Are they like, super-robbers or something?"
Ben's jaw tightened. "That's Mysterio. I read about him, somewhere... Damn. I thought Spider-Man was his nemesis. What's he doing all the way out here?" What could a D-list Spidey villain be doing in their small town?
***
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Advance chapters are in my P@|r3on - Najicablitz