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The best fan club for Mixels on Deviantart. Join the rad fun today.

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Founded 10 Years ago
Mar 11, 2014

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Global

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823 Members
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1,263,979 Pageviews

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MF Day #9: Teslo by TheJollyOrangeArtist MF Day #9: Teslo :iconthejollyorangeartist:TheJollyOrangeArtist 66 6 Doodlember Day 27: Napping by suckaysuAmigos200 Doodlember Day 27: Napping :iconsuckaysuamigos200:suckaysuAmigos200 21 0 Glomp Drawing by Katonator Glomp Drawing :iconkatonator:Katonator 44 3 Some Mixels doodles by TOPSYLANCE Some Mixels doodles :icontopsylance:TOPSYLANCE 23 2 (Commissions) Scorpi by MixelFanGirl100 (Commissions) Scorpi :iconmixelfangirl100:MixelFanGirl100 14 0 Torts and Scorpi digital by Scorpigorl Torts and Scorpi digital :iconscorpigorl:Scorpigorl 14 0 Scorpi Blinking by Cragster-Ray Scorpi Blinking :iconcragster-ray:Cragster-Ray 22 2 [MIXELS] Flain is seeing holding the Cubits by Tomarts5000 [MIXELS] Flain is seeing holding the Cubits :icontomarts5000:Tomarts5000 8 0 Scorpi! by Nessynoellebuds Scorpi! :iconnessynoellebuds:Nessynoellebuds 23 2 Nurp-naut + golbert + hoogi mix redraw by psydrawer Nurp-naut + golbert + hoogi mix redraw :iconpsydrawer:psydrawer 7 112 Sour Poppa And Kabum Mix by astrowrestler25 Sour Poppa And Kabum Mix :iconastrowrestler25:astrowrestler25 13 3 Curnuh by YiyaRoxie Curnuh :iconyiyaroxie:YiyaRoxie 17 3 Young Niksput by Snivyfan2003 Young Niksput :iconsnivyfan2003:Snivyfan2003 46 16 Mixel hoodie by Mixelrayni Mixel hoodie :iconmixelrayni:Mixelrayni 18 6 Mixels: The fire Boi by Mixelrayni Mixels: The fire Boi :iconmixelrayni:Mixelrayni 18 1 My favourite mixel leaders (sketch) by Mixelrayni My favourite mixel leaders (sketch) :iconmixelrayni:Mixelrayni 9 1
Based on the Mixels Unite fangame
A colorless tar slithered down the crevices of his mind. Inkblots stained the outer coatings of his cerebellum. A mental - and physical - infection.
What was control? Was it the impulses brought on by the desires of the crystal hivemind, or the attempts of nature? No. It was a gift. A glimpse into an alternative perspective; the plight of destruction - the restoration of balance arcane to a commoner. The color spectrum had to go. Not that this was how his brain functioned normally, no. He now saw the light, or in this case, darkness.
Not a misdeed was too far. He had been controlled purely by the darkness prior, but it lingered as his colors had been restored. It knew he was the perfect vessel.
What he was before didn’t matter, only the callings of the beast that was destruction.
An explosion rocked a housing district in Mixopolis, an apartment wall towering above the streets blown out as shards of glass and debris rained down in tempo with the stormy skies above. Plumes of flames blew from the exposed room, revealing an enraged Infernite as he stood before another.
“What has gotten into you, dude?! Just talk to us, please!” The larger, cycloptic Infernite spoke through pants for air. Rain was beginning to flood into the room, a discomfort for the fiery tribe, but the opposing Mixel was unmoving, only staring with rage as flames singed down the fuse atop his head.
“You… why don’t you understand..? We were all under their control… we all understood, and now ONLY I DO!” He roared with force, taking his brother aback. “Listen to yourself, man! What are you even on about?!” He pleaded. “Oh… you should know. MIXING, AND THE BLIGHT IT IS ON THIS WORLD!”
Pausing, Infernite Combustor wondered what had gotten into his brother. He had never been like this at his party clown job, only ever a cheery daredevil that was warm to everyone he met, even when he messed up. Sure, he had happily traded in his prized Cubits for several I-Cubits to share with his clients and family like everything he brought home, but the effects of that had been undone hours earlier. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He could see it in the Mixel’s nervous twitches. “Fuzer… You’re not speaking normal talk. The I-Cubit was a fad, a ploy to get us separated and alone, you shouldn’t be-”
“Wasn’t it just marvelous?” The estranged Infernite interrupted as his brother tried to plead with him. “A plan so expertly woven in deceit… yet undone so effortlessly. The color spectrum shouldn’t still exist. Why can’t you… ANYONE see that?!” He spat maddeningly, only twitching at the sight of Combustor’s horrified face. Any colors but black and white were now blinding, enraging, something to detest. He felt that not being Nixed was like a poison.
“We can get help, Fuzer… Dr. Surgeo’ll be here, he’s an expert in-” Combustor tried one last time to reach his brother, before laying eye upon the lit fuse in both of his palms, leading to round shape. Bombs. The exact ones he would use in his party tricks. “You’re a betrayal… to me, to yourself… I’ll make sure you all see WHAT I DO.”
It was then that Fuzer leapt backwards through the hole he had blasted out before, rolling the two bombs into the room and blowing the remains of the apartment room sky high. Launched back by the sudden explosion, Combustor’s innate heat resistance, being an Infernite, kept him from being scorched alive. Only a tooth lost in the process as he looked on in shock at the ruins before him, rain seeping in to extinguish the latent flames.
“Fuzer…”
*** *** **
Droplets of rain ran down the outer walls of a peculiar building, one atop an apartment complex where the Electroids District and Central Mixopolis met. Its vaguely lightbulb-shaped exterior denoted its purpose was a laboratory, though this one was particularly unkempt as piles of garbage rested against its walls. Windows indicated that only select lighting within was functional, though was that of malfunction or budgeting?
Mechanical marvels whirred and clicked from within a cramped interior. Stacks of boxes containing electrical equipment as well as workbenches in dire condition lined the tiny laboratory. Sparks flew from one such station, one built of stapled pinewood and crutched by brittle, makeshift struts. It was the mark of a gifted, albeit poor mind.
Without warning, rainbow light erupted from the workbench as a four-armed form was taken aback, grunting as electricity pulsed through their limbs as they fought the blast of energy, one that kept going, and going, and going. “Not today… I’M THIS CLOSE!” The Electroid Mixel screamed, grasping a cubic form in his palms before a final eruption of light blacked out the entire building and sent his two longer arms limp. “Gears and starters…” He groaned.
Without warning, a singular lightbulb flickered on to let the Mixel see as he reared his head, gazing upon an all-too familiar Frosticon holding food in one hand and grasping the emergency power switch by the door with his other. “How’s test 4-1-5-3-4-A, Hertzon?” He asked with a tired smile, approaching as his stumpy legs struggled to carry the weight of his body. Sighing, the Electroid ejected his mechanized backpack as his two false arms went along with it. “4-1-5-3-4-B, Freezicle, and I would consider frying only this laboratory’s circuits a marginal improvement.” He muttered, glancing at a bulletin board cloaked in warnings from local Electroid officials of district - even city-wide - blackouts caused by Hertzon’s experiments.
“Oh…” He started, glancing out the window to see a lack of buildings with active neon lights, a sign of blackout. “Well, I’ve gots chow. Pepperpizza and popsicle-shakes, your fave…” The eager Frosticon suggested, letting down the confectionaries on a crowded desk filled with half-eaten meals and junk, a buzz-rat scurrying by with chunks of delights in its gob. “In due time. For now, I must deal with restoring the power mainframe. Then, I will need to begin the exhaustive process of rebooting my additional arms before cleaning up the remains of today’s test. Only then, may I rest. I estimate that will take several hours.” Hertzon robotically rattled off, marching over to a panel against the back wall and tearing it open as he intricately wove and connected wiring.
“Are you… sure you want to do all that? I know I’m more of an assistant- but I can help!” Freezicle chimed in, beginning to trot over to the remnants of the Electroid’s experiment, confused by the rainbow essence splattered about. In the blink of an eye, Hertzon essentially teleported in front of the Frosticon to halt him. “No! No- it’s…” He spat, surprising the other Mixel as he was taken aback. “I… apologise for my outburst. It is simply too lethal. Exposure to stray Cubit energy in its processed form can warp one’s body or mind. Hence the need for my arms.” Hertzon admitted before returning to his work, frowning.
Freezicle had known Hertzon for many years, the two had grown up alongside one another in school, and while he had always had a curiosity in Mixology, he would never pursue such an interest academically, choosing to always assist Hertzon’s pursuit of engineering greatness. But, he had always noticed the Mixel’s inflated ego and sense of pride, the burning desire to simply be the best of the Electroid inventors, to surpass even their leader, Teslo. However, that had been near-impossible for Hertzon. The Mixel had been born with very little native electricity, and so constructed mechanical arms overloaded with it for his engineering thesis.
The Frosticon always worried about the Electroid’s desires, though. Many a project had been created by him over the years, though none recognized by the general population of Mixopolis. Somehow, that never deterred him, but Freezicle perhaps questioned if anything Hertzon was making was for the benefit of Mixels, or to prove he could do so.
“At least lemme help with this… pass spanners, and all that.” Freezicle suggested, stumbling over to the power box as Hertzon sighed. “Very well… pass me a 3.14mm highly-conductive interweaver.” He demanded as he extended an arm, the Frosticon quickly handing over the correct tool from a box of many alike. “I guess I’ve… never asked. What is it now that you’re trying to create? Especially if it involves… Cubits.” Freezicle asked, glancing at the multi-colored sludge dripping down the walls.
Taking pause, Hertzon began a signature rant that Freezicle knew was coming up. “The I-Cubit - while flawed and morally corrupt due to its world-ending nature - was a brilliant idea! I am aware that it sounds as though I am insane, and potentially that is true… but do lend an ear!” He began, making the Frosticon squint in confusion. “I’m certain you’ve noticed as of late the lack of a will to Mix in this vast city. Tis’ a shame. This is supposed to be the city of Mixing, but after that child managed to vanquish the Nixels alone, no one sees a desire to Mix.”
Taken aback, Freezicle was intrigued. “Yeah… I never took Mixology to be your thing.” He replied, thinking about the Cubit he held in his possession to maybe suggest and experience the wonder with Hertzon. “It’s not! It’s yours, I know that much. Hence, such an interest inspired me to research Cubit energy… and begin prototyping… THE EVER-CUBIT! Trademark is to be filed. Don’t tell a soul.” Hertzon declared triumphantly. Smiling, Freezicle started to pull out his Cubit as the Electroid tinkered with the electrical equipment. “And what might this Ever-Cubit do?”
“Rejuvenate Mixing bonds! Bring Mixels closer together! PROVE MYSELF- ahem… it intends to be the next iteration of the I-Cubit! Something for good… once I figure out what it will do.” He finished as the box stirred, crackling with power as the central lighting array fired back up, revealing the Cubit in Freezicle’s palms. “AH! You have another subject ready for the next test! You are the most brilliant assistant that an inventor could desire…” Hertzon declared as he swiped the Cubit from the surprised Frosticon’s grasp, leaving him disappointed as he held back his emotions. “Of course… cheers to the Ever-Cubit.”
Pulling his mechanical arms back onto his shoulders, electricity flared through the metallic forms as Hertzon sighed in relief. “Now… back to work.” He declared, cleaning up the mess he had previously made.
*** *** ***
Calmness, kindness, control. Deep, slow breathing. Loosen the stiffened joints, calm the frightened nerves, quell the overwhelming anxiety. That’s what she’d taught herself over the many years. “It matters not where you come from or your looks, but what you do with what you have.” She reminded herself, words spoken from a true friend long ago.
Glancing in an extravagant backstage mirror as she fitted herself with two high-heeled boots, Anglow smiled, getting giddy with excitement and glee as she examined herself under the array of multi-colored luminescence. Glowkie performers paid little heed to her as they frantically hurried to and fro, coming on-and-off-stage in a manic act. She was used to this, being a Glowkie more fitting of the description in Orbiton myths. Monstrous, fearful, not like the bat-esque or insectoid forms of most in her tribe.
Though, she always had Globert, her lifelong friend. Where others had shunned her, Globert welcomed her appearances, told her to embrace such distinctions and make herself shine in her own way. She’d always wanted to be like him, a dazzling performer and singer that made every Glowkie in the caves cheer. An icon, a leader, a voice to the Orbitons above that had been visiting regularly over the last few months. A voice to Mixopolis below of what extraterrestrial Mixing was like. Or, at least that’s what she hoped.
“Tonight’s the big show, Anglow… plenty of Orbitons, and even quite the amount of planetoids… keep it together.” She remarked, noticing excited and nervous jitters in her stumpy legs. “As though these critters won’t be in awe of your FABULOUS nature!” A familiar voice interrupted as Globert wrapped around Anglow and spun her around, pulling her into a hug as the two laughed together.
“I hope so, heh…” She said nervously, her dangling eye trembling as Globert let out a sigh. “It WILL be fabulous, darling. Just be you! I’m certain a dazzling deep-ender Glowkie like yourself will be just the little spice for these non-lunar Mixels! Besides, I may dazzle… but I can only play the same show unchanged for so many years, hm?” He suggested as troops of Mixel performers fluttered by, the stage performance imminent. “What if I… mess up? Or if they don’t…” Anglow frowned, before Globert placed a wing against her back. “Play along with it, we can’t control everything. We can’t dazzle without mistakes!” With that, the Glowkie leader flattered about onto the cavernous stage and began his performance, a distinct cadence in his voice as he began his song about the fabled Gravity Plug to the cheers of the entire audience.
Taking a breath, Anglow stepped forth as Globert’s performance continued. The Gravity Plug was a legend in Glowkie mythology, an immovable object. Her anxiety overwhelmed her, but her determination to glitter overcame it. Bat-like and bug-esque Glowkies would often say the more abnormal members of the tribe came from under it, Glowkies like her. She stepped onstage, to no immediate reaction, just a part of the background as Globert shot a wink - or blink, in his case - his verse nearly over.
Anglow specialized in illusions, her nightmares as a child leading her to develop special powers certain Glowkies could attain. She planned something special with the help of Globert: casting the entire audience into an illusion. It was bold, especially since she had never really tried it on anyone but herself.
“Now, allow us to begin a special kind of show, my wondrous little monsters!” Globert announced, slipping behind a stage prop as he pulled out a gleaming, blue shard, one bursting with energy in his wing. Tossing it to Anglow as she stepped on-stage, timidly, she eyed the mysterious fragment. “Use it to boost your powers, cascade them in an illusion!” Globert whispered as he fluttered by, out of sight of the crowd as Anglow took a deep breath.
Slamming her foot against the shard, Anglow’s central eye dangled an alluring pattern of sways in motion, capturing the gathering of Orbitons, Infernites, and many more among the audience. From her eye sprung vivid imagery, twisted, insectoid tendrils wrapping around everyone and everything, forming into a picture-esque vision of the Gravity Plug beneath the central stage.
“Legends speak of the fabled plug, to never pull, never tug, lest one absorb the Mixelverse in the horrors that lurk within…” Anglow began as her voice boomed around the auditorium, engaging the attention of every Mixel as they gazed upon her. Her words perhaps came from her insecurities, her own fears, though that would be her inspiration, her drive. “Let us take a gaze within, shall we?”
And with the touch of the shard, the illusionary plug opened wide, and out came horrors. Each Mixel’s deepest, darkest fear appeared to them individually, terrors so deep that it made Anglow wince, the power of the Cubit shard far beyond what she’d ever imagined. Worse, was that she could see all of it. Like a dream eater, nightmares were flooding inside of her, the screams of terror and anguish a sensory overload. With all of her will used in the process, she cut off her illusion powers, the performance halted as the Glowkies stared in shock, Anglow frozen in place as she looked back to the crowd.
Sometimes, the only thing worse than angered shrieks was the silence before the storm.
“What kinda freak show was that? I didn’t want to see eldritch abominations, I wanted to see flirty bats!” One voice erupted. “Nightmares, no thanks! I’m out!” More followed. “Who let this insane-lookin’ beast out, huh?” Another. “That was cool, heh.” A croaky Infernite sounded amongst the vile hatred.
She froze, her dangling eye shifting focus to Globert at a glacial pace. He looked like he was smiling, a wide, demonic grin. A laugh seemed to be sounding from all of the backup performers, they seemed so much more demonic now. The chatter, the looks, the laughter. It was all so familiar, all so hateful.
Her breath became strained as she tried in vain to hold back her panic, her fear, her rage; the memories flooding back of a lifetime of isolation from her peers. Globert’s improvisation had become noise to her, as did the swiftly-arranging Glowkies around her as they rushed to and from the stage.
It was her, she thought. The monster she believed herself to be, one she believed that everyone saw in her. So, she ran, she took the Cubit shard, she cried. She never heard Globert call for her, she never stopped to consider it all. She just wanted to escape somewhere, to a place for monsters like her.
Calmness, kindness, control. All too far to remember in her panic. One that blinded her too much to see that her Cubit shard had cast her into a nightmare of her design.
*** *** ***
Pyrrat culture happens to be one of the more distinct of any Mixel tribe. By day, Mixels of the tribe aim to achieve as much treasure as possible - in Mixopolis terms, Mucks earned through tourist traps and talks of mythologies of questionable truth - to bring home and bloat about at the nightly theater session. Cutlasses and rum glasses tapped in rhythm to a sea-faring shanty, a community of Pyrratz tranced in rhythm with the nightly performance at Mixopolis Wharf’s diner-theater attraction: the Sea Dawg.
“Set sail we be, for if we be misfortuned to be free~!” The vast majority of the present Pyrratz sung in time with their generally-agreed upon captain, Sharx, as he wrapped up his shanty, his community of Pyrratz hollering and laughing to each others’ tall tales. “And a big thank ye to me matey Tapsy for the ol’ rhythm tonight!” He declared, glancing back at the silent Mixie as he returned a smile, leaving the wooden stage and approaching the bar where he took a seat beside a timid Lewt, the constantly alert Mixel letting his guard down for the silent drummer as they caught up with one another.
Shoving his brother aside, Pyrrat Skulzy cackled as his eye rattled around in his exposed skull. “It be open plank night, scallywags! Who be willing to tell the tallest tale or a song to shame all shanties?!” It was with this suggestion that the packed room of Pyrratz went silent, not a soul willing to try and one-up Sharx’s renowned performances, let alone one with legendary guest drummer Tapsy.
Bar one, perhaps. Standing out among the crowd was a beefy Pyrrat, one crowned by a cannon with a hunchbacked posture. No one had noticed the Mixel in the crowd - he was simply another Pyrrat before - until he approached the platform known locally as ‘the Plank’, clearing his throat as Sharx and Skulzy shuffled aside. Unsure of what to expect, Sharx fired a cheeky grin and shrug at his brother.
“A question be in order for the hearty crew. How many of ye be aware of the tales of… the Murpbreak Isles?” He asked the floor, not a sound to be heard in response but the cleaning of empty rum glasses as unamused eyes glanced upon the cannon Pyrrat. “Aye, the tale about the legendary plunderers or the deserters?” A beefy Pyrrat asked from further back in the crowd, barely visible with the candle-lights.
“Aye. There once be a crew of buccaneers, branded by scarves and bandanas of teal, that set sail the Mixtopia seas… braving the mighty Krakantulas of the Craggy Coasts, this fine crew be known for discovering Murpbreak Isles… and never returnin’ to tell the tale.” Kabum recounted, piquing some interest but still largely ignored by the Pyrratz. “Some say those isles be treacherous, with the toughest Pyrratz that be out there. Some say the deserters of the Murpbreak crew be our ancestors. I be havin’ none of it.”
He paused, considering his beliefs and his position, and continued, regardless of whether anyone was listening. “Is this be any way to plunder? Tourist traps? We be Pyrratz! Descendants of the Murpbreak crew! Sailers of the Mixel Seas! The tribe of scallywags once and always! Why do we be settlin’ for this peasant city life?!” He asked, and it seemed more and more Pyrratz were listening. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was boredom, but it certainly seemed to have an effect.
“Aye, Kabum, ye be havin’ mighty fine thought-bubbles up there. And so, ye be right. We need to plunder greater, not smarter… so, here be me fine idea…” Sharx began, the light shining in Kabum’s eye as he prepared to set sail for a mighty adventure of thievery and pirate shenanigans.
“The Sea Dawg sails again… DOWN CENTRAL MIXOPOLIS!” Skulzy hollered, followed by the uproar and applause of the crew. “We’ll share rum and theatre in the big city, me hearty crew, we be settin’ sail over yonder with our mechanized ship!” Sharx explained, demonstrating a paper diagram of the Sea Dawg’s retractable land-wheels.
“More tourist… traps… ye be serious?” Kabum asked, taken aback, shocked. “Think of the gold we’ll pirate, arr!” Skulzy screamed as his eye rattled around in his bone-head. To the side, Lewt gently shuffled away, terrified that the attitude for thieving would point eyes towards him. Through it all, Kabum was mad. No Pyrrat had any real passion for the art of piracy, it was all about profit, the new ways of doing things. The treachery of it. He wanted to light that fuse, blow a hole in it all and go back to sailing seas and grabbing gold. In fact…
Off fired Kabum’s cannon, a single shot soaring down the length of the Sea Dawg’s interior and grazing the heads of many Pyrratz before it found its home in the back wall for all of a second before an explosion rocked the entire ship. When the smoke cleared and the surprise wore off, the Pyrratz gathered looked upon a gaping hole exposing the outside world of Mixopolis Wharf, a suggestion of what lies beyond. Triumphant, Kabum looked upon his crew with hope, before going wide-eyed as several dozen cutlasses were unsheathed in synchronization.
Escaping through the hole he had blown in the Sea Dawg, Kabum scampered away down Mixopolis Wharf as the crowd of Pyrratz gave chase. “Yar, dead Mixels tell no tales! Get back, ye scurvy dog!” Pyrratz roared after the rogue Kabum as he escaped into the streets of Mixopolis, leaving the unhappy crew behind as they angrily stormed back to their damaged diner-theater.
Panting, Kabum collected his thoughts as he gazed upon Mixopolis’ scenic harbor, gleaming with an ignited vigor to find what he was looking for; to prove the Pyrrat way of life needed change. “Yar… first chase of me voyage. Now all we need is a hearty crew.”
*** *** ***
“Kids, calm down!”
The Ius household, a truffle-shaped hut barely big enough to contain eight feral Muncho children. It tended to be a lifestyle of constantly eating with this tribe, but the youth of the Munchos were constantly at odds with an eternal hunger, demanding more and more.
“Hon, cook up a storm, they’re at it again!” Mr. Ius begged, ejected several spheres of various ingredients as he ran around the kitchen for more plates, fitting them with meals cooked by his wife. “More coming up, go!” Mrs. Ius shouted, handing him even more to be served.
“Chow down, kiddos!” Mr. Ius yelled, flinging plates to what seemed like a sea of children, wolfing down porcelain and meal as soon as they came. “HEY!” One, named Poppster yelled, as his meal was snatched by another and promptly scoffed up, receiving only a blown raspberry in response. “Not fair, I DEMAND more!” He screamed, barely heard among the cacophony of smacking and devouring.
Another plate came of little at all: a meal of rasher-sausages that lasted half-a-second. Then fish and gum, followed by a broken plate. “ENOUGH!” Poppster cried, taking a bite out of his side of the massive dinner table and storming out of the house, barely noticed by the frantic scene of cookery.
Halting in the dark night, Poppster looked back. “Pops..? Dad?” He whimpered, expecting his father to have chased out after him, but the Mixel was busy cooking and serving, too caught up in the stress to notice. Tearing up, Poppster took off, not knowing if his father or mother would go after him, running and running, chomping up the licorice road along the way.
*** *** ***
His mind was like an earthquake, chasms of brain matter feeling as though they were being widened by the second.
What was Mixing if not a byproduct of the failings of balance? No, not just the physical act, but the harmony of Mixel tribes, the embrace of the dissonance that should divide all. The divine order of things needed to be restored, for creation had its way. He knew that the city was reeling, he knew he had an opportunity to seize.
What Fuzer needed was a crew to wreck havoc, to restore balance. He pondered existence itself, the nature of Mixels and Nixels as he stomped through the moonlit streets of Mixopolis’ back alleyways, passed by the occasional stray Trasho that paid him no mind. It seemed mindless, until he stumbled upon a vending machine with its front panel wide open. Inside seemed to be abandoned, the only signs of any use the abandoned equipment - comics, run-down posters and the like. It seemed like a good place for a base of operations.
It was then that a smaller Mixel bumped into Fuzer with force, nearly taking him aback. “AGH! Get outta my… sorry. I-” The Muncho said, looking up at Fuzer in fear at his size. “I-I’m P- Sour Poppa… yeah… I’m looking for trouble… you look like trouble.” He lied through his fear.
Fuzer didn’t respond, at first. His gaze was fixed on a Mixopolis TV jumbo-board illuminating the rain-soaked pavement, its speakers booming a nightly news report through the streets to uncaring Mixels, bar him. “Tonight, abandon ship! A hole blown in the famous Sea Dawg of Mixopolis Wharf! We go live to captain Sharx for a word…” Footage of the smoke-damaged ship caught Fuzer’s eye, it seemed like pure destruction, something that would help him see his goals.
“Aye, this here scallywag be telling tall tales about old Pyrrat shanties, like they be the truth! If ye find that buccaneer, TELL HIM TO WALK THE PLANK!” The broadcast cut as the captain Pyrrat unsheathed a cutlass, moving on promptly. “Just in, a nightmare of a show! Mixels attending the latest Glowkie opera on the Mixel-Moon report a hellish performance of illusions and abominations! Story is developing, but one source claims the Mixel responsible has fled to the city. Be advised for oddities in the city, MCPD suggest.”
“Illusions… potential.” Fuzer remarked, mentally noting the power of certain Glowkies. “Scary…” Sour Poppa remarked, unnoticed by Fuzer. He was lost in thought, the idea that perhaps a Glowkie illusionist, a Pyrrat loudmouth, and even an anarchist Muncho child could cause devastation in the city. Though, even he knew they’d need a planner, a level head, someone of more brains than brawn.
“Livewires overcharged! Power in the Electroids District is being restored after a massive blackout, sources claim local scientist Hertzon is responsible, but MCFD response units are yet to confirm. Story is still developing, more at 10!” With that, the report cut to commercials, and Sour Poppa only watched as a grimace formed across the Infernite’s face, fearful, but unable to do anything but follow. “C’mon, kid. You’d be of help to this team.” He claimed, stomping off as usual while the Muncho considered things. “Of help… I’D RUN THIS TEAM!” He cackled, sprinting along as they set off in search of a crew.
Finding the Pyrrat was easy, Fuzer would discover. The klutz had attempted to steal a Fang Gang woodmill’s supply of timber to build his own Sea Dawg and find the fabled Pyrrat crew himself. He had gotten the teeth, and the splinters. He had ambition, a drive. Little smarts, but power to make up for it. Fuzer thought him ideal, and of course, it took little convincing. Only a promise to set sail one day to find the crew, and for the newfound ragtag team to act as a replacement in the meantime.
Next, the Glowkie, more of a challenge. Mixopolis’ sewers and subway lines were a favorite of the Glowkies that chose to relocate to Mixopolis after its grand reopening, though the darkness deep down made it hard for tribes without night vision to see anything. Of course, some flames light the way, as does a bit of destruction to the unused subway sausage-trams, some explosions to scare away the sudden-light-sensitive Glowkies.
All but the one Fuzer wanted, who hid, silently sobbing in an abandoned waiting platform, lined with intricate architecture of insect-like features. She was rejective of initial conversation, cascading all three Mixels into illusions of nightmares which she controlled, though Fuzer only laughed. He saw shadowed monstrosities consuming Mixopolis, tearing through walls and souls and crystallizing the entire city before turning to ashes, the destruction of what everyone knew. It made him laugh. Hard.
It scared her, made her wince, lose control of the illusions, scuttling back. He suggested then that she join him, join the two he had gathered, and spread destruction in her name, her revenge. The Glowkie never said yes, never responded, only silently joined the three as they left the now-flaming underground a group of four. She needed an escape from her pain, and this was it.
“I’m so BORED! This is so BORING! Can we go blow more stuff up yet, PLEASE?!” Sour Poppa demanded, flailing about and irritating the leading Infernite as he marched. “Ha! Ye be needin’ to savor the spice, wee lad. If ye plunder everything now, there be nothin’ left to enjoy.” Kabum tried to reason with the Muncho child, his words getting through to the toddler, not without a grunt of anger.
Stalking behind, Anglow waved her eyestalk around, focusing all three of her pupils on the storming Infernite as he stomped along. “Why?” She whispered, only for Fuzer to halt and whip around. “Why, what?” He hissed, an act that startled her. “I… why us? What is our end goal?” She responded with a whimper, fearing rejection once more. Gritting his teeth, Fuzer sighed as his fuse extinguished with the rain. “All of us are forces of pure destruction, one way or the other, all we need now is brain behind it, and I have a clue as to how we’ll find that.”
Glancing at the reactivating lights of the Electroids District as they illuminated the skyline, each Mixel questioned to what extent they’d really go, for Fuzer never answered the second question, nor were any of them confident enough to repeat it.
*** *** ***
Frosticons snored quite loudly and doze off effortlessly, Hertzon had learned. His partner was currently knocked out, leaning onto an unused workbench, so he placed whatever clean rag he could find around the Mixel’s shoulders. He knew Frosticons became dangerously cold in their sleep, he had studied Mixel biology in and out during his education, among many other things. “Never how to be more than a mistake.” He thought, pausing in the center of the lab momentarily.
Hertzon was on the verge of a breakthrough. Stable were the vials of rainbow essence and a suitable Cubit prototype for the Ever-Cubit, though he wondered if it was worth it. He knew it was a scientific miracle were it to function as intended, but would it really matter to anyone? “Would it matter to him?” He wondered, laying eyes upon a snoozing Freezicle.
Sighing, he turned his gaze back to the workbench as his mechanical arms delicately spliced genetics together, weaving strands of atoms together on a molecular level as he focused all of his willpower onto the contraption. Until, like Wiztastics magic, it worked. “EUREKA!” He screamed, wincing as he turned to Freezicle, the Frosticon still out for the count. Gazing upon the Mixel-made ore, he laughed. “It worked… it’s complete.”
Yet, he had no time to celebrate, to examine the complex, color-shifting creation as he heard a knock on the lab’s entrance. “Ugh, one minute!” He yelled, assuming it were complaints about earlier experiments. Or, so he did, until the door flung open to reveal the silhouettes of four Mixels as they stepped inside.
“THE COUNCIL! DON’T- wait. You’re not officers on the council’s behalf, you’re just a posse of burglars!” Hertzon hollered, making Kabum, Anglow and Sour Poppa exchange looks while Fuzer approached. “Hertzon, was it? I-” A bolt of energy whizzed past Fuzer’s eye, nearly grazing the lid as Hertzon ratcheted the pump for a complex laser blaster. “This is a no-go-zone, punks, LEAVE!” He screamed as more shots fired, the four Mixels scattered as blasts sent chunks of scrap and failed experiments flying.
Holding back rage as his fuse sparked, Fuzer ducked behind a set of dividers as Hertzon calibrated his overexerted arms. “I came for you, Electroid, we need-” More blasts of energy ricocheting off of the equipment interrupted him. “Of COURSE you do… that’s what I’ve been WAITING for… BREAKING AND ENTERING IS NO WAY TO SHOW IT!” Hertzon screamed.
Glancing at his teammates, Fuzer counted only Kabum and Sour Poppa peeking around the door. “GET IN HERE, THIS IS A TEAM OPERATION!” He demanded. “You picked the war, but not this battle.” Anglow claimed from the shadows as her eye flickered, startling the Infernite. His fuse lit, he pulled out two bombs, gritting his teeth and getting ready to level the lab. “Fine… YOU WANT THIS FIGHT, YOU’LL GET IT!” He roared, taking Hertzon aback as his mechanical fingers splintered into a thousand blunt objects, taking a defensive stance and getting ready to fight.
“STOP!”
Freezicle placed himself between both Mixels as they halted, panting heavily and putting away their arms. “Are we on speaking terms?” Fuzer asked. “Am I allowed to dispose of them?” Hertzon replied, causing flames to spout from the Infernite’s eyelids and throat. “Enough… what’s… going on?” The Frosticon asked sincerely, calming down the Electroid. “I have a proposition, spark. If you’d LISTEN…” Fuzer coughed up smoke and snarled, taking a moment to collect his rage in a rare act.
Stepping aside, Fuzer examined the notice board of warnings. “Tell me, what is your opinion of this city, Electroid?” He asked. “No, this is-” Freezicle tried to interrupt, but Hertzon held up a palm. “There are things… that need to change. It is not the perfect Mixing haven I grew up believing it to be.” He claimed, looking to the floor and then eyeing the notices with sadness, thinking of his failures in academia. “You’re not far removed from our struggles, Electroid. This city wrongs everyone, it wrongs the people that make it up. It harms us, and we know better. There is a place for one as gifted as you.” Fuzer stated as he began to stalk around the Mixel, noticing the face of concern on the Frosticon.
“What are you proposing, brute?” Hertzon demanded, a chuckle coming out of Fuzer in response. “What I propose is an opportunity. Join us, let your talent be of good use. For you, for everyone.” Fuzer smiled, unknowingly reaching deep into the Electroid’s psyche as he deeply considered what exactly the Infernite had in mind.
“You have an hour to decide. When you do… find us here.” Fuzer said as he tossed a piece of paper and stormed out of the building, followed by his three lackeys as Hertzon examined the sketch of a vending machine now in his palms. “I don’t know what this is about… but something is very, very wrong. We should call the MCPD.” Freezicle suggested, making sure he was out of earshot of the intruders.
Though, Hertzon wasn’t listening. He saw an opportunity for change, but moreso, one for his name to be remembered. “This is dispenser unit A-10116, located in downtown Mixopolis. A place of meeting. I hope you’ll join me, Freeze.” Hertzon declared, trodding off, starting down a path he’d never recover from as Freezicle turned to face the creation he knew only the name of.
“The Ever-Cubit…” Freezicle whispered to himself in horror.
*** *** ***
It was damp and dark in the habitat, the suite seemingly once used by younger Mixels, as evidenced by the abandoned sets of Nindja comic books, the leaking pipes in the ceiling, the crack in the television set. It was just perfect, Fuzer thought. The right place to establish a base of operations, a hole where no one would look.
“What was the plan back there?” Anglow asked Fuzer as she lurked around him, causing the Mixel to lash out with a breath of fire. “ENOUGH ASKIN’! I’ll explain… we’re just waitin’ on one more.” He harshly replied, scaring the Glowkie back into hiding as her eyes flickered away. Both Kabum and Sour Poppa averted their eyes from the scene, but still Fuzer noticed both. “What?! Here to judge?!” He spat, expecting no response as both shivered.
“Precisely why you’d need me, I’d assume.”
Hertzon entered through a hole in the wall, followed by his stumpy, nervous companion as Fuzer scowled. “Need not the fanfare, we have arrived. Very vague coordinates and location, though my intellect led us here without fault.” He grinned, rubbing off on Freezicle but not any of the other Mixels. “I wanted you, not the Frosticon. Get out.” Fuzer fiercely demanded as the Mixel prepared to protest.
“No. You get me, you get him. We’re a package deal, like it or not. Final offer.” Hertzon stated, a silence befalling everyone as Fuzer grunted and groaned, cradling his head with rage. “Fine. Now, shut up, all of you. It’s plan time.” He said, dragging out a chalkboard from behind a pile of torn-up bean-bags.
“Where’s the chalk? I wanna draw!” Sour Poppa interjected eagerly, getting looks from everyone but Kabum as he quietened down. “No chalk.” Fuzer replied, blowing out a plume of flames into the board, scorching out a shape resembling a Cubit. “You all know what this is. A symbol of Mixing, a symbol of unity, of creation.” He stated as everyone exchanged confused expressions.
“A Cubit. Ore of rainbow essence.” Freezicle claimed, reciting his studies of Mixology. “Yup. And if balance had its way, there’d be none.” Fuzer declared, shocking Freezicle. “Think of what they’ve done to this city. The I-Cubit, the Mixamajig, the disdain for Mixing slowly growing. It’s natural. Why would the council suggest segregated districts of our tribes if not for a reason? Our Mixes breed hostility, pain, yet you’d be thrown in an MCPD holding cell for saying that the Nixels had good ideas.”
Everyone was silent. They thought of their own experiences, their own pains, and linked them to Mixing. Kabum, the nurturing of Pyrrat culture with greater Mixopolis. Sour Poppa, the Mixing that had him neglected. Anglow, the legends that other tribes shared that had her neglected. Hertzon, the Mixology that made him fear Freezicle would leave him.
“Yet, this city views it necessary. Tomorrow, a convoy will bring forth a giant Rainbow Cubit from Mixel Land, to be delivered to the city center as a symbol of defeat for the Nixels… why? Why celebrate the harm of people like us? Isn’t it just despicable?” Fuzer asked. “What’s the plan, oh, explosive one?” Hertzon interrupted. “We intercept. We tear down the symbol of Mixing and show everyone the way of balance. For a plan, I need your brains, Hertzon. For strength, I need the remainder of you. It’s for the better of everyone, but I need you all in.” Fuzer offered, to nothing but brief silence.
“Aye… plunderin’ the biggest booty of em’ all? Count me aboard, cap’n!” Kabum saluted, followed by a nervous Sour Poppa. Anglow said nothing, but her gaze told Fuzer that she had nothing left to gain or lose. “Yes… a convoy, I can plan an interception strategy. We’ll need- Freeze?!” Hertzon lost sight of his Frosticon partner escaping, fleeing the building from where he came in a sudden movement. “I… will return.” Hertzon promised, dashing after his partner in a panic, but not before hearing Fuzer’s final words.
“I expect all of you in this crevice, at sunrise, tomorrow. We’ll make our move. We’ll stake our claim. Don’t be late.” Fuzer demanded.
*** *** ***
Hertzon burst open the door to his lab, only to see Freezicle down the far end, in the restricted zone. “Freeze… you can’t be down there. You know it's unsafe!” He pleaded, but the Frosticon showed no response. “A permanent Mix was the goal…” Freezicle read from a design note skewed to the side among many, cutting through to the Electroid. “I… Freeze.”
“A permanent Mix… a permanent Cubit. Hertzon…” Freezicle was horrified as he turned to his partner, contraption in hand. “I know, but consider the scientific method, the need for development. I-” He tried to plead. “Development?! This is immoral, Hertzon! Keeping two Mixels stuck together forever… the point of Mixing is that it doesn’t last forever! It’s a brief experience, to solve problems or experience something together!”
“I know that! But… what if it didn’t have to be? That it could be more?” Hertzon argued, shaking with the shock of the confrontation. “No… I know why you’re doing this. To prove yourself, but this isn’t it. This won’t help anyone…” Freezicle claimed. “I did it for us, Freeze.”
The silence that followed the revelation tore into Hertzon. “I wanted… when I Mix with you, I feel superpowered. I feel as though we can take on anything, because together, we’re everything. You’re my everything. I…” He tried to say, but Freezicle only shook his head. “No… not… no. We can’t…” He said through teary eyes, shocking Hertzon. “I can’t let you take my work. Not when I’m this close to mattering.”
“You matter to me… but this…” Freezicle tried to reason, but went wide-eyed as Hertzon’s mechanical arms extended. “I was about to matter… why? WHY?!” He roared as his arms shot out, wrapping around the Cubit as Freezicle caught sight of another note. “Can Mix organic and inorganic lifeforms, more testing needed.” Noting the alloy of Hertzon’s arms, both Mixels went wide-eyed as they realized the Electroid’s mistake. “NO!”
It was too late, like a black hole, in both Mixels were sucked as their bones and parts rearranged, twisted together into horrific shapes and spat back out a Murp from the unwillingness to Mix. A horrific creature, they stood up, dazed and confused. Their mind was like a jigsaw, rearranging constantly as they formulated thoughts of divine inventions and chaotic schemes.
“Who are we..?”
And with that question, they toiled away, toiled away, toiled away. Conjured up contraptions, machines, contingencies, for anything and everything.
*** *** ***
The next day…
Four of the five rogues camped out in a particularly deep crevice, passing the time with a shared silence, occasionally broken up by Sour Poppa wolfing down a packet of candies. “Late. Of course.” Anglow scowled, noting the absence of the Electroid and the Frosticon. “Arr, don’t we be needin’ the two of them?” Kabum asked. “I could lead us, I-” Sour Poppa suggested, before a glare from Fuzer cut everyone off. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but we’re waitin’. Gots a problem? I don’t care!” He barked.
“So… this is the gathering.”
An unfamiliar, layered voice caught everyone off guard as they turned to face the being that stood before them, a clear Murp of both Hertzon and Freezicle. “Ah, surprise. Matter not, this is the ideal outcome for this scenario.” They stated, holstering a variety of contraptions and weapons.
“Split. Now.” Fuzer ordered, approaching the Murp with hostility. “Oh-hoh. Infernite peasant, if we could, we would, but observe.” With that, the Murp went intangible as their form warped and attempted to tear itself apart, becoming raw energy before reforming in their familiar shape. “How? How did you manage that?!” Fuzer screamed, about to tear the Murp apart himself if not for interruption from Kabum.
“Cap’n, it seems this lad here has booty to share, care to give them a word?” He asked. “Fine.” Fuzer replied coldly. “Murphy. It’s Murphy. Ever hear of Murphy’s law? What can go wrong, will go wrong? That’s us. We are that power. Call us a means to an end. And yes, we have trinkets.” They responded, tossing a lollipop-shaped wand to Sour Poppa as the Muncho cradled it with love. “Right. Now, we were to have Hertzon tell us the way forward from here, but now we have no plan.” Fuzer claimed.
Leaned against a rock formation shaped like a dagger, Murphy scowled and ticked. “Quite a waste of our limited time.” They said as their uneven mouth flapped. Panicked, Anglow looked to Fuzer’s face in anticipation of an explosive reaction, but the Infernite said nothing - he was fixated on a single, pitch-black crystal some meters across from the group; entranced by something only he could see, hear, and feel.
“Aye, but tis’ the treasure we be awaitin’, scallywag. Nothin’ for it but a shanty, says me!” Kabum suggested, not spotting a grin on anyone’s face but Sour Poppa’s. “Pitiful. No strategy, no idea what we’re doing… ‘winging it’ is a one-way ticket to the grasp of MCPD enforcers. Not having a backup plan is a fool’s choice!” Murphy spat, their saliva freezing in mid-air and barely missing Fuzer, electricity visibly coursing through their veins in sync with their frustration. “Planning the show out will only lead to hell when one piece adjusts out of line.” Anglow pitched in, coldly.
“Oh, how the nihilistic one speaks. No wonder he picked you for this team, Glowkies are believed to have traces of Nixel DNA, you seem to prove it.” They remarked, Anglow returning a distant scowl. “This is a multi-vehicle, sky-faring convoy and we don’t even have a plan to get up there?! What are we doing? What are we proving?!” Murphy yelled, approaching the entranced Fuzer, not a movement on the Infernite’s body. Without warning, Murphy was flung upwards by a magnetic force, pausing in mid-air for a moment before crashing back down. “I’VE gots a solution for that, MWAHAHA!” Sour Poppa declared, his wand deactivating as he sneered.
“IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN, I’LL-” Murphy roared as they peeled themself up, recoiling at their use of self-referential language. “We are not entrusting a toddler with a masterpiece of an invention to get us safely to airline altitude. If you don’t have more than dreams of destruction with no drive to try on your mind…” They said, approaching Fuzer threateningly before the Infernite suddenly turned around with a blank stare. What surprised everyone was the assortment of Rainbow Cubits in his grasp. “A means to an end. Like you”
“We’re coming in smooth and silky, homebase. Roger.” An Orbiton pilot checked in with his communications channel, sailing a mechanical boatcopter over the expanse of the Great Wasteland. In its winch delicately secured was a Rainbow Cubit of titanic volume, one of the largest recorded in Mixel history. Surrounding the primary vehicle were smaller boatcopters, buzzing around like gnats. “Affirmative, you’ve gots an estimated flight time remaining of ten minutes, over.” A response came through from Mixopolis’ airfield as the city lights began to come into view through the haze.
With the reluctant touch of a Cubit, a beast was unleashed, a spiraling disaster; a beautiful mess. From the fissures in the wasteland, a figure erupted, launching upwards with rocket force as a trail of lightning followed suit. Chaotic and maniacally laughing, the N-Mixel Armada Mix plunged upwards, eyes locked on the fleet of transport vessels buzzing above, getting closer and closer rapidly. “A-HA!
Striking through a boatcopter, the Mix soared into the sky with a cackling laughter, watching the emergency parachute of the vehicle activate before being spliced up by another’s rotor, sending the four Mixels and one Murp soaring to others in the convoy. “Argh… use your powers… get this Cubit RAZED TO THE GROUND!” Fuzer screamed, heard by all as MCPD officers aboard the carriers scrambled in shock.
“Hey! You can’t be here! Hands in the- wait, you don’t have hands…” One held a taser to Anglow before she chomped on her Cubit shard, cascading the officers into an illusion, including the pilot. What he saw was madness, soaring Mixeloptors sending the vehicle into a panic as he swerved around imaginary hostiles, sending the Glowkie tumbling out into another as she regrouped with Sour Poppa. “I LOVE THIS WAND, AH-HA-HA!!!” He hollered, slamming officers into the roof over and over again with its levitation powers as Anglow looked on in disbelief. “Persistent little one.”
From afar, the rotors of three different boatcopters went up in flames as Kabum leaped through the air, boarding another and managing to perform a mutiny as he took control, activating its parachute while Murphy soared around, blinking between platforms by turning intangible and using their electricity to scatter their atoms to one place. Somehow, all five members of the group were progressing to the central boatcopter, and fast.
Landing in the side ports of the central vehicle, the four Mixels were surprised to find it manned by only a single pilot as it tugged along the colossal Rainbow Cubit on a crane winch below. “Y-you can’t be here! Stay back!” The pilot pleaded, pulling a metal panel from the wall for defensive measures and activating an emergency alarm as a result. “Hm, should we stand back? We found this commandeering quite fun.” Murphy suggested. “Aye, aye! Any chance to blow vessels sky-high be a good one!” Kabum agreed. “This wand is just amazing…” Sour Poppa added, Anglow’s silence speaking a thousand words.
It was then that an explosion from above gave way to Fuzer as he landed in, grabbing the pilot by the neck and tossing him towards the back of the cargo hold with rage. “Fuzer… sheesh! Calm-” Sour Poppa suggested, going silent at the sight of a bandolier of bombs in his possession. “How do we release the Cubit?” He demanded from the pilot, fear in the MCPD Mixel’s eyes. “I-I swear, you can’t! It’s not designed to come loose until landing! The only way-”
Without warning, Fuzer kicked the Mixel in the stomach, sending him soaring overboard into the canyon below as Mixopolis began to come into view. He didn’t stop to see the Mixel fall, only glancing at the winch’s mechanism as he began to tear it apart. In shock, the others were horrified. They knew Fuzer was on another level, but this was too far. They were there to have fun, to get back at the city in their own ways, not to do that.
“Means to an end. This contraption comes undone like this.” Murphy suggested as they undid the winch in one fell swoop, the Cubit unshackling and falling, falling, falling to the wasteland below, until it burst into millions of Cubits in some unseen crevice, never to be recovered, an icon decimated. “It’s done… it is done, yet undone. We’re not done. Back to base.” Fuzer ordered, marching to the cockpit and taking the controls by himself, the other three still in shock of what had just happened.
Unbeknownst to any, Sour Poppa had activated his wand, keeping the Mixel magnetized in peril to the underside of the boatcopter as it soared towards a graying Mixopolis. None of them knew, but a new era of Mixing had been ushered in by them alone. From that day forth, the N-Mixel Armada would be known.
And deep, deep within that canyon where the Cubit had fell, a crop of Nixelite sprung out, staking its claim of destruction.
*** *** ***
A gray, overcast sky showed no source of direct light in Mixopolis, a rarity, even with the recent storms. The entire city had heard of the news by now, the loss of a prized giant Rainbow Cubit, the claim to its destruction a rag-tag group of vandals and anarchists known as the N-Mixel Armada.
Clearing his throat, MCPD officer Kuffs gazed down the board table of Mixopolis’ highest building, glancing upon the seldom few members of the tribal leader council in attendance of an emergency meeting. “In presence of Sarge, who’s busy on the case of today’s topic, I hereby commence this meeting. Talk.” He shrugged, counting only six present Mixels.
“Giant Cubits are no Coconapple in the woods. This is a huge setback, I’m disappointed in the efforts of Mixopolis’ finest to protect it.” Kraw mouthed off, expressing his more archivist-leaning side. “I told the news this morning, we never expected a group of nobody thugs to sabotage a convoy! They were built to withstand Nixels!” Kuffs yelled as he slammed the table with his larger fist, nearly toppling it back onto him. “Dudes, chill. Nobody could have seen this coming. Anti-Mixing activity is, like, so uncommon.” Flurr tried to reason, looking around the room for support, but finding none. His eyes resting on a smiling Vaka-Waka, Flurr lit up. “Oh, we don’t care. We’re only here for ze munchlings.” Vaka declared, wolfing down a complimentary dish of delicacies.
“Uncommon until recently.” Flain remarked, staring away from the shattered council and out into the not-so-vibrant city. “Whatcha mean, kid?” Kramm asked, kicking his boulder-sized feet up on top of the table. Sighing, the Infernite leader turned to face the others. “Think with me, guys. Ever since that Mixamajig crud, we’ve all been… we’ve…” He began. “Distant?” Glomp replied, receiving a shallow nod from Flain, his sadness uncharacteristic of him.
“I dunno about you guys, but I’ve seen less and less Mixes, Maxes, heck, zero Murps since all that. Ever since this city’s been reopened, its felt like we’re further away from each other than ever… and now, with that I-Cubit scam? The idea that one Mixel’s all it takes to save the world? The suggestion we don’t need to Mix..?” Silence befell everyone as they considered the empty seats, the absent leaders and tribes.
“Mysto was right. It’s over, and I doubt this council can lead this city anymore.” Flain declared, his flames whimpering as he gently stepped outside the room, followed one after the other by the remaining leaders, until there was no more council left. All but an empty room of what once was, what could have been.
Somewhere, in some place, Fuzer observed Murphy toiling away at some contraption doomed to fail, watched as Kabum taught Sour Poppa pirate terminology, and noticed Anglow’s dangling eye staring from the shadows. He had his crew, but they weren’t committed. They weren’t like him. Nobody was, not even the Nixels. But, for now, they would do. They would be the means to an end, and then there would be darkness. For them. For everyone. For him.
From the frontal lobe of Fuzer’s brain, a finger-sized crystal sprung within his skull, one of pure Nixelite.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Mixels Unite: Retold
Written by Skye Creane
Based on the LEGO construction toys, the Cartoon Network original series, and the Mixels Unite project
With special thanks to the development team of Mixels Unite:
JayJayJay
Darkspine
Darren the Lizard
Evanoli17
Flaming Bird Workshop
IcedTea128
kurnalcopia
LunarLemon
Memmet
Mixel Mike
MixelsINK
mr. Fikou
Mystikz
Niki
RainbowllisticChrotorm
RetroMaster94
Snackki
ZootyCutie
Also to…
Demonive the Infernite for creating Fuzer and the Robo-Nixeloptor
CubickLecub for conceptualizing M.C.’s powers
Geminimaster for the yarn ball Mixing sequence
And all Mixels fans for carrying this franchise’s torch
Thank you to all who supported Mixels Unite, and kept it’s legacy alive
Mix on
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:iconeugenia192011:
eugenia192011 Featured By Owner Mar 14, 2024  Student Digital Artist
Привет
やあ
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:iconjeltus:
Jeltus Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2024  Professional Artist
amazingly, This group is gonna be 10 this year!
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:iconsglass959:
sglass959 Featured By Owner Oct 13, 2023
I like mixels new tribe, The Artificals by Reptu14
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:iconrosywolfycherry12:
RosyWolfyCherry12 Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2023  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Cute Mixels
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:iconswissycheeze:
swissycheeze Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2023
Nix! Nix!
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:iconhartbrian06:
HartBrian06 Featured By Owner Edited Aug 18, 2023
Love mixels fanart memories here^^
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:iconeggy543:
Eggy543 Featured By Owner Edited Aug 5, 2023  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Is it okay if I affiliate my club (The-Mixlings-Club | DeviantArt) to this club?
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:iconbarbie537:
Barbie537 Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2023  Student Digital Artist
It does anything?
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:iconeli1505:
Eli1505 Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2023  Hobbyist General Artist
Anyone wanna do anything with 'Mixels: Series 10' Kahyt by Eli1505  
at all?
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:iconeggy543:
Eggy543 Featured By Owner Jun 25, 2023  Hobbyist Digital Artist
I don't know whether announcements regarding fanmade Mixels-related projects have a place in this group.
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