Mask of Power : Spyro Versus the Mega Monsters (9781101610954) Read online

  The Mask of Power

  Spyro

  versus

  the Mega Monsters

  by Onk Beakman

  Grosset & Dunlap

  An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin

  Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Written by Cavan Scott

  Illustrated by Tino Santanach

  © 2012 Activision Publishing, Inc. Skylanders Universe is a trademark and Spyro and Activision are registered trademarks of Activision Publishing, Inc. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  ISBN:978-1-101-61095-4 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON

  About the Author

  Onk Beakman knew he wanted to be a world-famous author from the moment he was hatched. In fact, the book-loving penguin was so keen that he wrote his first novel while still inside his egg (to this day, nobody is entirely sure where he got the tiny pencil and notebook from).

  Growing up on the icy wastes of Skylands’s Frozen Desert was difficult for a penguin who hated the cold. While his brothers plunged into the freezing waters, Onk could be found with his beak buried in a book and a pen clutched in his flippers.

  Yet his life changed forever when a giant floating head appeared in the skies above the tundra. It was Kaos, attempting to melt the icecaps so he could get his grubby little hands on an ancient weapon buried beneath the snow.

  Onk watched open-beaked as Spyro swept in and sent the evil Portal Master packing. From that day on, Onk knew that he must chronicle the Skylanders’ greatest adventures. He traveled the length and breadth of Skylands, collecting every tale he could find about Master Eon’s brave champions.

  Today, Onk writes from a shack on the beautiful sands of Blistering Beach, where he lives with his two pet sea cucumbers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: The Stinky Swamp

  Chapter Two: The Daybringer Flame

  Chapter Three: Chompy Attack

  Chapter Four: The Swamp Monster

  Chapter Five: An Unlikely Ally

  Chapter Six: A Call For Help

  Chapter Seven: The Desert of Columns

  Chapter Eight: Darkness Falls

  Chapter Nine: The Eternal Archives

  Chapter Ten: A Big Problem

  Chapter Eleven: Huge Appetites

  Chapter Twelve: Kaos to the Rescue

  Chapter Thirteen: True Colors

  Chapter Fourteen: The Book

  Chapter One

  THE STINKY SWAMP

  Skylands is the most amazing place in the universe. Nothing compares to it. Nothing at all. It is made up of thousands…no, millions…no, gazillions of floating islands. Each one is totally different from the next, but all are full of adventure. Magic courses through every rock, plant, and animal—even the sheep. Dragons swoop through the sky, dirt sharks burrow deep beneath the ground, and nothing is what it seems. Some of the islands are beautiful. Some of the islands are terrifying. Yet all of them are special…even the smelly ones.

  Take the Stinky Swamp, for example. The name is a bit of a giveaway. The place positively reeks. In fact, it’s the second smelliest place in all of Skylands. The first, in case you were wondering, is Kaos’s sock drawer. Kaos is an evil Portal Master extraordinaire, dark wizard and all-around bad guy (prepare yourself—you’ll meet him later). Imagine the aroma of rancid cabbage mixed with wet dog hair and a skunk’s old bedsheets. Revolting, eh? Well, multiply that by ten and you’ll get an idea of the potency of Kaos’s foul-smelling footwear. Disgusting.

  The Stinky Swamp smells better, but just barely. The entire island is smothered in funky marshes, rotting trees, and fetid fruit. And that’s not the worst part. If the smell doesn’t get you, the vegetation will. Vampire vines hang from every branch, ready to snake around unsuspecting passersby, while Chompy Pods cluster around the roots of every twisted tree.

  In case you don’t know, Chompy Pods are plants that spore Chompies—small green beasties with ferocious appetites. Chompies are basically mouths on legs. Mouths bristling with razor-sharp teeth. Mouths that are best avoided.

  One way or another, the Stinky Swamp is not a nice place to be. Which is why it is surprising that people go there at all. But they do. Not in great numbers, obviously, but enough to get the island listed in the official 1001 Places to Visit in Skylands guidebook ten years in a row.

  Why?

  Well, the reason folks repeatedly risk life, limb, and their nasal passages is that the Stinky Swamp boasts the tastiest fish in all of Skylands. They are completely and utterly delicious.

  One fisherman, a humble Mabu by the name of Nort, had been coming here for years, enduring the smells and avoiding the wildlife. Every morning he’d travel to the swamp by hot air balloon, untie the boat he kept moored near the edge of the marsh, and pop a clothespin on his nose. Then he would push off into the middle of the bayou, cast off, and sit back, waiting for the fish to bite.

  Nort had been coming here for so long, he’d even started to get used to the stench. He liked it here. You hardly saw anyone, and as long as you were careful—and didn’t breathe too deeply—you were safe.

  Usually.

  But not today. Today that all changed.

  Today, Nort was drifting through the marshland, dozing in his boat, waking only to bat away the flies that buzzed around his head.

  This is the life, Nort thought. Just me, my rod, and miles of rank water. Heaven.

  But Nort wasn’t alone. Something else was in the swamp with him. Something big.

  Nort awoke with a start as a sound reverberated around the bayou. It was like nothing he’d ever heard. A deep, rumbling roar. He pushed his hat back from his eyes and looked around nervously. Where had it come from? He strained his ears but could only hear the usual sounds of the swamp—the chirp of the insects and the occasional shriek of birds high in the canopy.

>   ROAR!

  There it was again, a growl so loud it rattled the oars of his boat. Nort swallowed.

  Perhaps he’d had enough fishing. Perhaps he’d call it a day. Perhaps he’d head home before he came face-to-face with whatever had made that petrifying sound.

  It was too late. From the corner of his eye, Nort saw something huge fling itself from the undergrowth and soar through the air. He spun around just in time to see it crash into the water, sending huge ripples rushing toward his boat. He hung on as the small craft was tossed this way and that, and watched in dismay as one of his oars slipped into the water.

  All became calm again, and Nort could feel his heart slamming against his chest. Shaking with fear, he peered over the side of the boat and found himself staring straight into a pair of huge, wide eyes.

  Nort screamed in panic and grabbed his one remaining oar to defend himself. Not that it did him any good. The monster thrust its head from beneath the water and sent boat, fishing equipment, and Mabu flying high into the air. Just when Nort thought the day couldn’t get any worse, a massive slobbering tongue shot up from the creature’s mouth and grabbed him. Before he could utter another yelp, Nort was pulled down into the monster’s mouth. With a satisfied croak, the creature disappeared back under the water.

  Nort’s little boat landed on the water with a splash and drifted silently down the river.

  Chapter Two

  THE DAYBRINGER FLAME

  The Goliath Drow loomed over Drill Sergeant. Before Spyro the Dragon could warn his friend, the Arkeyan bulldozer was knocked aside by a swipe of one of the dark elf’s massive spiked shields. Drill Sergeant skidded along the ground, his auto-blaster spinning helplessly, and slammed straight into Trigger Happy.

  The golden gunslinger yelped as Drill Sergeant rolled over him, his pistols tumbling from his red furry hands. “Get him off me,” he shrieked, even as Drill Sergeant tried to right himself. “Get him off me!”

  Behind them, the Drow raised its shields, an arrogant leer spreading across its flat features. The two Skylanders were seconds from being pummeled into the ground. The fight was not going well.

  “What are you waiting for, old boy?” Beside Spyro, Jet-Vac was desperately trying to prime his vacuum gun to help his friends. “You need to do something.”

  Spyro knew the Sky Baron was right. This was it. The moment of truth.

  Spyro took in a deep breath, feeling the fire ignite in his belly. He closed his eyes for a second, remembering the advice Master Eon had given him: Focus the flame, Spyro. Mold it. Command it.

  The fire swelled deep inside him, burning hot, ready to escape. He could hear Drill Sergeant calling his name, desperate for him to do something, anything.

  Focus the flame.

  Spyro opened his eyes. The Drow was charging toward him, its twin shields held high. Spyro opened his mouth and breathed a blazing ball of dragon fire straight at the advancing Drow.

  At least that was the idea.

  Instead of a giant ball of fire, a column of white-hot flame burst from Spyro’s open mouth with such force that the little purple dragon was blown right off his feet. He rocketed backward, slamming into a tree behind him and crashing to the ground, stunned. He lay there for a second, ears ringing, not wanting to open his eyes again, not wanting to see what damage he had caused this time.

  “Beep-be-be-beep. That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it, sir?” came a harsh, mechanical voice.

  “No,” replied another. A deep, resonant voice. Master Eon’s voice. “No, it wasn’t.”

  Spyro winced. Not again. Sheepishly, he opened one eye. The Drow stood in front of him, completely unscathed, grinning from ear to ear. The same could not be said for the grounds of Eon’s citadel. The usually lush grass was scorched and the cabbage patch was ablaze. Poor old Drill Sergeant was still on his side, the blistered red paint on his metalwork covered in soot, and Trigg’s usually orange fur was blackened from head to foot. Spyro’s head dropped as Master Eon stepped from behind the triumphant dark elf. Even the Portal Master’s snow-white beard was looking decidedly singed. Eon waved his hand and the Goliath Drow vanished in a puff of smoke. It had been an illusion, just part of Spyro’s training session. Spyro’s failed training session.

  Spyro frowned. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but Eon cut off the apology with a raised hand.

  “There is no need to apologize, Spyro,” Eon said, clicking his fingers. To his right, Drill Sergeant tipped back on his tracks as if by magic. Which is exactly what it was. “These things take time.”

  “Not for me,” Spyro muttered under his breath. He wasn’t used to this. He was a Skylander, a champion personally selected by Eon to protect Skylands from the forces of Darkness. Each Skylander had unique powers and abilities, but Eon never let them rest on their laurels. Spyro could understand why. Skylands was just too important. From here, you could travel to any location in the universe. It was a stepping stone to all of creation. If evil ever conquered Skylands, it could spread unchecked to every world in existence. So Eon trained them hard, teaching them new ways to fight. New ways to defend.

  Usually Spyro was a quick learner. Usually he mastered new abilities in a matter of hours. Why was this difficult? He’d been practicing the Daybringer Flame for days. It was supposed to generate a ball of fire so big and bright that it lit up the sky. Instead, Spyro kept producing wild, uncontrollable flames that burned everything to a crisp. Eon had created plenty of targets: images of trolls, cyclopses, Drow—even Kaos, the evil Portal Master who had vowed to take over Skylands. But it was hopeless. Why couldn’t Spyro get it right?

  “Spyro, you’re being awfully hard on yourself.” Jet-Vac had slung his vacuum-blaster over his shoulder, his role in the training session at an end. “You can’t be good at everything.”

  “Yes I can,” Spyro snapped back, before biting his tongue. Getting angry with his friends wasn’t helping. He set his jaw and looked up at his master, eyes sparkling with determination. “Let’s try again.”

  Behind them, Drill Sergeant let out a whimper of dismay, although Trigger Happy was already on his feet, giggling happily to himself. Bizarrely, the gun-loving gremlin seemed to be enjoying being continually frazzled.

  Eon smiled warmly, resting on his staff. “I think we could all do with a break. Let’s continue our training tomorrow.”

  Spyro tried to ignore the sigh of relief that came from Drill Sergeant’s general direction. This was completely humiliating. Not wanting to meet his friend’s eyes, Spyro glanced up at the Core of Light, the towering beacon that kept Darkness at bay. How could he defend the Core when he couldn’t master something as simple as the Daybringer Flame?

  Perhaps Eon was right. Perhaps he just needed to take his mind off his training. Perhaps he was trying too hard.

  He turned back to Eon, but the Portal Master was no longer smiling. Instead, the old man was standing with his eyes closed, a look of concern etched onto his face.

  “Master? Are you all right?”

  Eon reached up and massaged his temple, as if trying to banish a sudden headache. “Something is wrong.”

  Spyro felt his spines bristle.

  “It’s Stealth Elf. She is calling for a Portal. Come.”

  Without another word, Eon turned on his heel and marched toward the citadel. Spyro exchanged a worried look with Jet-Vac and ran after the Portal Master.

  The Portal of Power hummed to life as soon as Eon entered the chamber. These ancient artifacts were found scattered across Skylands. No one knew who originally created them, but only Portal Masters like Eon—and Kaos—could use them. Once activated, they could transport you anywhere in the universe. Some even believed they could send you back in time.

  Eon’s Portal was the biggest Spyro had ever seen, carved with a myriad of magical symbols. As Eon strode nearer, the stone top of the Portal began to glow, the indigo light intensifying with every step. Spyro felt his scales tingle as the atmosphere in the majestic chamber changed. It was
as if the very air was buzzing with excitement.

  Suddenly, a door to their left was thrown open and a small figure bustled into the Portal Chamber. It was Hugo, Master Eon’s right-hand Mabu. Hugo had been Eon’s assistant for as long as anyone could remember. The citadel probably couldn’t function without him. He was the chief librarian, record keeper, and guardian of the ancient scrolls, and he always did the washing up. No wonder he always looked flustered.

  “Master Eon, thank heavens,” he started, rushing up to the Portal Master on his tiny legs. “I bring grave news.”

  Eon didn’t even look in Hugo’s direction. He continued striding forward, his staff tapping against the stone slabs. “Not now, Hugo.”

  “But Master, it’s awfully important—”

  “As is this.” Eon had reached the side of the Portal, which was now burning with such brilliance that Spyro was forced to screw up his eyes. The Portal Master raised his arms and commanded the Portal to open. Immediately a column of light shot up from its surface to the vaulted ceiling high above. With the sound of the universe ripping apart and instantly reforming, a figure appeared in the light, leaped forward, and rolled gracefully along the floor, finishing in a crouch. As Eon closed the Portal, the newcomer got to her feet and turned to her master.

  “Stealth Elf,” Eon said, approaching the female Skylander. “What is wrong?”

  The elf flicked her long blue ponytail over a shoulder and looked at Eon with concerned eyes.

  “It’s a monster, Master,” she replied, her voice soft but steely. “A terrible monster.”

  Chapter Three

  CHOMPY ATTACK

  The smell hit Spyro as soon as he flew out of the Portal. He knew that the Stinky Swamp had been given its name for a reason, but this was ridiculous. Almost immediately his eyes began to water at the reek.