L is Real 2015

It's my fifth story, and counting. I've rated it M because—oh, you just wait and see.

On a bright, summery afternoon, a man in armor stood outside, surveying his surroundings.

All was quiet. A group of different colored puffballs were playing a friendly game of tackle under a tree. A brown-haired child was sparring with his blonde friend, volleying PK this and PK that at one another. A diminutive boxer wearing green shorts jabbed and threw uppercuts at the air as his longtime trainer looked on and shouted encouragement. Three princesses and a bounty hunter shared some much needed girly time, and some Villagers were pulling random pranks and planting trees using their down special moves.

It was just an ordinary day.

So, why did the armored guy have such a strong sense of foreboding?

The man, whose name was Ike, gazed toward the sky, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. It was perfectly cloudless and cyan blue, interrupted occasionally by flocks of birds. Suddenly, Ike squinted. A tiny speck that hadn't been there previously was now visible. What was it? Maybe it was that Tabuu guy, out for revenge following the Subspace debacle. If that was the case, then Ike had to warn Master Hand, and quickly. That way, everyone else would be on their toes, ready to face whatever fast one Tabuu pulled on them.

Ike snapped out of his thoughts and saw that the tiny speck had grown into a shape. A green shape approaching—and closing fast.

His eyes widened. "WHAT THE…?!" he bellowed as he tried to dodge out of the way.

Too late.

97 units of green adrenaline, hate and fury, traveling at a speed of approximately 22 miles per hour, slammed into Ike with a force of around 200 Newtons. This force applied a pressure of 0.46 atmospheres, enough to splinter his armor and crack his ribcage. Ike was lifted a foot or so off the ground and sent flying a distance of 18 feet, compacted on the head of the green avenger who had rammed him. The breath was driven from him in a heartbeat. Finally, the two reached terminal velocity and crashed to the ground, Ike landing flat on his back.

The poor fellow struggled for breath, attempting to gather his bearings and access who was attacking him and why. Just as he got to his feet and reoriented himself to his surroundings, a roundhouse dropkick encountered his jaw, chipping a tooth and sending him to his knees. Desperately, he crawled away, mouth filling with blood, his mind filled with questions on how to tackle this new threat. Finally, his head cleared, and he managed to stand, sword unsheathed and his body in a battle stance.

"Prepare yourself!" he shouted.

Maybe he should've prepared himself, because his attacker was upon him before the neurons in his brain could yell at him to react.

The first blow slammed into his side, again shearing his protective armor and possibly shattering some bone. The next blow was a vicious uppercut to the chin, erupting in a bright green flash and a fractured jaw. A flip-kick decimated his nose and sent blood spraying from the pulverized proboscis. As he reeled, a fist collided with the side of his neck, traumatizing a tendon. And then two feet drilled into him from above, sending him back to the floor.

With another battle cry, Ike jumped back up and slashed wildly as the other man barreled at him once more, unleashing all he had on him. But his green foe was too fast. Too close. Too powerful.

Finally, a straight jab connected with Ike's throat, rupturing his windpipe. He was crumpled in a heap, coughing and choking on blood. It was then that he finally got a close look at the interloper. And he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Impossible…" he managed to gasp.

A memory came back to him, one that seemed ages ago but actually was a few years. Guilt stabbed him as he remembered the jeering, biting words issuing from his lips in a voice which wounded like a blade. How he denounced and demeaned his target as a wimp, as an embarrassment, as a pitiful weakling and as a loser; mocking his relative obscurity, his awkward physics, his bad traction, and his less-than advantageous match-ups. He called him the Other Guy, the Eternal Understudy, the King of Second Bananas, Player Two, Whatever-His-Name-Is, What's-His-Face. It was such a long time ago that he nearly forgot. But the victim never forgets. The victim always bears the scars.

Ike opened his mouth to apologize, to explain how big of an ego he had back then. His victim-turned-assailant didn't want to hear it, executing another powerful straight jab. This one was harder than the first, aimed at the middle of the neck, and it hit home with almost superhuman power. His already injured windpipe was crushed beyond oblivion, and his Adam's apple was cracked. He couldn't speak, couldn't erase and heal this wound between them. The other man's eyes, steely blue, showed no hint of forgiveness. After experiencing an upswing in popularity, he'd decided he wasn't taking anymore mess from anybody. Especially Ike.

For a while, he stood over the man who'd once bullied him, watching the thick blood pour from his mouth and throat, basically drowning him from the inside. He deserved to suffer after making him suffer under sneers and scorn. Initially, he planned to leave him like that to teach him a final lesson, even giving a dramatic monologue as his life slipped away. But then he remembered thoroughly trouncing him in previous matches. He'd fought well, and for that he deserved some mercy, however twisted it may be.

With that thought in mind, he approached the crumpled man, and with an innocent "Bye-bye", he administered a bashful-looking kick to Ike's skull, smashing it instantly.

"Now who's the loser?" he spat, standing over the still form that was once a tormentor. Unfortunately, Ike wasn't the only one who made this mistake. There were others, starkly carved into his memory, and he was going to help himself to each and every one of them like a tasty midnight snack.

Revenge was a dish best served…green.

Cause baby, now we've got bad blood!

You know, it used to be mad love!

So take a look what you've done!

Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

Now we've got problems,

And I don't think we can solve them!

You made a really deep cut...

And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

Did you have to do this? I was thinking that you could be trusted!

Did you have to ruin what was shiny? Now it's all rusted!

Did you have to hit me, where I'm weak? Baby, I couldn't breathe,

And rub it in so deep—salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me!

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I…

Chorus (Cause, baby, now we've got bad blood…)

Did you think we'd be fine? Still got scars on my back from your knife!

So, don't think it's in the past; these kinds of wounds, they last and they last!

Now did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you!

And time can heal, but this won't, so if you're coming my way—just don't!

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I…

Chorus

Band-Aids don't fix bullet holes;

You say sorry just for show;

You live like that, you live with ghosts…

Band-Aids don't fix bullet holes,

You say sorry just for show;

You live like that, you live with ghosts…

If you love like that, blood runs cold!

Chorus (2x)

-Taylor Swift, "Bad Blood"

The fun is just beginning! Please read and review!