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CHAPTER 1: SWAP

 

Deep in the eastern deserts, D'Artagnan studied his psychic arts hard. Here, they were considered magical

 

powers, amazing gifts that lifted those in posession of them above the average, to emperors and nobles. He

 

opened a scroll, and read it aloud to himself. "Po...session," he read, very slowly. He read the words across the

 

paper, a chant to awaken his mind control.

 

"Ano Mak'ht Zein, Le Kjh't Nomr,

E Knei ze Leig,

nas Khag ein Krigzel,

op Auerur sles Karantu,

sies Tran, Tran, Trentua."

 

As he uttered the words, he realized all too late he had made a mistake. As he dropped the scroll to the

 

ground with a thud, he let out a shout as his mentality left his body, into the Collective Unconscious.

 

At the same time, Razputin cast forth his mental projection towards Sasha, who clumsily lost his footing and

 

fell to the floor. Razputin was flung into the Collective Unconscious, flying straight through Dart, into his

 

body in a hectic flash of fear.

 

"D'Artagnan? D'Artagnan? Why did you scream?"

 

Dart, or rather, Raz, looked up at the old man standing over him.

 

"Dart? Are you okay?"

 

Raz coughed, sputtering and hacking. "I'm not a dart...I'm Razputin! Where am I?"

 

"Why, you're feverish. I suppose you shouldn't have left the palace in this condition. Come along. There's only

 

even more contaminants here." The old man shepharded him out of a dark cave covered in hieroglyphics and

 

cryptic drawings. Raz stepped into the desert sun, looking at how beautiful and expansive it was.

 

There was never something so beautiful at home. Sand as far as the eye could see, yet an industrious thriving

 

population. A small defiant river, and a few animals crossed his path. The sun was warming, but still

 

comfortable even through his thick jacket and pants. "Well. The palace is this way, child. Don't associate

 

yourself among these peasants. You're our Psychic Royalty, just like your...father..." He became silent. He

 

turned away. "You seem to have matured, you usually get very sad when I mention your father."

 

"But my dad is alive," said Razputin, confused.

 

"It's been nine years, D'Artagnan."

 

He stepped into a beautiful palace, covered in tapestries, a red carpet no one was allowed to walk on but him,

 

servants ready to cater to his every whim, an advisor at his side. He looked at the gigantic chair, and took the

 

seat next to it, the modestly small seat.

 

"My goodness, D'Artagnan. This is not your chair! Your fever has thrown you out of your loop. Please, I

 

suggest you rest up the stairs."

 

Raz followed his advisor up the stairs to his bed. "Stay in bed," he said. "You are in no state to leave. Poor, sick child."

 

He closed the door behind him, and Raz looked at a giant stained-glass window, a symbol engraved of an angel, holding above her a swirling psychic thought bubble. Razputin looked out, sighing. He wanted to see just how people lived. He saw a solitary girl go to the market, her hair tied back in two pigtails, and her clothes so familiar. But it was ridiculous to think that she was. But she was still so beautiful to him.

 

Night fell. Razputin looked at the most clear pane of the stained glass window, and removed it. It was luckily at the very bottom, and he crawled out, jumping down onto the sands with a silent landing. He walked to the field of tents, cottages, and small plants growing along the strangely fertile desert soil.

 

As he walked out, he heard a voice claim, "Psst! D'Artagnan! I have some important information for you!"

 

He walked towards the tent of origin, and saw the same girl, her back turned to him, tending a fire. "You didn't hear it from me," she spoke gravely, "but your advisor has a secret plan to kill you." Raz felt so connected to her, her voice sounding so familiar, and he turned her around by her shoulders, and grabbed her hand.

 

"Are you...Lili? Lili Zanotto?" He asked, lifting her face-veil. She stared right into his eyes. "Lili!"

 

"Dart? You don't know me, but how do you-"

 

"My name isn't Dart!" he exclaimed. "Well, I think it's not. It might be, but MY name is Razputin. I mean, my mind. Because I'm not-"

 

"Raz!" shouted Lili, with a smile. She drew his face to hers, and as she kissed him, she turned her face and spit.

 

"Eugh. Your mouth tastes like sand! And you're not as good a kisser in this body, I guess."

 

"Well, after sitting in sand for five hours unconscious, your mouth tastes pretty bad too!"

 

"Oh come on. You're just...You know what? You can get some mouthwash in the back, and then we can-"

 

"Wait," he said. "You said someone was out to kill me? If I get someone I don't even know killed, how could I live with myself? I think we need to flee."

 

"That's also a good idea. But can we try to like, make out WHILE we flee?"

 

"Lili, listen, I don't really care about the making out right now."

 

"Well, I wrote a song about you, too, I bet you wanna hear it..."

 

"Lili!" Razputin shouted. "This isn't about us, it's about Arrow,"

 

"If you're gonna fit in," she replied with a caustic sting, "your name is D'Artagnan, or as you call yourself, Dart."

 

"You know what? Let's just run."

 

"Yeah, I think that'd be the easiest way out. Let's go."

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Why are you editing it, Klia...?

 

And D'Artagnan, well, I like the desert. It's a thing involving a Five Iron Frenzy song.

 

Also, I just gotta ink the Dart picture.

 

RAY TURN OFF CAPSLOCK BTW STOP USING SO MUCH PUNCTUATION AND MAKING POINTLESS POSTS???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

ALSO CUT DOWN ON THE PUNCTUATION

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Wait and you're vocabulor? That's odd.

Anyways there are tons o' good stuff in the desert like um... and ...oh and uh... Okay so I can't think of anything @ the moment.

Every hero has their one weakness!

 

I mean lookit Superman, superstrength, supervision, superflight, superspeed, superinvincibility, and he can be killed by A ROCK.

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