OmniStory

"Just get in here already!"
The last bandit performed the jump from his horse to the train car a bit too hesitantly, causing him to tip backwards before being grabbed and dragged in by the man yelling at him, who slammed the coach's door closed behind him.
"Fer Pete's sake, Ringfinger, how many times do I hafta tell ya t'commit t'yer jumps?!" The man growled.
"Sorry, Pointer, I still ain't gotten used'ta jumpin' between moving-" Ringfinger paused. "...Does a horse count as a vehicle?"
"D'pends on th'state, but we're outlaws, so call'm whatever y'want." Pointer tsked. "Now come on, everyone else's already gett'n their loot." He pointed at the three other bandits accompanying them, who had indeed already started walking down the center aisle of the coach, using their guns to politely request that the passengers of the train hand over their valuables.
"Legally it depends on the state, but in regards to the common nomenclature, referring to them as a vehicle is technically acceptable;" A rather aloof yet pretentious voice sounded from near the back of the coach. "It's simply more common to refer to them as "mounts". You don't have to be an outlaw to use either word, but one of them will certainly get you more strange looks."
"Well, thanks fer clearin' that up fer us, Mr. Dictionary," Pointer grunted sarcastically as he and Ringfinger walked over to the man talking. "But fer all them book smarts, y'don't seem t'understand that this ain't th'kinda situation where y'wanna be runnin' yer mouth."
"Yes, that's what my mother used to tell me." The man they approached was sitting alone, staring out one of the train's windows, not even bothering to have looked at the bandits since they arrived. "Of course, she was typically referring to things such as church and funerals, so I've no education in terms of applying that same warning to train heists."
"Guess yer just the incorrigible type, ain'tcha?" Pointer tapped the barrel of the six-shooter he was carrying with his trigger finger. "Tell y'what, you hand over all yer valuables, and I don't go 'n turn this inta a funeral."
"I'm afraid I don't have much."
"Bull!" Ringfinger snapped. "I never met anyone that posh an' snooty who wasn't loaded!"
"I do have a sizeable estate, but I spent the last of my traveling money on my train ticket." The man shrugged. "Honestly, do I look like the type of person to carry his entire fortune with him at all times?"
Ringfinger squinted at him. The man's suit was a silvery-gray color with intricate texturing, and his dress shirt underneath was made of a faded pink cloth composed of cotton and silk. The tie he wore was made entirely of silk and had a deep black color to it, though it was being worn a little irregularly, with a silver tie clip pinning the large end and small end of the ties in slightly different crooked positions, bringing to mind the image of clock hands. His shoes were made of high-quality, extremely polished black leather, and as he adjusted his suit coat a bit, Ringfinger spotted the signature glint of shiny metal from his inside coat pocket.
"In my opinion, yes." Ringfinger narrowed his eyes and snatched the unknown metal object, revealing it to be a silver pocket watch of some sort with a small chain tying it to the inside of the man's coat. "Didya seriously think we weren't gonna notice this?"
"My watch?" The man raised an eyebrow for a moment. "...Ah, wait, I see the confusion. The watch isn't really a valuable as much as it is a sentimental trinket."
"Let me see that!" Pointer grabbed the watch out of Ringfinger's hand and took a close look at it. "...He's right, this thing's a piece'a junk."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"It's got pictures on it instead'a numbers." Pointer pointed at the engravings on the watch face. "Hell, it ain't even got twelve'v'em, just ten."
"Actually, now that I'm lookin' at it, I don't think the hands're movin' either." Ringfinger pointed out. "Good grief, I don't know if it's even worth takin'."
"Worst case scenario, we can still sell it as scrap metal." Pointer tsked. "Just grab it, we've already spent too long on this guy."
"I'm afraid I have to object." The man said. "As I said, it is a rather sentimental object, and I'd rather not-"
"One more word outta you, I'm gonna do what yer Mama couldn't and shut you up fer good." Pointer aimed his pistol squarely at the man's face.
"That seems a bit uncalled fo-"
Pointer pulled the trigger. The sound of a gunshot rang through the entire cabin, drawing some startled screams from passengers of weaker constitution. Blood began dripping to the ground, and Ringfinger stared at his partner in shock.
"What...the..." Pointer dropped his pistol, revealing that the bullet had ricocheted back into the webbing of his fingers, completely maiming his hand. "What the hell did you just do?!"
The man's pocket watch had flown up in front of his face just in time to deflect the bullet, saving him and crippling the would-be shooter.
"Nothing. The watch has a mind of its own." He shrugged as it dropped into his open palms. "Why do you think I have it on a leash?"
"Wh-who are you?!" Ringfinger stammered out the demand as he drew his own pistol, starting to back down the coach's hall as he aimed it at the man. "What are you?!"
"I think you'll find that the answers to both of those questions are very much one and the same." The man stood up from his seat holding the pocket watch in his left hand. "I am Dr. Benjamin Pennington the Tenth," He placed his right hand over his heart as he introduced himself with a slight bow. ""Ben Pen" to my friends, Dr. Pennington to you."
"Yer a doctor?!" Pointer exclaimed through grit teeth.
"Not a medical doctor, if you were thinking of having me dress your wound." Ben tsked. "I am a doctor of language, of folklore and mythology; a man well-versed in the ancient tales and legends that continue to shape the modern world to this very day."
"So yer a useless doctor." Pointer growled.
"To men of slow wit, yes."
By now the conversation had gone on long enough for the three other bandits to group up with Ringfinger and take aim. They fired as rapidly as they could, quickly emptying their chambers, but the man's pocket watch once again flew up and deflected each and every shot, resulting in a variety of holes being punched through the ceiling as the bullets ricocheted up and out of the cabin.
"Good work." Ben complimented the watch as it flew back into his hand.
"Fer somethin' that ain't valuable, it sure can do a lot!" Pointer lunged at Ben with a yell, only to be sent tumbling forward as Ben merely leaned out of the way. "What kinda unholy object is that thing?!"
"This, my friends, is the Omnibus Storia." Ben held the watch up proudly. ""Omnibus", as in the Latin word meaning 'for all,' which now sees use in English as a word referring to a collection of previously published works," He made a grand, sweeping gesture with his right arm as he explained the first word, and proceeded to mirror it with his left arm as he explained the second. ""Storia", as in the Late Latin word meaning "history" or "story.""
Pointer got back to his feet as the rest of his gang finished reloading and lined up to deliver another round of fire, something Ben seemed none too bothered by.
"In other words, its name can be summarized in English as meaning "Story for All"," He continued. "A rather poetic title, but one that those not educated in Latin may have difficulty with; as such, I typically refer to the Omnibus Storia with a shortened name: the OmniStory."
He vaulted over a seat to get behind Pointer, allowing him to address all five bandits at once.
"Now, ye merry band of gentlemen, two choices lay before you:" He held up a thumb and an index finger. "Either give up your stolen goods and leave this train in peace..." He lowered his thumb, leaving his index finger pointing straight towards them. "Or fight back, and secure yourself a place in my legend."
"Like hell we're takin' orders from a spoiled little pissrat like you!" Pointer snapped, cradling his maimed hand. "Aim for his limbs and fire on my mark, boys! That tiny watch ain't shieldin' all'v'im at once!"
"I suppose that cinches it, then." Ben twisted the knob on the OmniStory's rim until its hands both pointed at a small engraving resembling a cat and a pair of boots at the 5:45 position. "Come now, old friend," He raised the watch out in front of him and placed his thumb on top of the knob. "It's story time!"
He pressed down on the knob right as the bandits fired, creating a blinding flash of light that consumed his entire body. The light lasted a mere second before fading, but within the span of that second, he had been transformed into something with skin that the rain of bullets showering him could not pierce. Where once there was a man now stood a bulky, humanoid, cat-like figure; more animal than human, yet propped up on its hind legs in much the same manner as a man. Its pelt resembled that of a common orange tabby, and it wore nothing atop its fur save for a simple brown bag, a pair of sturdy brown boots, and a silver badge resembling the OmniStory that was firmly affixed to its chest.
"How in the..." Pointer muttered. "Ringfinger, is th'blood loss makin' me see somethin' that ain't there, or is that-"
"Y-Y'ain't seein' things," Ringfinger gulped as he and the rest of the bandits looked on in shock. "I don't know what's goin' on, but clear as day, that- that's Puss in Boots!"
"LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, YOU RUCKUS-RAISING RAPSCALLIONS!" Puss roared. "NOBODY RAPS PUSS'S SCALLIONS AND GETS AWAY WITH IT!"
"What-"
Puss lunged forward, grabbing two of the bandits by the back of their heads and bonking their skulls together like a pair of coconuts before tossing both of them out of opposing windows at the same time. The last unnamed bandit tried firing at him again, only for the attempt to be cut short by a vicious uppercut from Puss that sent him crashing up through the ceiling.
"Ringfinger, grab it!" Pointer knelt down and used his good hand to toss Ringfinger his blood-covered pistol, giving him a gun in each hand.
"I appreciate the vote 'o confidence, but what'm I s'pposed to do here?!" Ringfinger questioned, holding up both pistols as he backed away from the angrily hissing Puss. "This thing ain't natural! It's bulletproof!"
"Just keep it distracted fer now!" Pointer yelled back as he stood up and made his way towards the rear door. "I've got a plan!"
"O-okay!"
Pointer exited the coach and clambered his way onto the roof; if he could make it to the locomotive itself a few cars ahead, he could unhitch it from the rest of the train, leaving the rampaging cat behind. It would mean leaving Ringfinger behind with him, of course, but Pointer had never said anything about the plan getting both of them out of here.
His right hand may have been mangled, but his legs were still in perfect working order, and he had no trouble jumping the gaps between the train cars' roofs. He laughed as he cleared the last coach and climbed over the tender, absolutely sure he'd be making a clean getaway.
Which made it very surprising for him when he jumped into the cab unit and saw Puss in Boots already standing there next to a very confused conductor.
"Ain't no way in hell!" Pointer snapped. "How'd you get here before me?!"
"LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, MISTER POINTY FINGER HAND GANG MAN," Puss yelled. "PUSS IS FASTER THAN YOU, STRONGER THAN YOU, AND SMARTER THAN YOU!"
Puss in Boots grabbed the bag hanging around his torso and plonked it onto Pointer's head, then grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around in place several times before backhanding him into the side of the cabin. Pointer stumbled around dizzily for a moment before ripping off the bag and drawing an intimidating knife out from his belt.
"OH, YOU WANNA DO KNIFE GAMES?" Puss clenched his fists, causing large black claws to emerge from the backs of his wrists. "PUSS CAN DO KNIFE GAMES, PAL! PUSS CAN DO KNIFE GAMES BETTER THAN YOU!"
"Excuse me," The conductor abruptly interjected. "I don't want to interrupt...whatever this is, but we're coming up on a bridge."
"So what?!" Pointer growled.
"Sorry, let me be more specific;" The conductor cleared his throat. "We're coming up on what used to be a bridge."
"What?!" Pointer grabbed the conductor's binoculars and shoved him aside to get a view out of the side window. In the distance he spotted what indeed appeared to be the broken remains of a bridge overlooking a massive canyon, and given his familiarity with most of the outlaw groups in the region, he immediately recognized the handiwork. "Damn it all, it's the Powder Gang! Buncha Wild Bunch wannabes!" He spun around to look at the conductor. "What're y'waitin' fer, y'idiot?! Set the brakes!"
"I would love to, but..." The conductor grabbed the brake lever and loosely flipped it back and forth to demonstrate that it was no longer connected to anything.
"Y'gotta be shittin' me."
Puss in Boots tapped the OmniStory badge on his chest, creating a bright light that faded to reveal Ben's human form.
"Quite the predicament we're in."
"Cut the crap, rich boy, that blue blood 'o yers'll splatter across the canyon like the rest'v ours," Pointer grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him angrily. "'N I don't think yer dumb 'nuff not'ta know that, which means you've got some way outta this, right?!"
"You catch on quick." Ben hmmed, brushing Pointer's hand off him. "Have you considered trying legal forms of theft? I'm certain you would make for an excellent robber baron."
"I might be scum, but even I've got standards." Pointer scowled. "Now stop screwin' 'round 'n do somethin' already!"
"I suppose we are running a bit short on time, aren't we?" Ben casually raised the OmniStory and twisted the knob on top until both hands pointed at an engraving depicting an axe and an ox at the 9:21 position. "Once more...it's Story Time!"
Ben abruptly leaped out of the side window while pressing down on the knob. The light generated this time started at a normal size and then grew massive, expanding to the size of a small skyscraper before fading. Ben's new form was a massive white and red humanoid being with markings across its chest in a plaid pattern. Adorning each arm was a massive axe-like blade, with two similar yet smaller blades extending from his head in a manner that made them resemble ox horns.
"What in the everlovin' hell..." Pointer stared at the giant, flabbergasted.
"This form is that of a more recently-introduced folklore spread by the lumberjacks of this nation:" The giant explained in a booming voice, casually taking two steps forward and arriving at the destroy bridge. "I believe the name of it is "Paul Bunyan."
Bunyan lowered himself into the canyon and crouched down as the train approached, raising his arms above his head and carefully positioning the edges of his axe blades at just the right angles to align with the remaining rails. While his blades had a curve to them that made the ride across them more than a bit rough, the train successfully made it across these makeshift "rails" and continued down the track on the other side without derailing. Once the last train car had made it across, Bunyan leaped out of the canyon and pressed the OmniStory badge, having propelled himself forward at just the right angle to land inside the train cabin just as he returned to human size during the reversion process.
""Paul Bunyan"?" Pointer raised a questioning eyebrow.
"A giant lumberjack that can bring down the mightiest of trees with a single blow, often accompanied by a similarly-giant blue ox named "Babe"." Ben explained as the light of transformation faded from his body. "It remains obscure outside of lumberjack culture at the moment, though I can foresee it becoming rather popular if it receives some form of mainstream spotlight."
"Well, I'll be damned." Pointer grunted. "Y'might be a useless type'o doctor, but y'ain't a slacker 'bout it."
"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but there is still a good chance of everyone on this train dying anyway, considering..." The conductor wiggled the brake lever a few times to drive the point across.
"That might be a bit more of an issue." Ben put a hand up to his chin in thought. "Most tales originate from a time well before the Industrial Revolution, so stories regarding mechanical work are somewhat scarce, to say the least."
"Why d'you even hafta think about it?" Pointer scowled. "Just pick the best thing y'got on that watch!"
"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that." Ben sighed. "The OmniStory is only capable of transforming me into beings that represent the ten most recent tales I've pondered. My Grandfather Maxwell believes them to be entities of extraterrestrial origin brought forth and modified by the OmniStory in response to my knowledge, and as such-"
"Y'can't turn inta somethin' y'don't know the story fer, right?" Pointer rolled his eyes. "Just turn back inta that giant thing 'n grab the train!"
"You underestimate the fearsome strength of Paul Bunyan." Ben tsked. "I'd be just as likely to crush the train as stop it."
"Oh, fer the love'v-"
"That said, I believe you're on the right track- no pun intended." Ben raised the OmniStory and twisted the knob once more, stopping the hands on an engraving of two muscular arms at the 6:50 position. "Make room for Strong Hans!"
He jumped over to the tender and pressed the knob, transforming in another flash of light and emerging as a large, red-skinned humanoid being with four eyes and four arms that seemed to be clothed in lederhosen. Strong Hans wasted no time in making it to the back of the tender and wrenching apart the coupling mechanism keep the locomotive attached to the rest of the train. The train cars started falling behind as their momentum began to peter out, ensuring that they would eventually come to a gentle stop.
The locomotive, on the other hand, only sped up once it was released from the weight of the train it had been pulling.
Strong Hans climbed onto the back of the tender, grabbed onto it with both sets of arms, and slammed his feet into the ground. This effectively acted as a friction brake for the locomotive, slowing it down significantly, but wasn't enough to stop it entirely. Seeing the writing on the wall, Pointer grabbed the conductor and jumped out of the cabin, making sure they rolled as they hit the ground. With everyone safely out, Strong Hans wrenched the train to the right, derailing it as it was flipped onto its side and slit to a halt, wheels still spinning wildly in the air. With that taken care of, Strong Hans walked over to Pointer and the conductor and detransformed.
"Thought this'd be an easy job, one last cash grab fer th'road." Pointer grunted, looking over at the fallen steam engine. "Guess I was expectin' too much."
"One last cash grab?" Ben raised an eyebrow.
"'Bit late to start actin' dumb, "doc"." Pointer scoffed. "Th'wild days of th'west are comin' to a close. Writin's been on the wall fer years fer people like me."
"I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth for a second time, but without the locomotive, I'm afraid we're stuck out here." The conductor interacted, gesturing at the desert wastes around them. "We're a bit too far from Los Angeles to walk."
"Just wait 'til the wheels stop spinnin' 'n have rich boy here lift it back onta th'rails." Pointer tsked. "I'll see if I can fix it."
"You're a mechanic?" Ben raised an eyebrow.
"Was 'til we started gettin' traded out fer foreign workers with no rights." Pointer huffed. "I didn't start stealin' fer kicks, y'know."
"Surely you could find some way to apply your skills constructively in society." Ben said.
"Yeah, prob'ly." Pointer tsked. "Don't much feel like it, though."
"That's certainly an issue."
The three men stared in silence at the still-running train for a while. Once the wheels finally stopped turning, Ben turned back into Strong Hans and hoisted it back onto the rails. Pointer started examining the brake mechanisms as Strong Hans and the conductor started loading the spilled coal back into the tender.
"Huh. There's yer problem right there." Pointer eventually muttered to himself inside the cabin.
"What did you find?" Strong Hans called over to him.
"Th'brake lever was disconnected from th'rest of the mechanics." Pointer emerged from the cabin wiping the grease from his hand onto his pants. "Th'connectors not even broken, someone just pulled it apart."
"Are you saying this was sabotage?" The conductor asked.
"More th'n likely, yes."
"Interesting." Strong Hans mused as he finished putting the last of the coal back into the tender. "I suppose as soon as we arrive in Califonia I'll be booking a ticket right back to New York to investigate."
"You serious?" Pointer laughed. "You don't know a damn thing 'bout mechanics. How're you s'posed ta solve a discreet sabotage case?"
"I don't know anything about mechanics, but you certainly do." Strong Hans reverted to Ben, who pointed at him. "You're also a bit clever and know an awful lot about being a criminal, correct?"
"Are you seriously askin' me to help you out?" Pointer scoffed at him. "What possible motivation would I have fer doin' that?"
"A royal fortune in payment and protection from the law."
"...Ah, dammit." Pointer groaned. "Pride's makin' this hurt'ta say, but I ain't stupid enough t'turn that down."
"I figured as much." Ben grinned. "I suppose with that established, I might as well give you a hand."
He turned the hands of the OmniStory to an engraving of an upside-down skull at the 5:05 position and transformed into what seemed to be a one-eyed ghost of sorts. Before Pointer had the chance to ask what the hell was going on, the ghost flew into his body and took control of it, wrenching his mangled hand back into shape and forcing new muscle tissue and skin to grow over the wounds. By the time the ghost exited Pointer's body and detransformed, his hand looked and felt like it had never been shot in the first place.
"Pun only slightly intentioned, by the way." Ben said as he put the OmniStory back inside his coat pocket.
"Th'HELL was that?!" Pointer demanded.
"Grateful Dead:" Ben explained. "A story found throughout Europe and certain other locations in which the protagonist ensures that a dead man's body receives a proper burial, and in return, their spirit grants them supernatural favors to aid in their journey."
"Could'a just said "magic ghost" 'n gotten the same point across."
"I certainly could have, yes," Ben grinned. "But I'll take any chance I can get to show off."
==Notes==
* While never explicitly stated in-universe, various context clues such as the relative obscurity of Paul Bunyan and the ending of the Wild West era point to this story taking place around the turn of the 20th century.
* The transformations used in this story are folklore-themed versions of canon Ben 10 aliens.
** Rath was chosen to represent Puss in Boots because he's also a cat who walks on hind legs what do you want from me here.
** Way Big was chosen to represent Paul Bunyan since the two of them share the trait of having massive yet wildly inconsistent heights depending on the story.
** Four Arms was chosen to represent Strong Hans because frankly I couldn't resist the "Hans/Hands" pun.
** Ghostfreak was chosen to represent the grateful dead archetype because ghost again what do you want from me here.
* The clock positions given in the story match with the relevant folklore classification number of the stories they represent in either the Aarne–Thompson–Uther Index or Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, which are typically used in tandem by modern folklorists.
** Puss in Boots is a story type in and of itself, being classified as ATU 545B, "Puss in Boots". It is considered a subtype of ATU 545, "The Cat as Helper".
** Given the variety of tales about him, Paul Bunyan in general falls under multiple categories within the MIFL's X910—X1099 (Lie: the remarkable man) range. For the sake of simplicity, the number used in this story refers specifically to X921 (Lie: remarkably tall person).
** Iron Hans is a German fairy tale classified under ATU 650A, "Strong John".
** The grateful dead is a story archetype classified as ATU 505, with common variants of the premise classified under ATU 506-508.