I promise I'll get somewhere with the plot I'm trying to write. I'm just worried that I'm not getting enough words into these chapters... hopefully this is less vague than the first chapter. ^^" Sorry if it's a bit long.
Also, a little note: there's a change in POV whenever I add a horizontal line to separate sections. Just thought I'd make that clear now.
"A new roster? Again?"
Pit squints at the screen, replaying the clip, his eyes widening when the trailer reveals the silhouettes stood in front of the famous unevenly-crossed sphere, an image portrayed with flickering flames burning fiercely in the background.
"This direct...it means…!"
It's not totally difficult for us to get our hands on the plans our creators have for us in the somewhat near future. When you're in the universe that practically has access to anything their world decides to invent (the Internet being one of their most useful innovations, I have to admit) you know if you've got another life-risking story, quest, adventure to put up with. And hopefully survive. You also know if you're potentially going to be dead after said plan, but there's a difference between being a genuinely dead idea or being an idea that's theoretically dead, but still exists as an idea. Thankfully, our creators come through for us 99.98% of the time and we stay alive a little longer – not that we don't trust them or anything, but. You know. It's very difficult to explain.
In terms of the Smash tournaments, Master Hand – our "boss", in a way – was usually the one to inform us of the upcoming changes to the arrangements. New stages, new training facilities planned, new items for us to try out.
And, of course, a new roster.
They say friends come and go. I like to think of everyone that's cramped into this stuffy manor as family. It's pretty cheesy, and my reputation would be ultimately ruined if anyone caught me uttering those words, but when you've stuck around the mansion for nearly 11 years and gotten to know everyone who's received their invitations to the banquet at some point in time, you wind up attached to all the familiar faces. Even when you hate them, when they're the last people you want to see that day, and you wish they weren't even there, you still...like them somehow, you'd still miss them if they did leave, and you pray deep down inside that those you're especially close to stay here for just a little longer. I suppose the word for that's something like "friendship", except it's more than that, isn't it? Maybe that's one of the reasons why I'm so attached to this old rickety house that's existed for a couple of decades.
Some of us have the advantage of almost automatically being selected to stay for the next era of tournaments. Take the original 12, for example. Sometimes we call them the Old Vets – short for "veterans", of course, even though Shulk joked once that they should all dress up in vet outfits for the sake of their nickname (resulting in a terribly rough punch in the face from Samus). No one argues with their automatic acceptance, because they've been in this mansion since the tournaments started. They have way more knowledge and experience than any of us that were invited later on; the household would be chaos if it weren't for the vets pointing out locations, basic etiquette and culture, and even the hidden secrets of the manor that actually kept it running as well as it did. Evicting one of the originals would be like ripping one of the rooms out of the mansion, and burning all the memories and furniture stuffed in it.
It's not always as easy for veterans who joined later. Some of them do end up being characters you expect to get their letter, sooner or later, but even some of them end up leaving the mansion, sometimes for stupid-sounding reasons. Partly, this is because Master Hand deemed them "unworthy" of continuing to take part in the tournaments, but then and again, you can't really blame him when even he's being influenced one way or another by our creators. After all, they decide who transfers over to the next game.
The room starts to burst into excited whispers and murmurs, as we all try to process what we've just watched again. Then the explosion of excitement finally blows, and everyone's crescendoed into high-pitched squeals and screams over the fact that we're going to be killing each other for sport for another few years - but with more people.
"Well, looks like we'll be back in action again, Ike!" Pit turns to me and grins brightly. He's just as overly optimistic as almost every single other person in this place, albeit a little mischievous, but he's one of the only people here that make the whole event bearable in the first place.
"Technically, we're already in action anyway. You know the tournament eras just happen forever until a new game's announced."
"Yeah, but new games mean that the tournaments keep happening with people who're still interested in them, because there's new stuff coming. That trailer," he nods, "is now the highlight of my day."
"Aren't you worried about who's going to get cut?"
There's a short pause, coupled with a frown that flashes on and off of Pit's face, before he decides to actually reply.
"Well, you know, even if some of us get cut, it isn't as if we aren't allowed to visit! We get treated as visitors, sure, but just imagine how much less fun it'd be if Master Hand kept us shut up in here without anyone coming round to say hello. He's awfully nice, to let us have people visiting in the first place. I'd be real disappointed if I was banned from the manor after being cut or something."
"You do have a fair point." I only just realise that Link's made his way over to us to join our conversation, before I notice his vaguely disappointed expression written on his face.
Link sighs tiredly, looking out of the door leading into the hallway of the manor.
"I'm gonna miss this place a lot."
He tries to smile a little, but it comes out sadly and the dejected look in his eyes only becomes more painfully obvious. Pit suddenly (attempts to) throw an arm around him, slightly missing, but beaming up at him. (Times like these are when the sheer height difference between the two is subtly funny.)
"Hey, don't be all gloomy like that. You're not seriously going to forget everything we've been through, are you?" Winking, he adds, "You're always welcome back here, Greenie."
I shrug. "Or, you know, we might just happen to all be cut together. Then we can have a reject-party or something with anyone else who's been cut."
Pit's eyes sparkle with intensity. "Oh, boy, that sounds fun!" he exclaims. "I heard the guys who got cut from Brawl did something like that. Nana and Popo talked about it once."
"We'd better start planning, then." I grin.
And then the three of us start laughing, together, the way it's been since we've gotten together. True, we were brought together by - disaster, that's probably the right word for it. But what I find most beautiful is the way all of us (not just us three, but everyone in the manor) still managed to blossom bonds I'd never imagine happening out of unexpected meetings, coincidences, whatever you want to call them. Was it fate? That doesn't matter. Even now, the small community we've somehow built up still thrives on the same bonds we established all those years ago. They're still engraved here, in the planks, in every nook and cranny of this manor, and they won't disappear any time soon. That's definitely my ultimate reason for wanting to stay here. Call me sentimental, but it's one of the only things that keep me going, sometimes.
I don't want that to ever end.
It's like a forest fire raging inside of me. The flames are impossible to douse.
No matter how many times I try to make them help me stop it, it never works.
I was more hesitant to use this method of "training" than my brother, but even still, I was eventually convinced to put it into force. He told me it would help calm down the fire. Yet what frightens me every time I have to show it - release the true Core of my being and my brother's - is knowing how colossal the risk that I put my fighters at truly is. Even their trophy forms cannot always preserve them properly. They are such delicate, precious ornaments I must protect, for they are so, so delicate that a single speck of dust on them could alter the Creator's world immensely, and the last thing I could hope to do is to act as the very catalyst that sends not only their world, but our beloved universe, to sudden death. In a single second, our part of the Multiverse could vanish in that instant.
Why I, and my fellow brother, was entrusted with the power of the Core by our own Creator, I still do not know. It seems that all those in this world look up to us, for simply carrying the Core in our hands. Because we hold the essence of their very lives. As such, they must feel obliged to trust us, to trust that we will not betray them. They know if we ever did try to, that we know what consequences we would face by trying to alter their existences - and our own. Although in more recent years, I notice, from time to time, how the faith that was once willingly placed in myself, declined into trust more hesitantly handed over to I, the bearer of their lives. But during those years, that time, even I wasn't powerful enough to escape the clutches of him. Master I may be, for the sake of the story our dear Creator had written and woven to take place in our world, he had been created to overpower us. A beast conceived only to make us suffer...just to please a crowd of adoring fans? To give them something to look forward to?
After all, that is our only purpose for existing. Quite convenient, as it eliminates one of many ultimate questions one may pose. An easy answer: we serve as an entertainment purpose. Nothing more, nothing less. What makes them think that anyone in that distant world, light years away, actually has any sort of attachment to us?How could someone solemnly, unconditionally, love something or someone that isn't real?
I am beginning to finally understand what my true duty is. The Core that we control is a monster within itself, manifested by the sin of our selfish existence; if we remain any longer, then we shall only cause more havoc and suffering.
The only way I can honestly protect everyone and everything will be to ultimately destroy the Core.