Hello weirdos
It's me. The all powerful SIMON
Sorry for not updating for like freakin' months lol
I have taken up a new game as lead programmer called "Nothing and the Black Moon". The story lead has some awesome ideas I'm looking forward to.
In the meantime, here is some Kirby for you
Enjoy, RnR 'n all dat boiiii
(WTF was that X/)
He had woken up in a room. A very dimly-lit room. It didn't even seem all that spacious. He barely had enough space to simply be laying there on the floor, unwavering, unmoving.
The puffball, Kirby, didn't really have much strength to pick himself up, though. His entire being ached with pain, with parts of his midsection stinging as though someone had cut through him in a vicious encounter. It didn't take a genius to figure out that something very wrong was going on.
But what could Kirby do about it now, in this state of total, complete weakness? Consciously, the puff wanted to get up and dash away and find his path back home, and yet his body, strained, didn't dare budge. But why...?
A memory flashed before the young Star Warrior's eyes. It was brief, it was vague, and yet it conveyed enough information to give a general idea for what had happened to him. He was running. Running away from...a crowd of people? Carrying pitchforks and knives, shouting something the poor pink being couldn't for the life of him understand. They seemed to be chasing him out of a town of some sort. Maybe Cappy Town? Had he done something wrong? He couldn't tell; it didn't at all resemble the Cappy Town he knew, but who knows? Certainly not him.
Slowly but surely, his senses have started to return following this unknown period of unconsciousness. First, his touch. He could feel the floor he was lain atop of. It was hardwood, and hadn't seemed to have been vacuumed in a long time since it was very dusty. He sneezed after having breathed some in. Next was his hearing; in the background there was a constant, faint buzzing sound, as if it were ventilating the room he was in. The air was pretty cold wherever this was, and his body was starting to freeze as a result.
Kirby soon recognized that if he had only just now started growing cold, then it must mean that either he had only just recently arrived or somebody else had turned on the cooler just before he woke up.
Great. He had been kidnapped. Not to worry, though. Kirby was, for better or worse, familiar with kidnappings. He could easily escape as soon as he regained his strength...
"So...you're trapped here, too?"
The voice sent a chill down Kirby's spine. It was...eerily familiar, yet he couldn't quite recognize who it was. Ah, well. At least he had company. In the meantime, what did the voice mean by—
Oh. His right foot was bound with rope to the wall. Not good.
"No use trying to leave. Trust me, Kirby, I tried."
How did he know his name? "P...poy—?"
"Ah well. What are we supposed to do?" The voice interrupted, footsteps creeking the floor beneath them. "It isn't like one is allowed to..." A shape emerged from the darkness. "...or can escape from...death, can they, Kirby?"
The puffball gasped in shock. He whimpered, trying to find the words to describe or refute what he was seeing. Why, oh, why couldn't he find the right words to say...
"Oh...I know what you're going to say..." The shape leaned in further, tilting its head and revealing itself for the purple menace that it was. "M-Marx!" He yelled out as he gave his best Kirby mockery as he could. "Aren't you s'pposed to be dead, poyo?" He took a deep breath before resuming with his normal voice. "Oh, wouldn't you love to know, Kirby? I bet you really would love to know..."
He had been kidnapped by Marx. Kidnapped by Marx. The same Marx that had encouraged him to get a wish from the mighty Nova so he could selfishly take over Popstar! And now he was back, ready to torture him as vengeance, wasn't he? Kirby shrieked in agony, scurrying away from one of his great foes as quickly as possible, only resulting in him running into the wall where he was attached to.
Marx, rather than chuckle over the pink puff's rash and frankly stupid escape attempt, was genuinely confused. "Um, Kirby? I don't have hands, remember? Besides, I'm trapped in here, too."
"Stay away, poyo!" Kirby yelped, turning to face the jester. "Marx bad! Marx really really bad, poyo!"
"Heh. Thanks for the news flash."
He frowned. "Poyono! You stay away from me!"
"Relax! I not's like I can hurt you." Marx responded, now thoroughly fed up with his fellow captive's attitude. "Besides, I need your help, and you're certainly gonna need mine."
Kirby decided to settle down. Just slightly. He wasn't going to let this fiend manipulate him again. Having now regained some of his energy from the panic Marx had instilled within him not too long ago, he sat himself down with little issue. Marx sat in front of him, deciding now to wear his typical devilish smile.
"Let's make a deal, shall we?" said the jester.
"About what?" asked Kirby, not letting his guard down.
"I hate you. And you hate me. I get that." Marx explained. "But whoever placed us here seems to be wanting us to cooperate to escape. You see..." he turned toward a tipped over nightstand across the room. "There was a key on that table there that opens that door..." He now faces a wooden door with a lock on it, with a window covered by iron bars near its top. "The lock's too high for either of us to reach it, and..." He chuckled. "Well, I don't have hands, so...yeah."
"You want me to put key in door?" Kirby's speaking skills were far from perfect, but sufficient enough in this context to both communicate and understand Marx's request.
"Please, Kirby? Please?" Marx stressed that last please very hard, stretching out the word for as long as he could.
Kirby grumbled, trying to think of alternatives, but soon recognized that he had few other options available to him. He begrudgingly accepted Marx's request. But that was it! One favor! Once they escaped this strange place, they would become bitter rivals once more. Or as bitter as a jester bouncing around on his favorite ball and a puffball who bided his time sleeping beneath trees, playing around with some kids, and slaying demon beasts would call a rivalry. He nodded in agreement.
"Excellent! Now...lemme see what I can do here..." Marx walked over to Kirby's rear to investigate the rope that bound him. "What to do about this?" He stomped on the knot. Hard. The sudden movement of the rope down Kirby's foot made him squeak in pain.
"Just run forward!" Marx encouraged him. "Whoever tied this thing did a terrible job keeping it tight!"
Kirby followed, and lo and behold, the knot slowly but surely undid itself once he started walking away from Marx and the back wall. Once free, however, he dashed towards the key, snatched it, and booked for the door.
"Uh? K-Kirby! Wait!" Marx yelled.
Kirby rushed to get the key in the keyhole, jumping up to try and reach it, just barely missing on most occasions. After a bit of panicked trial and error, he managed to stick the key in the lock and unlatched the door.
He reached the other side just as an enraged Marx made a mad dash towards Kirby's position. The puffball swiftly slammed the door behind him, and held it shut. When the purple jester collided with the wood, a loud thud was heard, the force of the impact so great that Kirby nearly fell over trying to hold the door in place.
He turned around, locating the lock on his side of the door. He jumped up again to reach it when Marx, in a strained, almost desparate plea, called out to him. "Kirby...please..." he softly moaned, but by then it was to late.
The door had been locked, and Kirby now found himself at the end of a long, stone hallway. He was exhausted from the sheer speed of what had just occurred, but it was well worth it in Kirby's eyes. He had stopped the sadistic Marx from being able to roam freely in Dreamland! Now, at long last, came the matter of getting out of here.
But before the puffball could continue, he heard something. Someone crying to themselves. It was Marx. But why? Had he not learned from his previous mistakes? Nobody would trust him. Best to leave him here.
And yet...there was a tingling feeling inside... A feeling of immense guilt. What was going on? Kirby thought to himself.
He listened in to Marx's crying, a few words occasionally choking their way out.
"K...Kirby...Please don't leave me here..."
"I don't wanna die alone..."
"W-why...? Why w-would you leave me here to die...?"
"Weren't...Weren't we...f-friends, Kirby...?"
The last one froze the puffball in his tracks. He had been so weak upon his awakening here that when Marx had surprised him earlier, he had only remembered him from his instincts. His mind erupted with memories, causing Kirby to tremble in their wake.
The two had met after Kirby had first dethroned Nightmare and his Nightmare Enterprise Corporation. Well, actually, it was called the New Enterprise and """Merit""" Corporation, but it had always rendered in his mind as Nightmare, as that was who truly controlled said company.
Kirby didn't initially know why his train of thought brought up that random, irrelevant piece of information when he remembered that it was Marx that had told him that. Back when they first met.
Marx was like the companion Kirby never had. Sure, he had his mentor and fellow Star Warrior, the mysterious Meta Knight, as well as the cabinet minister's children, Tiffany "Tiff" Fumu Ebrum, the older, more caring older daughter, and Theodore "Tuff" Bun Ebrum, the more rabscallious yet charming younger brother. But Marx was vastly unlike any of them, and their friendship more meaningful, especially as time went on. In particular, once the children had begun to grow up, their bond was somewhat unmatchable. He remembered the times they sat out together, gazing at the stars, telling each other about their dreams, traveling through all of Dreamland.
And then there was the Sun and Moon incident, where all good things came to an end. All at once, their unbreakable friendship was snipped to pieces when Marx, his selfish desires warped beyond recognition by Nova, wished to rule all of planet Popstar. Kirby was forced to clean up the mess, culminating in a final battle where he slew the monster his friend had become. He remembered the horrific, taunting screeches and disfigurements on his face, yet when Kirby at last thrust his sword upon his former friend's darkened heart, he could hear the faint whisper of his friend's voice — his real voice — beg for forgiveness. Beg for salvation from this corruption of his soul and mind. And Kirby, the renounced Hero of Dreamland, just turned his back on that faint whisper, disregarding it as just that...and sobbed.
He would barely move on from that point in his life. The experience had traumatized the young puff more so than the battles against NME — or NMEC...technically — ever could've hoped. He had stayed alone in his hut for days on end, mourning his best friend not for his friendship but for his betrayal. He ultimately told himself it was for the better to just let it all go in the end, yet no friend could ever match Marx. Never again. At least Dreamland could rest safe without worrying about a tyrant ruling over it...
The nightmares came next. Marx, even in death (supposed death?), affected the fragile Kirby. Not even the might of the Fountain of Dreams could rid Kirby of the onslaught of terror that cursed the boy's nights where the purple joker had appeared. But even this too soon fell numb to Kirby.
But then he remembered their latest crossing of paths. In their latest adventure together. Kirby didn't entirely trust Marx during the whole endeavor, but it seemed as if some of the old flames of friendship had, at last, been rekindled and reconciled to an extent.
Marx didn't entirely know how or why he had survived, either. But Kirby, ever-famed for his forgiving nature, was willing to allow Marx this second opportunity. And Marx truly was willing to give it his all this time around. It was just like — no — better than the old days. He had actually chosen to go on the adventure with him! If one thing had changed, it was that Marx was far more confident in himself than he had been prior. At one point, he and Marx were looking over the cliff side during sunset. He remembered his face turning hot red when he leaned in closer to Marx's side. It was...beautiful... It seemed, at long last...after all this pain...
"Kirby?" the jester sniffed. "Are...are you okay...?"
Kirby hadn't realized that he himself had been crying. He hadn't realized that he himself had been sobbing softly into his paws.
He had dreamed for so long for Marx to come back to him. For them to be friends again. At long last, after much pain and hardship...that dream was coming true...
And here he was. Actively destroying his own dreams right in front of him. Actively giving in to his nightmares of the devilish Marx that had haunted him for so long. What had he done...?
He collapsed to the ground, sulking in a pool of his own tears.
"I...I already said I was s-sorry, Kirby..." Marx murmured on the other side. "What else must I say to convince you...?"
Kirby remained motionless. He didn't want to move. Not anymore.
"Do I have to do something...?" Marx pleaded. "Must I do something to convince you...?"
"M...Marx..." he barely spoke. He couldn't speak. The raw emotion had overtaken him.
"Do I...Do I have to die again to appease you...?"
M-Marx! What are you saying...?
"I-I'll sit here, then..."
No, Marx, no!
"I'll sit and rot here...I'll die right here...for you...and only for you, Kirby..."
Marx, d-don't leave—
The crying across the door stopped.
A sense of determination erupted within Kirby's being. He wasn't going to let this happen... Not again...
He stood himself up, jumped as high as he could, unlocked the door, and swung it open. He rushed inside to find Marx had already slumped up against the door's frame.
"M...M-Marx?" he mumbled.
No response. It was too late, wasn't it?
The tears returned. More numerous than ever. He would've begged for Nova to resurrect his friend, but he already knew what Nova had done to Marx and what he, subsequently, did to Nova.
And so he begged to his deathly friend instead.
"Marx..." he sobbed. "C-come back..."
No response.
"Please, Marx! Please..." Kirby approached the unmoving corpse. "Don't leave me again, poyo...!"
No response.
"M...Marx?" he whispered again, a look of utter despair on his face.
There was no response. Kirby covered his eyes in sadness and shame.
He had done it again. He had killed Marx again.
He had murdered Marx again. He had murdered Marx again in cold blood...
He had failed. He had failed to save his friend.
"I...I forgive you...Marx..." was the last thing the pink puffball would say — the last thing he could say — before the sweet release of the cold came over him, and he again landed face first on the hardwood floor. After all that he had been through...he at last wanted it all to end. Right here. Where the murderer would, in a twist of fate, realize the pain they had caused and end themselves.
Now...now would be a great time to die...
"That's all I wanted to hear..."
Kirby gasped. He looked up toward Marx. Marx groaned uncomfortably, his large, soft eyes slowly opening, his body shifting itself...
It was nothing more than a faint murmur, barely audible at all. Yet Kirby had heard it. And his heart melted for the third time as he rushed to embrace his armless friend.
When pulled into this hug, Marx was initially confused. But when Kirby's attempt to cry yielded no tears, the rest having already been used, the jester saw it best to pat his friend on the back, to ease the emotional distress.
Neither of them had the slightest clue what they were doing here, who had brought them here, where they were exactly, or why they were here. But at least they won something for each other's sakes. For each other's hearts. And maybe even for everyone else's, too.
And that, at the very least, was a start.