The reject pile. He was among these.
Everything consisted of rusted metal; from the broken creations strewed around him, to the walls that shut him away. Years of disuse was prevalent all around. No maintenance was needed for such failures, such defects. Simply a waste of resources.
And Metal Sonic had failed, broken down by the power of his copy. Despite his metallic body shutting down, despite his eyes showing only dead black, he could sense the movements of being carried down, down, down. He could feel himself being thrown into the debris. Still very much awake.
Exiting hibernation.
Initiating full system check.
Recovery in progress.
Red lights flickered in the darkness of his eyes, at first weak and sputtering, then glowing so bright that it lit the room. Crimson now washed the walls, coating the robot trash he was in. His head lifted up stiffly, a cold reflection of a careless hero. His body lay still however, covered in dents and scratches, its azure tint dulled significantly. The circular engine in his back had been smashed in mercilessly. Even so, he filed away his surroundings, information coating his vision, packing it away for future use.
The colors of the broken-down machines, once vibrant and sleek, were covered with the orange rust. Few were even kept whole. Body parts of metal were scattered every which way, dismembered, thick cables extending from their broken ends. The wires were ripped, unable to connect, to make these contraptions living again.
His claws twitched slightly. Power was slowly returning, but recovery was only at 40 percent. He continued to scan the area around him. The room was not large by any means. The machines were packed, pushed against the wall cruelly. Large pipes snaked across the ceiling, having no clear purpose.
He raised his arm, slightly. There were deep gouges through the blue metal skin, exposing the mass array of colorful wires. Some had been snapped, sparks crackled on their frayed ends. He searched in his backup, finding the necessary files to supplement for the damage. Quite simple, but his recovery was dragging along, reaching only 50 percent.
It was feasible to move now. The machine slowly got up on his thin legs, his movements careful and precise. He never stopped in his constant cataloguing of the room. But the room, yes, the room was much too small and cramped. He concluded that it was a simple storage room, not meant for living conditions by any means.
Recovery at 65 percent. His legs couldn't move fast or far. The gashes in his side slowly closed, upgrades he had made himself on his creator's own technology.
He turned his head, finding the door; great metal slabs with the doctor's grinning logo etched into them. Heavy and locked. He laid his silver claws on the surface, tapping on it lightly.
If he was made of flesh, there would have been a sensation of coldness running through his fingertips. If he were made of bone, he would have been aching from his time being buried under considerable weight of metal. If he were alive, he would have stared at the much too close walls, feeling small, confined.
Recovery at 75 percent.
He needed to get out.
His claws entered the tiny crevice that separated the doors. There was no sliver of light, no promise of something new. He checked, and he knew it was just another room. And beyond that was another. And another. Leading the way to a place where he could plan, organize, redeem himself. He could move better now, more efficiently. His claws scratched at the metal that was unyielding, keeping him locked here forever. But no, forever was a blanket term, so general. There was no such thing as forever.
Recovery at 93 percent. 94. 95.
His claws tore through refined steel. Something like himself, except it submitted. There was the sound of horrid scraping. Wreckage fell and crumbled before him. He was right, there was only darkness on the other side. But it was not stale, or old, or forgotten. He felt dead eyes watching his back, examining him and his defects, noting his scrapes, his torn ligaments, his sputtering wires. Flawed, weak- for now. But he can stand and move, he can tear these supposedly indestructible walls down. The eyes that watched him are not truly watching. Offline, cut off. The door was open, yet they can never leave.
Metal Sonic marched through ruins, his face immobile. Pieces of deformed metal, twisted steel, lay scattered before him. His recovery was complete.
There was something freeing when he left the base. The world looked unending, the land before him vast, the night sky completely open. More general terms. Unsound. Everything had an end.
As he traveled, noting the shifting of the clouds, the tropical plant life that surrounded him, and the distinct whisper of ocean waves, he gazed down at his body. Another scan confirmed that he was in good working condition. His journey through the doctor's base had not been solely for an escape. He had made use of the tools that lay neatly on their workstations, waiting for the human to return. Metal Sonic had outfitted himself with more upgrades. His targeting system was more precise, his engine tightened and easier to control, and his exterior had been hardened and refined. He gazed at his claws. Before, they had been dull, their edges nicked and blunt. Yet he could still tear down walls. Their points had been sharpened. They scraped against each other softly as he curled them inward. Unyielding fingers.
As he looked ahead, he activated his engines. Flame erupted from his back, pushing him up off the ground slowly, only a few inches. He floated onwards, traveling for hours, for miles, carefully increasing his speed until he was nothing but a brief flash of blue through green. His navigation system ticked in the far right corner of his eyes, comprised of bright flashing numbers and computer syntax that was only comprehensible to him. Stalks withered from the afterburner of his engine, a trail of black marking his progress. As he neared his current destination, he slowed down, then raised his head towards the sun.
A floating piece of land. An island, drifting alongside clouds. No base, no support. Certainly a defiance of physics and nature. But such was the power of Chaos.
Cooling down his engines, his feet landed on hard rock. The sky was still very dark. His body reflected the light from the moon, a moving beacon in the night. He himself was an act of rebellion, created outside the natural order. Such was the power of science.
Chaos. It was unexplained, shrouded in wonderment, used to achieve the impossible. Even though he had harnessed such power, he had failed in his ultimate goal. What can be said of one trying the same thing again, expecting different results?
But that was science; a system of trial and error. One different variable can change the outcome. There were things that he hadn't considered yet.
Still looking up, Metal Sonic scanned through his programming. He had made another new advance. Calculations stated that he would only hold up for two hours at best, depending on weather conditions; wind direction, the altitude, amount of precipitation.
The engine slowly came to life again, parts building up speed, a whisper of machinery that grew into a roar. Temperature, pressure, then white hot flames pushed him off the ground. Sparks engulfed the bushes near him, but his gaze was for the sky. He floated upwards, rocketing towards the clouds. A streak of white marked his path, a shooting star that moved away from the earth. The sky was already lightening, from black to a water colored red.
He steered away from the clouds, keeping the island in his sights. An hour had passed, and then there was frantic beeping. An indicator on the top-left of his screen marked the increasing pressure. An error? But the temperature at this altitude was colder, threatening to freeze his systems. He kept his engine running, the flames warding off the ice that threatened to jam his functions.
It was impossible for anything to thrive at this level. Yet his scans showed plentiful life on the island, of fresh expanses of green coupled with the towering mountains. The air was much too thin, but he saw in his records that animals dwelled within its jungles, and that the Guardian lived peacefully here. He stuttered in his flight. A cylinder had stopped working, obstructed by the ice. Though he doubled his speed, he felt his machine body dangerously close to overheating. The warning signal screamed inside his head. His internal screen flashed red. But the island was close, now half a mile away. The sky changed gradually to a soft blue, the sun peeking over the horizon. Something broke. Smoke guttered from his back.
Metal Sonic reached the island's edge, which was outlined by close-knit trees. His feet skidded across dirt, his right shoulder scuffed against rough bark. His engine coughed, choked, then finally died. The temperature lessened considerably, the warning signal cutting itself off.
His limbs were stiff, jammed. He took a moment to search his databanks, finding the recovery program that he had updated recently. The fan was already running smoothly, still usable for acceleration. He maneuvered through the trees carefully, coming upon a thin pathway through the jungle.
Warm light descended on the island, melting away the ice. His movements became more fluid. He raised his hand, the sun reflecting off his claws sharply. He scanned the environment, finding everything normal. Temperature was at an average tropical level, the altitude no longer reflecting its position in the sky. It would not be difficult for living things to breathe, everything was as if he were back on the surface. It was illogical, his flight up here suggested a more unstable environment, but the healthy plant life and his indicators all proved otherwise.
He moved through the densely packed jungle, cooling down his instruments in the process. The dark branches obstructed his vision of the sky, and the floor covered over with thick roots and overhanging vines would have made it incredibly difficult for one to travel through. Metal Sonic activated his engine to its lowest setting to rectify this, allowing him to hover over the ground and explore with ease.
He searched through the island's information: Angel Island, housing the powerful artifact, the Master Emerald. Once a home to the long dead tribe of the Echidnas, with only the being known as Knuckles dwelling within the region. Topography was a fully developed tropical climate, complete with numerous plant and animal life. Architecture consisted of only a few ruins belonging to the tribe, and a shrine to the Master Emerald, which was located near the southern part of the island.
Metal Sonic changed his route accordingly. He made his way past the rivers, his internal map giving him a clear route that the jungle itself refused to show. The density of the plants coated his field of vision a dark green, offset with patterns of red and orange of large flowers. He came to a clearing, a wide meadow that resembled a more temperate landscape, contrasting the surrounding jungles. The shrine rose out in the middle, a lone relic in the natural world.
He zoomed in his vision. It didn't come up in his scanners.
Moving across the field quickly, he came to the shrine, composed of rough-cut stone blocks. Steps led upwards to the treasure of ancient days, where it would shine like a beacon, a glimmer of green, as lush as the world it lifted up into the clouds.
He didn't go up the steps. What he saw was apparent enough.
The shrine was empty.
Not a victim of theft. His scanners could sense it, the undeniable energy source of Chaos. Though such energy permeated this island, apparent in its life and surroundings, he felt the source. Farther away, but still on this island. Yet it was hard to pinpoint it. The environment, with its own essence of Chaos, made it difficult.
There were records. He did a search, finding an interesting fact. The Master Emerald had not always been placed here, out in the open, exposed to the wind and rain. No, it had once been hidden deep underground, within an ancient temple, belonging to the extinct tribe. Certainly, it made more sense. After numerous thefts, the Guardian had finally hidden it beneath the ground, surrounding it with old relics and a past he barely remembered.
Looking to the north, he spotted the top of the ancient structure, immersed within the confines of the jungle. He examined the stonework, the pedestal just reaching over the trees. A home that was eaten away by the years. It wouldn't have been implausible for the Emerald to dwell there now.
He traveled faster, the engine humming louder. The building was arranged orderly, a stepped pyramid that tried in vain to reach the sky. Much of it was crumbling, yet it still remained standing, defiant against time and the greedy vines that tried to possess it. Carvings of the tribe's daily life decorated the first level of the temple, an echidna mother carrying her child in a basket on her back; echidna warriors standing near entrances of palaces and temples, their spears perfectly aligned.
Metal Sonic didn't examine the pictures for very long. Though there were stairs that led upwards, he directed himself to an open entrance that was placed at the bottom level, just to the side, looking insignificant. It had been covered over by overhanging tree branches and the encroaching vines. A large pile of snapped off twigs and leaves covered the bottom, a hasty attempt to hide away the door with natural covering. But it only made it more obvious when so much debris was placed at the spot. The robot tore down the vines with his claws, moving through the entrance that had once been shut with stone slabs. All were now crumbled, fallen to the wind, becoming dust.
The way was dark, the floor sloping gradually, leading underground. Stone walls and pedestals lined next to him, perhaps once housing treasures, but were now bare. Metal Sonic paid little attention to any of it. The energy of Chaos felt much stronger here. It felt tangible, something that he could grab, physically, and hold it with ease.
The further down he went, through secret caverns, filled with a stale darkness that had not felt change in so long, the more present were the ancient relics. There were statues of past chieftains and Gods, whole. There were murals intact, the carvings as detailed as when they were first created, portraying warlike scenes and atrocities that were incredibly violent, of blood running through the streets, of a terrible darkness erupting from the ground. Much different than the pastoral from outside the temple.
There was water underneath him, an artificial river that ran through a cultivated stone passageway. Hovering over it, he followed its path, leading more downward. Eventually, the river turned into a waterfall, trickling over high walls. There were lit braziers set into the far sides, more signs that the Guardian had been here, if not nearby. The robot levitated down where the path ended, just moving clear of the waterfall. The room he was in was massive, stretching upwards into near darkness that the flames couldn't break through. Murals decorated this room as well, massive portrayals of a green jewel, and of a vicious monster made of water, its head poised above the ancient city, its face curled into bestial rage.
There was no need for the fire's light. At the very far end of the room, sitting on top of a shrine incredibly similar to the one at the surface, was the Master Emerald. It's multi-faceted surface winked, reveling in its existence, bathing the room in green, dyeing Metal Sonic's blue exterior. It seemed to be upheld by nothing, standing perfectly still on its pointed end on the bottom. He shut off his engines, placing his feet on the stone groundwork that led the way to the shrine. He focused on the relic, the energy flooding his eyes.
The Master Emerald. Chaos. Concentrated. Controlled.
Chaos and control. Both words defied each other. How can one harness something whose very nature polarized it? There was no peace between them. Only a continual power struggle. He had felt it in his system, overriding his protocols, making him become erratic and rushed as he fought Super Sonic. He had failed because he didn't realize the very impossibility he tried to contain.
And yet, chaos was controlled. Here. A jewel housed inside caves, lighting up earthen walls with a greenish tint. A true emerald. In his databanks, it is said that emeralds are a precious rock, colored green.
The Master Emerald had this peace. Chaos roamed within barriers, content in its existence. This island was full of impossibilities, of ridiculous concepts. It subverted the natural laws, made it work to its own will. Chaos takes things, deforms, deconstructs, then controls comes and makes it sound, makes it work, makes it perfect.
Metal Sonic moved closer to the jewel. The chaos emeralds; the offspring of this power, even with all seven, they could not achieve this true stability. The chao; immature, budding versions of this power. They did not have this either. Only this emerald did, the controller is the one that unifies the chaos.
But chaos exists within this jewel. Perfectly. Perfectly. A blanket term, but he used it correctly. Yes.
He reached out one artificial hand, laying it against the jewel's surface. He tapped his claws against it, strangely. Something moved inside, a vision of a female, in ancient dress, looking on with pervading sadness. Spirits defied the laws, but he accepted her presence.
He heard footsteps behind them. Thoughtful, cautious. The green light brightened, his electronic eyes did not suffer from it. Neither did the one behind him, coming slowly. Yes, the guardian. To protect this relic, this unifier. He imagined -adapting the habit of the natural- white fists being clenched, red marching purposefully towards him. Violet eyes as hard as the walls. As controlled as the power that was here.
Such stability, such peace. Metal Sonic kept his hand placed on the jewel. He felt the spirit's sadness wash over him, floating down the surface, protected by his own coldness. A fist would soon come to do away with his body. But the green was moving through him, and he heard the cry of the universe in its creation, fueled by this chaos, slowly forming, slowly, into something orderly and wondrous.
This was it. His system became flooded. There were erratic codes flooding his sensors, all adapting to this change, shifting themselves over, evolving rapidly. It manifested itself through his appearance, through his claws that extended, his spines that jutted out more fiercely. The Guardian was running to him, but the light coiled around the robot's body, his transformation rapidly finishing.
Metal Sonic lashed out behind, his claws slicing his attacker's arm. A grunt of pain and surprise. The figure jumped back. He saw him clearly in the emerald's glow, the red echidna crouching, holding his injured arm with a white-barbed glove. Knuckles, Protector of Angel Island, Guardian of the Master Emerald that had been lost so many times.
The echidna glared at the intruder, saying nothing. Dreadlocks framed a face that was twisted with indignation. He charged again, this time leaping upwards, clear from Metal Sonic's claws. He landed on top of the massive emerald that was writhing, pulsating, now emitting a high-ringing sound. The robot watched him press his hands on the jewel's surface, staining it with his blood. Words were spoken, "The servers are the seven Chaos, Chaos is power-"
The light grew more wild, a living snake that extended itself from the relic. It lashed out at the Guardian who reeled back in shock. His feet skidded across the top, smearing the blood.
Metal Sonic didn't rush. His engines hummed, lifting him into the air. Streaks of jade moved around, a monster that coiled around his form, lifting the cape that he now wore. Something echoed in the room, a cry of something long ago. Knuckles eyes widened, but he stood his ground, resisting the very power that he was bound to protect. He was no longer calm, no peace in those eyes. Even as the echidna clenched his fists, aiming to shatter the robot's head, his hands were shaking too much, overwhelmed. He was not the same one who had fought Metal Sonic in the skies, Chaos wouldn't grant him strength, because he couldn't get back that balance.
With extreme patience, his mind floating above the energy that filled him so well, Metal Sonic shot through the air, a streak of blue and green. He plunged his claws through the Guardian's chest, breaking apart the white crescent birthmark. Tear, rent asunder, the body collapsed. The eyes remained wide, even as the echidna's head hit the emerald's surface. Dark red painted the top, dripping down it's sides. Something akin to a sacrifice.
He gazed down at the fallen protector, his body sprawled out, his eyes still open. Some dreadlocks draped across his face, the rest spreading out like a fan. A hazy image floated above it, the same vision he had seen in the emerald. A female of the ancient tribe, she looked at Metal Sonic with misery, looked down at Knuckles with an ache in her drifting eyes.
But the light continued circling around him, like the serpentine body of a monster. He felt the eternal sorrow of the girl, the undying rage of an ancient beast, but these were useless things. He pushed them down, kept it locked, covering it with his own calculations. Control, stable, all set to order. The beams that lashed out dimmed, darkness came back. The fires had gone out by the force that threatened to break everything apart.
The Master Emerald was dark, its luster gone. Nothing more than ordinary stone. The shadows were only broken by Metal Sonic's eyes, tinged with a tranquil green.