Chapter 79: Becoming an Elf
A pair of diminutive elves ushered Grandpa Max through a heavy oak door. The interior of the cabin was surprisingly cozy, lined end-to-end with towering bookshelves crammed full of dusty tomes and complex toy blueprints. Polished wooden floorboards creaked softly underfoot, leading toward a grand staircase. Sitting dead center in the room, looking entirely out of place, was an overly luxurious, velvet-cushioned armchair.
Max glanced around, his brow furrowing in mild curiosity. Before he could ask his odd little escorts any questions, a raspy, aged voice echoed from the shadows behind him. "Welcome. I am Mr. Jingles."
Assuming the man was simply the eccentric owner of this bizarre Christmas-themed resort, Max offered a polite, easygoing smile. "Oh, hello there. You've got a rather nice place set up here."
"Oh, that is simply wonderful!" Mr. Jingles clapped his hands together, his eyes gleaming with a frantic, almost manic joy. "I was so terribly worried that this place wouldn't meet your exacting standards! To hear your approval means everything!"
"My approval?" Max blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. He scratched the back of his neck. Were the staff at this theme park always this intensely dedicated to customer service?
Mr. Jingles took a step closer, his gaze reverent. "Mr. Claus. May I call you Santa Claus?"
"Mr. Claus?" Max chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "I think... you might have mistaken me for someone else, friend." He didn't particularly mind the mix-up; in fact, he found the whole situation to be a rather charming, if odd, little surprise.
Getting back to business, Max gestured vaguely toward the door. "Speaking of which, do you have a mechanic around here? Someone who can help us fix the air conditioning in my RV? My grandkids and I still need to get back on the road."
The warmth instantly vanished from Mr. Jingles' face, replaced by a twisted mask of panic and rage. "Leave?! You want to leave here?!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "No! You can't go anywhere! I built this entire Christmas Resort specifically for you!"
The elderly man's sudden agitation sent a ripple of unease through Max. But before the veteran Plumber could react, the two little elves lunged. They moved with unnatural speed, throwing a heavy red velvet cloth over Max's shoulders. A blinding burst of sparkling, magical light erupted in the room. When the glitter cleared, Max's signature Hawaiian shirt was gone. In its place was a full, traditional Santa Claus suit, complete with a thick, fluffy white fake beard strapped to his chin.
Mr. Jingles whipped out a clunky remote control equipped with a joystick. He slammed a large red button. The luxurious velvet chair suddenly whirred to life, generating a powerful magnetic pull that yanked Max backward. He crashed heavily into the cushions. With a sharp metallic clack, heavy iron rings snapped out from the armrests, clamping tightly around Max's wrists.
Max grunted, his muscles bulging as he strained against the restraints. It was completely futile; the iron wouldn't budge a millimeter. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but a strange magical force sealed his lips shut, rendering him entirely mute.
"Once the toys are absolutely perfect, you will go out and deliver the gifts, just as you are meant to," Mr. Jingles declared, his tone brooking no argument as he manipulated the joystick. "Oh, and thank you so very much for bringing those three lively, lovely children along. After all... I am always in desperate need of more elves to help me manufacture the toys."
…
Meanwhile, back on the main street of the bizarre holiday village.
Ben and Gwen were currently occupied with gnawing on massive, overly-decorated gingerbread men they had swiped from a roadside stall. Klein strolled lazily beside them, a peppermint candy cane dangling from the corner of his mouth like a sugary cigar.
Gwen snapped off a piece of her gingerbread man's head, chewing thoughtfully. "Are we going to go find Grandpa now?" she mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.
Ben swallowed a massive bite of frosting. "Why bother?" he dismissed, waving his half-eaten cookie. "Grandpa is probably off having the time of his life checking out the weird rides or something."
Having a great time? Klein internally scoffed. He highly doubted that. Grandpa Max had been gone for far too long just to be browsing some tacky gift shops. Given the sheer, unsettling weirdness radiating from this entire theme park, it was almost guaranteed that something had gone wrong.
"Let's go," Klein said flatly, pulling the candy cane from his mouth. Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and headed straight toward the last shop they had seen Max enter.
Realizing he was serious, Ben and Gwen hastily shoved the last remnants of their gingerbread into their mouths and jogged to catch up.
A few minutes later, Klein pushed open the door to the shop, only to lead his cousins right back out onto the street.
Ben wiped a smear of icing from his cheek, a frown finally breaking through his sugar-induced complacency. "No one's inside. Where the heck could Grandpa have gone?"
"Maybe they'll know," Gwen suggested, her voice tight with sudden apprehension.
Hearing her tone, Ben and Klein followed her gaze. Marching down the cobblestone street in perfect, terrifying synchronization was a squad of giant, wooden toy soldiers. Each one stood well over two meters tall, their painted faces frozen in eerie, unblinking smiles. The massive, meter-long greatswords gripped in their stiff wooden hands made their hostile intentions abundantly clear.
Before the towering nutcracker-knockoffs could close the distance, a barrage of red glass light bulbs rained down from a nearby rooftop. The bulbs shattered harmlessly against the soldiers' wooden armor, doing absolutely nothing to slow their relentless march.
Klein and the twins glanced toward the source of the pathetic artillery fire. Standing near the edge of an alleyway was a frantic-looking elf, his arms full of Christmas ornaments.
The elf wildly waved his spindly arms at them. "Those are Mr. Jingles' royal guards! Run for your lives!"
Ben blinked, completely unfazed by the giant wooden men. "Uh... run from what, exactly? A bunch of oversized chew toys?"
Gwen rolled her eyes at her cousin's bravado. "He means we should probably get out of the open, Dweeb."
While neither Klein nor the Omnitrix-wielding Ben felt even a shred of fear toward the clunky wooden guards, the strange little elf had already darted into the shadows. Figuring the local might have some actual answers about Max's disappearance, Klein gestured for the twins to follow.
They tailed the frantic elf down a narrow, winding alleyway, slipping through a heavy wooden back door and into the dimly lit storage room of a nearby house.
Klein leaned against a stack of dusty toy crates, crossing his arms. He studied the trembling creature with mild curiosity. "So, who exactly are you? You're an elf, which means you work for this place. Why go out of your way to help us?"
The elf slumped against the wall, his pointed ears drooping in deep despondency. "My name is Aisigu. I... I am an elf who still retains his own free will and thoughts. That is why I am rebelling against Mr. Jingles to help you. You have to understand, Mr. Jingles wasn't always like this..."
Mr. Jingles? Klein mused silently. What a ridiculously creepy name for a villain. Honestly, Klein was far more entertained by the sheer absurdity of the antagonist's name than whatever tragic backstory Aisigu was about to dump on them.
Suddenly, Aisigu bolted upright, his eyes widening in sheer panic as he remembered a critical detail. "Wait! You must leave this place immediately! If you stay too long, you'll be infected by the Christmas Resort's curse! You'll turn into elves just like me!"
Ben let out a loud, mocking snort. "Heh! Turn into elves?! Yeah, right. What a joke!"
Gwen stared at the side of Ben's head, her jaw dropping slightly. She slowly raised a finger, pointing directly at him. "Uh... Dweeb? You might want to find a mirror before you say that."
Frowning, Ben reached up to touch his ears. His fingers brushed against elongated, sharply pointed tips that definitely hadn't been there five minutes ago. He froze, then immediately glared at Gwen's head. "Hey! You're not looking much better yourself, Dork!"
Startled, Gwen slapped her hands over her own ears. The obvious texture of long, elven points met her palms. "No way!" she shrieked in horror. "I do not want to turn into an elf! This look is definitely not going to catch on at school!"
Mortified, Gwen spun around, deliberately hiding her face so Klein wouldn't see her ridiculous new features.
Ben, however, turned his attention to the oldest cousin in the room. He blinked in confusion. "Huh? Hey, Klein, why haven't you changed at all?"
Hearing that, Gwen's vanity was instantly overridden by curiosity. She peeked over her shoulder, staring intently at Klein.
Klein casually raised his right hand, tapping the side of his head. His ears were perfectly round and normal. "Couldn't tell you," he replied, his tone entirely unbothered.
But as he lowered his hand, a faint, pulsing light caught the corner of his eye.
Klein turned his right palm face up. Glowing softly against his skin was an complex, golden snake-head symbol—the mark representing the Aikequwa Divine Sword. It was a brand that usually remained completely invisible, dormant beneath his flesh.
Oh? Klein raised an eyebrow. This thing actually has an automatic protective function for its master?
Staring at the faint golden glow of the serpent, Klein quickly deduced the truth. The divine energy of the sword was actively repelling the ambient magic of the Christmas Resort, rendering him completely immune to the transformation curse.
"Please, you must leave quickly before the curse takes full effect!" Aisigu pleaded, wringing his hands anxiously.
"No way!" Ben snapped, crossing his arms stubbornly. "We have to find Grandpa Max first! We're not leaving without him!"
Aisigu shook his head mournfully, completely oblivious to the sheer, world-breaking firepower possessed by the three 'children' standing in front of him. "You won't be able to find your Grandpa. He was personally taken by Mr. Jingles."
Kidnapping old men? Klein's lips twitched. This Mr. Jingles guy really is a special kind of pervert.
While Klein found the villain's motives utterly baffling, a deeply amusing thought crossed his mind. Had Grandpa Max's legendary Casanova constitution struck again? Before, the old man was only a magnet for exotic alien women, but now he was apparently attracting crazy old men in Christmas villages, too. Grandpa really is built different, Klein mused, holding back a smirk.
Unaware of Klein's highly disrespectful internal monologue, Aisigu elaborated, "Mr. Jingles believes that your Grandpa is the real Santa Claus."
Hearing that, Klein couldn't stop a deadpan retort from slipping out. "What kind of brain-dead logic is that? Santa Claus? Nobody past kindergarten actually believes in that."
Clearly, Mr. Jingles' education level was severely lacking.
"Who cares about Santa Claus right now? Let's just go save Grandpa!" Ben interrupted, his anxiety spiking as he felt the tips of his newly pointed ears again.
Aisigu let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "...All right. If you are truly determined to throw your lives away, then follow me."
Seeing that Klein and the twins were entirely unwilling to flee, the little elf turned and slipped deeper into the shadows of the storage room, gesturing for the trio to follow him into the heart of the cursed resort.
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