Rhythm of a New Life
The frustration bubbled inside Marcus as his fingers fumbled over the buttons of his PSP. The rain drummed against his bedroom window, providing an ironically rhythmic backdrop to his repeated failure.
“Pata-pata-pata-pon! Pon-pon-pata-pon!”
His voice cracked as he chanted along with the game, desperately trying to maintain the beat that would guide his little eyeball warriors to victory. The Patapons on screen moved erratically, breaking formation as a massive creature descended upon them.
“No, no, NO!” Marcus shouted as the monster decimated his tiny army. The screen flashed red, and the words “MISSION FAILED” appeared for what felt like the hundredth time. His Patapons lay defeated, their single eyes closed in disappointment.
Marcus threw his head back and groaned. “I’ve played this level twenty times! What am I doing wrong?”
The tribal drum beats continued softly from the game’s defeat screen, seemingly mocking his inability to master the rhythm. Outside, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled.
“I wish I could understand what it’s really like,” he muttered, pressing the restart button once more. “Maybe then I could actually beat this stupid level.”
As if in response, lightning struck something close by. The lights in his room flickered, and his PSP screen glowed with an unnatural brightness. Marcus squinted, trying to make out what was happening, when suddenly the screen pulsed with a blinding white light.
“What the—”
The light engulfed him, pulling him forward. Marcus felt a strange sensation, as if his entire body was being compressed into the tiny screen of his handheld console. His room disappeared, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors and pulsating drum beats.
“PATA-PATA-PATA-PON!”
The chant surrounded him, echoing from every direction as he fell through what seemed like endless space. Marcus tried to scream, but no sound came out. His limbs felt strange, distant, as if they were no longer his own.
And then, the transformation began.
First came the tingling in his fingertips. Marcus watched in horror as his hands began to lose definition, his five distinct fingers merging together. His skin turned black, smooth, and rubbery. The sensation crawled up his arms like ink spreading through water, his arms thinning and elongating into slender, noodle-like appendages.
“Help!” he tried to call out, but his voice sounded different, higher-pitched and more melodic than before.
The transformation continued relentlessly. Marcus felt his torso compressing, shrinking inward until his chest and abdomen formed a perfect circle. His clothes seemed to melt away, becoming one with his new form, leaving him feeling terribly exposed. The blackness of his arms spread across his now-circular body, creating a perfect silhouette against the swirling background.
A pressure built in his face, as if someone was pushing against it with tremendous force. Marcus felt his features flattening, nose disappearing, mouth shrinking to a tiny dot. His eyes merged into one, growing larger and larger until a single, massive eye dominated what was once his face. The sensation was indescribable—like having peripheral vision in every direction simultaneously.
His legs began to thin and stretch like his arms had, becoming identical noodle-like appendages. Marcus tried to wiggle his toes but found they had disappeared entirely. Instead, his legs ended in simple rounded points, bouncy and springy like the rest of his new body.
As the transformation crawled up his spine, Marcus felt a peculiar lightness overtake him. His bones seemed to dissolve, replaced by a flexible, almost gelatinous interior. Each heartbeat sent ripples through his entire form. He could feel himself becoming smaller, compacting until he was no taller than a child’s toy.
The single eye that now made up most of his face pulsed with strange energy. His vision shifted, colors becoming more vibrant, movements more traceable. He could perceive rhythm in everything—the swirling of the vortex around him, the beating of what remained of his heart, the distant drums that grew louder with each passing second.
Most disconcerting was the complete absence of clothing. Though his new body had no detailed anatomy to speak of—just a simple black silhouette—Marcus felt naked, vulnerable, exposed in this foreign form. There was nowhere to hide, no way to cover himself. He was just a tiny black creature with a massive eye and spindly limbs.
The transformation completed with a jolt of energy that surged through his newly formed body. Marcus felt an overwhelming urge to move, to bounce, to dance to the rhythm that now seemed to be coming from within him rather than around him.
“PATA-PATA-PATA-PON!”
The chant came again, and instinctively, Marcus found his new body responding, bouncing in perfect rhythm. One-two-three-four. His limbs moved of their own accord, swaying and pulsing with each beat.
With a final flash of light, Marcus landed on soft ground. He blinked his single enormous eye, adjusting to the bright, colorful world around him. Vibrant trees stretched toward a cerulean sky. Strange creatures scuttled across the landscape. And standing before him, arranged in perfect formation, was a tribe of Patapons—creatures exactly like what he had become.
They stared at him with their large, unblinking eyes. One stepped forward, carrying a spear. It made a series of sounds—”Pata pata pata pon”—which somehow, Marcus understood perfectly.
“The Almighty has fallen,” the Patapon said, though no words were actually spoken. It was as if the meaning transferred directly into Marcus’s mind.
Another Patapon bounced forward, this one wearing a small mask. “The rhythm failed. The Almighty has been punished.”
Marcus tried to speak, but only musical sounds emerged from what remained of his mouth. “I… I don’t understand. What happened to me?”
The Patapons exchanged glances—or what passed for glances when you have only one eye.
“The Almighty guides with rhythm,” explained the spear-carrier. “When rhythm fails, the Almighty must learn.”
“Learn what?” Marcus asked, still struggling to control his new body. He tried to stand upright but found himself naturally bouncing in place, his spindly legs acting like springs.
“The Way of Rhythm,” they chanted in unison, their bodies swaying in perfect synchronization. “Pata-Pata-Pata-Pon!”
As they chanted, Marcus felt his body respond instinctively, bouncing and swaying to match their movements. It was as if the rhythm bypassed his brain entirely, speaking directly to his muscles.
“This is crazy,” Marcus said, his voice coming out as melodic notes. “I need to change back! I need to go home!”
The mask-wearing Patapon approached him, bouncing higher than the others. “I am Hatapon, the flag bearer. You were once Almighty, but now you must learn what it means to be Patapon.”
Another Patapon bounced forward, this one carrying a tiny bow. “Look at the fallen Almighty! So small and weak now!” It circled around Marcus, examining him from all angles. “No longer commanding from the heavens but bouncing in the dirt with us!”
Marcus felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Though the Patapons had no more clothing than he did—all of them simply black silhouettes with limbs and a giant eye—he couldn’t shake the feeling of nakedness, of vulnerability.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Marcus protested, his voice creating musical notes that echoed his discomfort.
The archer Patapon bounced higher, clearly amused. “The Almighty feels shy! The Almighty is embarrassed!” It hopped around Marcus in circles. “Does it feel strange to have just one eye? To have no fingers? To bounce instead of walk?”
Several other Patapons joined in the teasing, hopping around Marcus and chanting playfully:
“Pata-pata-pata-shy! Pon-pon-pata-shy!”
Marcus felt his new body heat up with embarrassment. If he still had the ability to blush, he would be crimson. Instead, his eye narrowed slightly, and his limbs pulled inward, trying to make himself smaller.
Hatapon raised his flag, and the others fell silent. “Enough! The fallen Almighty must learn our ways. The hunt begins soon. We need food.”
The Patapons formed a line behind Hatapon, their bodies swaying in anticipation. One of them, slightly larger than the others with a cap-like shape on its head, approached Marcus.
“I am Ton the warrior,” it explained. “Follow our rhythm or be left behind. The jungle is dangerous for lone Patapons.”
Marcus tried to protest, but the ground suddenly trembled beneath them. In the distance, enormous creatures moved through the trees.
“We hunt now,” Hatapon announced, raising his flag higher. “Listen for the drum of the new Almighty.”
“New Almighty?” Marcus asked, his voice creating a confused melody.
Hatapon nodded, his single eye blinking slowly. “When one Almighty falls, another rises. Listen!”
From somewhere above—from the sky itself—came a beat. Four distinct drum sounds in a pattern that Marcus recognized all too well.
“Pata-Pata-Pata-Pon!”
The Patapons began to move in unison, marching forward to the rhythm. Marcus stood frozen, watching them move.
“Dance, fallen Almighty!” Ton called back to him. “Move with the rhythm or be left for the predators!”
Instinctively, Marcus found his new body responding to the beat. Pata-Pata-Pata-Pon! His legs bounced in perfect time, propelling him forward. It felt strange yet natural, as if his new form was designed specifically for this movement.
“Pon-Pon-Pata-Pon!” came the next command from the sky.
The Patapons immediately shifted their movement, raising their weapons. Marcus felt his arms lift in synchronization, though he carried no weapon.
“I need something to defend myself,” he called out to Ton.
The warrior Patapon didn’t turn but tossed something backward. Marcus caught it—a small spear, perfectly sized for his new form.
“The fallen Almighty needs protection!” Ton announced, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Not so powerful now, are you?”
Marcus gripped the spear with his noodle-like arms, surprised at how naturally it fit. “I never asked for this,” he replied, continuing to bounce forward with the group.
“None of us ask to be born Patapon,” Hatapon said sagely. “We simply are.”
The rhythm continued, guiding them through the colorful landscape. With each beat, Marcus found it easier to move with his new body. The initial feeling of awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of rightness. His body knew what to do even if his mind was still catching up.
“Chaka-Chaka-Pata-Pon!”
At this new command, the Patapons raised small shields and huddled together defensively. Marcus followed suit, raising his free arm instinctively as if holding a shield, though he had none.
A massive creature burst through the trees—a bizarre amalgamation of lizard and bird, with snapping jaws and vibrant plumage. The Patapons maintained their defensive stance, shields raised.
“The fallen Almighty has no shield!” one of the Patapons exclaimed, bouncing nervously.
Without hesitation, Ton moved in front of Marcus, providing protection with his own shield. “Even a fallen Almighty deserves to live long enough to learn our ways,” he said, his single eye fixed on the approaching predator.
The rhythm changed again. “Pon-Pon-Pata-Pon!”
The Patapons attacked in unison, spears and arrows flying toward the creature. Marcus found himself thrusting his spear forward with surprising accuracy, his body moving perfectly in time with the beat.
The battle continued, a dance of rhythm and movement. Attack, defend, advance, retreat—all dictated by the mysterious drums from above. And with each beat, each movement, Marcus felt less like an outsider in a strange body and more like… a Patapon.
When the creature finally fell, the Patapons celebrated with a victory dance, bouncing higher than ever before. Marcus found himself joining in, his embarrassment temporarily forgotten in the exhilaration of the hunt.
“The fallen Almighty learns quickly,” Ton observed, bouncing beside him. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
As they returned to the Patapon village—a collection of simple huts arranged around a central fire—Marcus was struck by the beauty of this world. Colors seemed more vibrant, sounds more meaningful. Everything pulsed with rhythm, from the swaying of trees to the movement of clouds across the sky.
The Patapons prepared a feast from their hunt, cooking the meat over the central fire. As they ate, Marcus discovered another strange aspect of his transformation—food simply disappeared when it touched what remained of his mouth, absorbed directly into his body.
“This is so weird,” he muttered, his voice creating a melody that several young Patapons nearby found amusing.
“The fallen Almighty still thinks like a giant!” one of them said, bouncing around Marcus playfully. “Does your single eye not see clearly yet?”
Marcus sighed, creating a descending musical note. “My name is Marcus, not ‘fallen Almighty.’”
The young Patapons exchanged glances. “Mar-kus,” they attempted, the name coming out as a strange little tune. “Mar-kus thinks he’s still a giant!”
“I’m not a giant, I’m a human,” Marcus corrected, but even as he said it, he realized how foreign that concept was becoming. Here, in this world, with this body, “human” was just an abstract idea—a memory growing more distant with each passing moment.
Night fell over the village, and the Patapons gathered around the central fire. Hatapon stood in the center, his flag planted in the ground beside him.
“Tonight, we welcome the fallen Almighty among us,” he announced. “Though he has much to learn, he fought with us today and shares in our victory.”
The Patapons chanted in approval, creating a harmonious melody that resonated through the village.
“Will I ever return to my original form?” Marcus asked Hatapon when the celebration quieted. “Will I ever go home?”
The flag bearer’s eye blinked slowly. “The path of the fallen Almighty is never clear. Some learn what they must and ascend once more. Others…”
“Others what?” Marcus pressed.
“Others find that being Patapon suits them better than being Almighty,” Hatapon finished. “Only time and rhythm will tell your path.”
That night, Marcus lay in a small hut provided to him, staring up at the unfamiliar stars through the opening in the roof. His new body felt strange yet increasingly natural. The constant urge to move with rhythm had quieted to a gentle pulse, like a second heartbeat.
He thought about home—his bedroom, his PSP, the rainy afternoon that now seemed like a distant dream. Would anyone notice he was missing? Was time even passing in the same way back there?
Days turned into weeks as Marcus learned the ways of the Patapons. He joined hunts, gathered resources, and helped defend the village from predators. With each passing day, the movements became more natural, the language more understandable. His embarrassment at his new form gradually faded, though never entirely disappeared—there was something fundamentally vulnerable about being reduced to such a simple form, about having his entire being distilled down to an eye and four limbs.
The teasing from some of the other Patapons continued, though it grew less malicious and more good-natured over time.
“Look at Mar-kus!” Ton would call out during particularly challenging rhythm sequences. “Still bouncing like he has two left feet instead of no feet at all!”
But Marcus found himself improving, adapting. He learned to craft weapons suited to his fighting style. He discovered that his unique perspective—part human mind, part Patapon instinct—sometimes gave him insights that others lacked.
“Mar-kus thinks differently,” Hatapon observed one evening as they prepared for a major hunt. “The fallen Almighty sees patterns that we do not.”
“I’m not sure I’m still ‘fallen,’” Marcus replied, testing the balance of his newly crafted spear. “I feel less like I fell from somewhere and more like I’m… discovering something new.”
Hatapon’s eye curved slightly in what passed for a smile among Patapons. “Perhaps that is the lesson the rhythm wanted you to learn.”
The next day, the tribe faced their greatest challenge yet—a massive beast that had been terrorizing neighboring Patapon tribes. As they approached its territory, even the bravest warriors bounced nervously.
“This monster destroyed the eastern tribe entirely,” Ton explained, his spear gripped tightly. “They say it ignores rhythm, moves according to its own chaotic pattern.”
The drums from above began, guiding them forward. “Pata-Pata-Pata-Pon!”
They marched in formation, weapons ready. Marcus felt the familiar rhythm flow through his body, but something else too—a memory of looking down at this world from above, of seeing patterns and possibilities from a different perspective.
When the monster appeared—a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth—the drums commanded: “Pon-Pon-Pata-Pon!”
The Patapons attacked, but the creature seemed to anticipate their movements, dodging and striking back with terrible force. Several Patapons fell, their single eyes closing as they collapsed to the ground.
“It’s disrupting our rhythm!” Hatapon called out, his flag waving frantically. “We cannot coordinate!”
Marcus watched the creature’s movements carefully, his single eye narrowing in concentration. There was a pattern there—not the clean, predictable rhythm of the Patapons, but a rhythm nonetheless.
“Wait for it,” he called out to the others. “Three beats after the attack command, it shifts left!”
Ton looked at him skeptically but nodded. When the next attack command came—”Pon-Pon-Pata-Pon!”—they waited three beats before adjusting their aim to the left. Their weapons struck true, and the creature howled in pain.
“Mar-kus sees its rhythm!” Ton exclaimed. “The fallen Almighty remembers how to command!”
With Marcus calling out the counterrhythm, the Patapons adjusted their attacks and defenses. Slowly, methodically, they wore the creature down until it finally collapsed, defeated.
The victory celebration that night was the grandest Marcus had experienced. The Patapons danced around the fire, their bodies creating patterns of shadow and light. For the first time, Marcus danced freely, without self-consciousness, his body moving in perfect harmony with the others.
Later, as the celebration wound down, Hatapon approached him. “The new Almighty sends a message,” he said, pointing upward to where the drums originated. “You have passed the test.”
Marcus felt a strange sensation wash over him—a lightness, a pulling upward. “What’s happening?”
“You can return now,” Hatapon explained. “Return to being Almighty. Your human form awaits.”
Marcus looked around at the village, at the Patapons who had become his friends, his tribe. He thought about the rhythm that now flowed through his very being, the synchronized movement of the hunt, the simple joy of dancing around the fire.
He thought about his bedroom back home, the PSP lying abandoned on his bed, the rain against the window.
“What if…” Marcus began, his voice creating a hesitant melody. “What if I choose to stay?”
Hatapon’s eye widened slightly. “No fallen Almighty has ever chosen to remain Patapon.”
“Maybe that’s why they keep falling,” Marcus suggested. “They never truly understand what it means to live by the rhythm.”
He bounced in place, feeling the perfect synchronization of his new body with the pulse of this world. Yes, he still felt exposed sometimes, vulnerable in his simplified form. But there was freedom in that vulnerability, a purity he’d never experienced before.
“I choose to stay,” Marcus declared firmly. “I choose to be Patapon.”
The pulling sensation faded. Around him, the other Patapons began to chant—not the commands of battle, but a new song, one of acceptance and belonging.
Ton approached, bouncing higher than Marcus had ever seen him bounce before. “No longer the fallen Almighty,” he announced. “Now just Mar-kus, strangest Patapon of our tribe!”
“Is that a compliment?” Marcus asked, his voice creating an amused little tune.
“From Ton? Absolutely,” Hatapon confirmed.
That night, as the others slept, Marcus stood alone at the edge of the village, looking up at the stars. Somewhere up there, the new Almighty watched, guiding their tribe with drums and rhythm. Perhaps it was another human, another player who had picked up the game where Marcus had left off.
He bounced lightly in place, feeling the rhythm that now defined his existence. His single eye blinked at the vastness of the sky, no longer worried about what he had lost but instead focused on what he had gained.
Marcus had come to this world by failing a mission, but in doing so, he had found something unexpected—a new purpose, a new understanding of harmony and belonging.
“Pata-pata-pata-pon,” he sang softly to himself, creating his own melody in the quiet night. His spindly limbs swayed gently with each note. “Pon-pon-pata-pon.”
The rhythm of a new life. His life. As a Patapon.