Silver moonlight twinkles down the edge of cold steel, riddled as it is with the scratches and dents of too many encounters and not enough upkeep. He thinks he sees crimson death flecked within its deeper grooves, but it could just be the low light playing tricks on him. He grunts as the blade bites through skin, drenching his torso in fresh crimson; however, the minor sacrifice brings him greater gains as he is now within his opponent's inner guard while her weapon is still stuck in his shoulder. Her exquisite blue eyes widen in shock, that peculiar mark of her ancestors glowing in her left iris, as he brings his sword up and into—
...
—the descent of an electronic boot, forcefully brought down as his challenger axe-kicks him. The attack generates an explosion at impact site that knocks him teen feet vertically into the air. He winds his body about, reorienting himself just in time to twist out of another rocket-powered, backflipping kick. The woman twirls effortlessly in place, twenty-four inches of blonde hair whipping about her torso as she converts the momentum of her flip into a double-jet roundhouse. He can't wiggle his way out from the second kick, having already used his dodging power to avoid the first blow. He almost wishes he'd taken the first hit, because the blow smashes him so hard into the ground that he—
...
—bounces before stumbling right back to his feet. There's no time to rest; his foe is already barreling through him at inhuman speeds, the edges of its furry figure practically melting into the atmosphere. The sheer velocity of its flash step juggles him straight back into the sky again—but this time, armed with the knowledge that an aerial follow-up is more than likely, he swings his sword in a tight arc about his entire torso. His prediction is rewarded when the Master Sword shreds through clothing and fur and flesh alike. With his animalistic challenger caught up in his spinning attack, he lands as many cuts as possible before spiking the creature into the ground. He's struck by a moment of déjà vu when the fox struggles to its feet—a memory of another lifetime, maybe—but it doesn't matter in the middle of this fight. Someday, he'll have all the time in the world to reflect on his experiences; right now, he can only—
...
—drop into a roll as fireballs erupt around him. Upon impact with any solid surface, a pillar of flame explodes skyward, a flaming forest that is felled only with a quick whirling spin attack. He slides out of his spin just as swiftly, unwilling to stay in one place too long. His caution is well-warranted as a beam of pure electricity crackles through the space his torso had occupied not a second ago. Every hair on the back of his neck rises at the sight of his enemy before him—the true villain who'd pulled him from Hyrule and into an unfamiliar universe to fight alongside and against other warriors. Why should they have to brawl with each other when their only reason stands before him now?
There is no tome, no incantation, and no blazing energy that travels towards him; purple runes that spring into existence around his foe are the only warning he gets before an inferno of dark purple flames explode from the ground at his feet. His vision goes white with excruciating pain as he crumples to his knees, unable to do anything more than cling to his life force even as it flees his body and seeps into the fell demon's. Crimson splatters across green; black seeps into his peripherals. For as long as he can remember, he's always been a fighter. Born to brawl yet always knowing that it'd come to an end. But now, in his final moment, he wishes he could have—
...
Link opens his eyes to darkness.
Seconds later, a single shaft of moonlight penetrates through the cloudy night and trickles in through the opening of their small cavern. His undershirt shift uncomfortably against his clammy skin as he sits up, drenched in a cold sweat, but already he can't remember just what exactly had caused his dream-self such distress. The real world is much easier to grasp. His sword and shield rests atop his usual green hood folded at his feet. Robin's hair gleams silver in the soft light a few yards away, a tome hugged tight to his chest. Propped up against the cavern to his left lies Palutena, her dress recently stripped of its golden accessories to aid in ease of travel.
Sometimes he wonders just who the emerald-haired woman had been in her world, weighed down by so many wealthy ornaments, before she'd been warped into this alternate universe. Who any of his opponents—that blue-haired girl, the scantily-clad blonde with those killer heels, and the anthropomorphic canine who had to share some relation to Fox—were in their worlds. And probably most importantly, who was he? And who is he now? And what will he do with himself?
This really isn't something his mind can contemplate now. With haunting glimpses of nightmare still flashing through his mind, Link rolls out of his resting spot and arms himself quickly. Traces of adrenaline seep through his veins at times; he's almost itching for a fight and decides to check up on the night guard.
With his sword embedded firmly into the packed dirt, Marth is doing remarkably well at sleeping on his feet. The moment Link shuffles close, however, the warrior yanks his blade up in arms so quickly that Link reflexively guards with the Master Sword.
Half a second later, Marth sheepishly lowers the Falchion. "Have you come to replace me?"
"Maybe." He frowns. "Dreams won't let me sleep."
"Memories?"
"Not this time." He came from somewhere once. He was someone to somebody, but for the life of him he cannot remember, not in this fractured world full of beings with shattered minds. A dozen blank slates they all are, with little purpose to exist aside from the desire to fight, to conquer, to regain broken shards of memory that were lost long ago. "Do… Do you ever wonder…?"
"Yes. All the time. How can I desire so strongly to return home when I've not an inkling of where home is?" Marth raises his eyes to a night sky devoid of stars. This world is completely isolated from all else—and so are the warriors trapped upon it as well. "We can only trust that, when the fighting is finally over, our Lady Rosalina will guide us there."
Link can't help the doubt that sinks deep into his gut at Marth's hopeful words. "Yeah. I guess."
"So you're awake. What kind of dream was it?"
"In all honesty, it was over in a moment; but in that instant of time and space, we found perfect balance, she and I. Together, we… we ruled the galaxies."
"Laughable. There are no stars here."
"You need not remind me. Yet strangely, the vision remains a warm one. Her smile, the people's praises… why must sleep be crueler than reality?"
It is with a shudder that Lucina resurfaces within the waking world.
She remembers green: a teenage boy her age with pointed ears and slanted eyes and a sword that slid past her guard and slotted itself between her ribs. She coughed up copper and countered his emerald with a spray of warm crimson before fading into darkness. A memory?
No. Just a dream. She's still alive, isn't she?
Shakily, she drives her blade into the ground to leverage herself to her feet. The shink of steel biting into earth is just enough to startle Pit without waking him; his black wings stretch, momentarily prepared for flight, before they resettle into place behind his shoulder blades. Sheik on the other hand awakens immediately, assesses the situation, and drops right back into a light doze within the blink of an eye.
With phantom pain lingering within her chest, Lucina sheathes the Falchion—her Falchion, her only link to a forgotten past—and wanders in search for the nearest source of sky. Soft moonlight sifts through the spiderwebbing cracks of the dilapidated ruins they'd taken shelter within, illuminating her path from room to hallway to atrium. There, visible through the shattered glass ceiling, is a starless sky.
"Still searching?"
Ike emerges from shadows across the hall, his gaze trained upon the empty night. They share recollections of the same constellations, even when none exist here. In a world where she owns so very little, even the simplest of commonalities is enough to put her trust in him.
"Is it too much to wish for?" She traces her finger across the void and imagines that somewhere out there, she and Ike, Pit, and Sheik have loved ones to return to. "For my memories. For a home."
"Can't say much about the lost memories, though I don't see the point in wishing on non-existent stars." Silverlight is reflected off Ragnell's blade as gold. "We already have that oversized turtle's promise. Isn't that enough?"
Her stomach twists at the disrespectful mention of King Bowser. "And you trust him?"
Ike crosses his arms and won't meet her eyes. "I trust Cloud."
Several hours later, eight warriors will brawl on a forsaken arena. They will fight because an unseen force compels them to. They'll fight with nothing to them but their name and the muscle memory trained into their bodies through years of battle experience. They will fight for dreams they no longer possess in the desperate hope that some greater power will grant them their wish.
When one fighter crumples to their knees and draws their last breath, that divine being will smile.
Just another day in the Super Smash Tournament.