Chapter 1
Once upon a time – CLANGG! Ungh! – there was a battle going on. A fight between –
"Ha, gotcha there, didn't I, Marth?"
"Pure luck, elf-boy. Let's see if you can stand up to this, Link!" Thus saying, the aforementioned blue-haired prince let out a sudden barrage of quick, jabbing thrusts with his sword. Link, however, was an expert and had anticipated this, effortlessly parrying every move Marth attempted, grinning superciliously as he did so. Finally, it got into Marth's thick skull that his "brilliant" maneuver wasn't exactly succeeding. He halted, panting. Link saw his opening; with a swift flick of his wrist, he disarmed Marth, sending his sword clattering uselessly onto the platform in the stage Final Destination. While the prince stared dumbfounded, Link raised his sword till its tip was almost brushing Marth's throat.
"Surrender or die, Prince," the elfin youth mocked.
"You can't kill me…just knock me out of the battlefield already," Marth growled. "I'll simply be sent to the hospital for recovery after that."
"Not so, Your Highness," Link smirked. "Sorry to pour cold water onto your plans, but you might want to take a look to your right, towards the bottom of the spectator stands."
His opponent slowly rotated his head, wondering if this was some sort of trick. He scanned the roaring crowd – mostly consisting of crazed fangirls – when he suddenly spotted Link's point. He gulped audibly, looking pleadingly at Link.
"That's right; your betting master looks quite ready to commit murder! I expect he lost quite a tidy sum on you today. Serves him right, betting on a novice! But don't worry." Link's tone grew kindly. "I'll tell them you surrendered and you can stay out here…away from him. I'll get the hospital staff to move you to a private ward with extra security where he won't get a chance to lay hands on you."
Marth's gratitude shone in his eyes as he collapsed onto the floor near his sword, body aching.
"TTFN, amateur!" Link waved before being teleported away. Marth lay down, wounds bleeding fiercely but he was past caring. He soon tumbled down into the welcome abyss of unconsciousness.
Meanwhile…
The SSBM administrators had hired a new member of the staff – a janitor of sorts to clean up the battlefields after the bloody brawls. No one envied having this gory, thankless job that paid next to nothing, but it was the only thing this orphan had. She trudged out onto the platform, armed with mop and sloshing pail. Spotting Marth, she ran over and tried to wake him up, fearing he was dead. Her frantic gesticulations and mumbled prayers did nothing to aid his awakening, however. Looking him over, she suddenly caught sight of his sword, virtually clean and still gleaming. Link had obviously not allowed this newbie to get anywhere near him. Its shine attracted her attention and she walked over, picking it up and waving it tentatively around in the air, admiring its flash in the light.
Just then, Marth woke up, opening his blood- and sweat-encrusted eyes. Since none of the smashers had been introduced to the new janitor yet, he assumed she was some petty thief. Gathering the last vestiges of his strength, he reached up and grabbed the sword from her. Grasping for the only comeback he could think of in his wasted state, he gasped, "No one steals from Marth!" Thus decreeing, he rammed his sword through her stomach. Pathetic last words. He then collapsed from shock, after catching a glimpse of her hideous face.
"Uff," the janitor grunted, collapsing beside the corpse. Their ruby-red blood flowed freely like beer at a party and mingled together, creating a sticky pool from the waterfall of her stomach. The only difference being waterfalls went on for infinity while people's bodies usually had a blood limit. In this depleted state, she found herself thinking somewhat fuzzily, not that this was a great difference from her 'normal' level of intellectual activity. She was thirsty. She licked her bloodied fingers for lack of anything more intelligent to do.
"Damn!" She spat out. "My blood tastes like crap!"