Author's Note: 4/14/12

Me, deprive this section of an actual, legitimate, wholesome story that takes time to write? Never!
I've been noticing a severe decline lately in the quality of the fics that have been popping up lately. It's frustrating, and a little unfair, if you ask me—since I highly doubt that most people who are posting now have spent this much effort into writing what they write.

But regardless of that, though, even if I'm the last person in the world who still does take the time and the effort to produce quality writing, I'd still do it.

Content notes: I already had this chapter's prologue written before I published the fifth chapter. Initially I was going to have the following prologue for chapter 5, but then I found that it only made sense for Wolfwrath to be introduced before he got sent out on the battlefield. Will Meta cross paths with him soon? That's a good question.

With that said, enjoy.

"Pawn to D3."

The two opponents were back on their checkered battlefield again, resuming their game of chess. On the black side was Nightmare and his legion of demon beasts, and on the white side, Meta and the Galaxy Soldier Army. They had made many moves since the first time Meta had been invited to the game. And now the basis of the game was developing, the pieces were moving out of their neat little rows and spreading out in preplanned formation, finding the quickest route to set up, trap and capture the opposing side's king.

Nightmare propped up his elbows on the playing field, the rest of his body too large to be seen by Meta, and his arms blended into the expanse of swirling, all-encompassing stars. Neither of the two did as much as twiddle their thumbs or stomp their foot in impatience, for fear of showing any weakness.
Foolish, Nightmare thought, as he grasped his left bishop between his thumb and index finger, sliding it down on a diagonal to the white square in the middle of the board. Meta's own inexperience had led him to play too defensively, and he did not even have the foresight to read Nightmare's moves or seek to exploit his agressiveness.
Both of them had not yet lost pieces, but in terms of setup, Nightmare had the higher ground. A black bishop and pawn were already occupying the two center squares, ready to attack.
His plan was to get control of the center, where he could snipe off Meta's valuable pieces and finally set him up in checkmate. It would definitely take some time, but he had little faith that Meta would be able to stand a chance against any strategy.
Although much as he wanted to defeat the boy then and there, he decided to leave his queen where it was. A quickly-ended, easy battle was never a fun battle. He could afford to let Meta learn through experience, struggle a little in front of him, and finally defeat him once he was tired out. And plus, even while going at a fraction of full force, he could still win with a breeze.

"Rook to A6."

Meta watched as Nightmare placed the piece down on its respective square, studying its features. This was the monster that had attacked him from the very beginning—the robotic one with the mace and the silver cross etched into its body. How long ago that moment seemed—it was as if he'd been with the GSA his entire life already—but in reality, it was only a matter of several weeks ago, maybe a month before, since he'd come into the prescence of the Stars.
As Nightmare retracted his bony fingers, Meta scanned the rest of the opposing ranks and saw details that he'd never noticed before. Some of them were brighter than before, as if they suddenly had life breathed into them. Now most of them gleamed with an ominous, ethereal glow, matching the brightness inside most of the pieces in his own ranks.

Meta shrugged this off and carefully took his left knight to F3. Looking carefully at its features, he saw that the piece's spherical body was a mottled, grayish blue color, brandishing a double-edged sword above its head. It was then he realized that it was him. The knight was made in his likeness, shaped after his form. And he'd deliberately put himself out on the battlefield, out onto an approaching onslaught of monsters.

But it was final. All moves were final, by Nightmare's rules. The best he could do was play out his mistake and act as if he was planning to do so. And thus...the white Knight made his first move on the chessboard.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that move, if I were you." Nightmare's voice boomed out over the board. "But alas, rules are rules. Plan to play accordingly."

He reached for his right knight and moved it out to B6, and Meta could not hide the shiver of fear that ran through him.

Before him was the magenta wolf—fearsome and fire-wreathed as the gateway to Hell. He'd seen the piece at least once, but when it was dormant. Now it felt alive, the bright green gem on its forehead gleaming audibly—and for a short split-second it was as if he could hear the gnashing of its teeth.
And that made him wonder: what made these pieces feel so alive? He glanced back at the Galaxy Soldier Army and he saw that all of the pieces with Warp Stars on them had the same kind of 'life' breathed into them, save for a few pawns that held an exception. Perhaps—were these pieces based off the people themselves? Maybe they were like voodoo dolls, with movements that corresponded and dictated the movements of the image-bearer, in which the piece was made in their likeness. If so, then that put Meta's last move onto a higher level of risk more than anything else—if that knight on F3 was taken out...what would become of him?

He looked at his knight, the magenta wolf, and back to his knight again, with fear in his eyes. And Nightmare picked up on his reaction, chuckling to himself and stifling a bout of laughter with his open palm.

"Let us stop here for today. It has been fun—but surely, the game will pick up speed soon enough."

And as he finished speaking Meta disappeared, dissolving into the endless framework of stars, leaving the reality he visited in his dreams and returning back to the reality he lived out by the day. When he was completely sure the boy was gone, Nightmare craned his head back and roared in delight, swiping at the air with his outspread fingers.

"Cower in fear, boy! Yes, cower and weep to your heart's content! Bow to my mercy for sparing you of an early death! Muahahahaa!"

Gasping for breath in the riles of laughter, Nightmare caught his sanity back and drew in a series of long, deep breaths, calming himself down. But the feeling of anger, of hatred and all of those repulsive things...still remained.

"Meta...you—and your army—will burn to the ground. Or...as I should say...Meta Knight."

And he, too, turned away and left the battlefield, leaving the ongoing game of chess behind.

Chapter 6: Evil Arises

-Meta-

That night, I could barely sleep.

It wasn't that I couldn't fall asleep—no, I was far too tired to be asleep at that point. Even after Kabu had worked his magic on my Warp Star, Arthur still pressed on with my training and pushed me to my absolute limits. We sparred, we ran; we did everything that Nonsurat had done to the majority of the Squad, except one-on-one. Pain and pride had no true meaning to me until that day. I now knew pain—because my own blood had been spilled to show me what it was—and I now knew pride—because through my suffering, it was lost. At least with Arthur, I had the privilige of only having him see me humiliated.

A shaft of Ripple Star's stardust-tasting moonlight seeped through a thin barred window on the opposite wall. These were real barracks we were in. No private one-roomed suites or run-down buildings; everyone in the Squad was put in the same room, stacked in claustrophobic bunks of three. We were all in the same predicament together. At least I had the luck to be assigned to the top bunk. While it would make my mornings harder to start, it'd give me the security of being high up at night.

I rolled over on my side, tossing the thin white sheets with my feet. A waxing crescent moon rose in the sky and dappled the patterns of the window panes onto the wall behind me. I yawned and switched positions countless times, trying to find sleep lying on my back, lying on either side, and finally lying facedown—but no sleep came. I tried calming my thoughts, but I had none in my mind at all. My brain felt strangely active, yet I was not even preoccupied with something at the moment. Slow seconds blended into minutes as I kicked the ceiling boards with my feet, twiddled my thumbs, and tried many other things, all in vain, to quiet myself down and will myself to sleep.
In desperation I reached for the belt that hung on my bedpost, slipping my hand into the pouch, and I emptied its contents onto the rickety spring mattress. There were only three things I had in my possession, currently, one recently added—the silver double-edged sword I'd earned from training, the knife, and the Warp Star. Of course, it was the Warp Star I was looking after. It had helped me sleep during even the most uncomfortable nights.

I rolled over again, propping up my pillow so I could lie down and hold the star up to admire it. The way it caught the moonlight of Ripple Star compared to the way it reflected the candlelight that I had at home was no different. Hmph. I closed my fist around the Warp Star and tucked it back into the pouch along with the knife. I had to stop thinking about the past, now. Forgetting it was the only way to move forward. Sir Arthur himself had even said it earlier.

But my newfound train of thought was soon hijacked when the soldier in the bunk below me groaned and kicked the mattress above him, causing me to nearly drop my belt, Warp Star and all.

"Psst. Hey, Meta!" Jecra rasped. "So you're not the only one who's awake at this ungodly hour."

I nodded, and when I realized that he couldn't see me, I quickly whispered, "Yes."

"Hey...what in the world could be keeping you up for so long? You're not thinking about stuff again, are you?"

"...No. Not exactly. I just...can't sleep."

"Then you can try counting sheep. You ever heard of that before?"

"No, what is that?"

"It's when you imagine a flock of sheep in a pasture at night. You count them as they jump over a fence one by one, until you either get to a hundred or fall asleep. Got that? Try it, if you want."

"I will, thank you. Good night, Je-" I cut myself off, my lips stopping right at the first syllable of his name.

He didn't hear, and it was only until a matter of minutes when I heard him snoring gently under me again. I sighed, surrendering myself to the pillow and the bedsheets, trying the technique that Jecra had told me about. 'Counting sheep', he called it. What kind of culture had the urge to reccomend counting animals as a way to cure insomniacs? Oh, the insanity of society's imaginations! And partially, my inability to interpret idioms was part of what to blame, as well.
But at this rate, I was willing to do anything. So I closed my eyes, imagining dozens of fluffy white animals grazing in a hilly pasture, dancing over my closed eyelids and jumping over a fence.
One...Two...Three...It was useless. Soon enough, the flock of sheep grew horns and dark eyes, and instead of a fence, they leaped over hurdles on a track that was once the pasture. Ugh...I couldn't even imagine sheep without thinking about the crazed training regime I was going through.

My hands reached for the Warp Star but found their way to the new sheath that was added to my belt—Arthur had given it to me as a safe way to keep my weapon. I grasped the hilt and slowly drew it out, the cold blade making a metallic, sharp noise as it scraped against the leather scabbard. Admiring the weapon I sat up straighter in bed, resting the flat of the blade in the palms of my hands. It was truly a beautiful sword; even in the dim moonlight, it shone as if it was reflecting the light of the sun. The golden pommel guarded my hand perfectly, as if it was fit for me to wield, and its balance made it light and agile, from every sharpened centimeter of the blade down to the keen point.
As I beheld the beauty of the weapon once more, turning it over and around with a gentle flick of my wrist, I noticed my reflection on the steel—the body as blue as the enveloping night; the white, tired eyes with a tint of yellow staring back at me.

I regretted lying to Jecra about the fact that nothing was occupying my mind, although I could justify it by saying that it was merely a lie of omission. Truth be told, I was very occupied with something. I knew I couldn't say anything about the chess game with Nightmare. Not to anyone, not even Jecra. Not even Sir Arthur knew about it. It was a thing that happened in my sleep; whether they were dreams or outright reality, I wasn't quite sure. Sometimes I was conscious, sometimes it felt like I was dreaming. But one way or the other, it did happen.
...And it haunted me. The way I manipulated the pieces—made to look so much like the comrades and leaders I was slowly beginning to build relationships with. I was always one who made good use of power—I liked it, but I never loved it. And the position I played in the chess game put me into an uncomfortable position, forcing me to make decisions that might as well be life-altering.
But that one piece—the one I'd looked to and had seen myself within it—that haunted me the most. The strange aura that glowed from within it, the unsettling and terrifying mixture of feelings I had when I had deployed it—myself—on the playing field. What would become of me? If my piece was captured, would I be killed too?

Suddenly, as the moon disappeared behind the clouds and wove its way out again, it all became clear to me. This was my chance to prove that the chess game was real. If the moves I made in the game corresponded with the happenings of reality, then it would definitely raise my levels of suspicion even further. But if they did not...I could simply stop taking my dreams seriously and just dismiss them as me being clinically delusional.

But still...it was worth a try. I still had to play by the rules, but nothing prevented me from experimenting with the boundaries. Meta, the chessmaster...I liked the sound of it. If I could not yet fight physically...then perhaps I could take part in the battle by fighting with my mind.
I shivered again, sheathing the sword and pulling the sheets back over my mouth and eyes. Testing my plan would have to wait until morning. For now, the only thing I could do was wait. And sleep, if I possibly could.
And so I sat dormant, waiting until the faint hours of morning when the moon sank down and the sun rose again.

"All right, all right! Rise and shine, soldiers! Up on your feet!"

I awoke out of the little sleep I could manage with a jump, the sharp sting of a klaxon ringing thrice in my ears. Out of reflex I grabbed my belt, kicking off the covers and fastening my belt on as I slid down the ladder on the top bunk, and my feet hit the ground running.
Fifteen minutes. That's all they gave you. Fifteen minutes for a man to snap out of it, hop out of his bunk, wipe the sleep off his face, shower, and get himself suited up and geared for action. Though it was only my second morning of true training, I'd already done this procedure a few times before. It was amazing, how there was no such thing as leisure in the Army. And for once, I liked it. I was never one to be bored, but the sheer fact of having something to work towards instead of lying around languidly all day was something new and refreshing.

It's scary, how fifteen minutes can pass without you knowing it. And Nonsurat had said that these fifteen minutes of grace were still considered as sweet time. He said that in the real situation of war, the most any soldier could get was five minutes—and if you were lucky, three. On the battlefield, every minute mattered. One late soldier could result in the downfall of an entire platoon, and every single second mattered and could decide between life or death. So, for us, there were no excuses to be made. And definitely not if we couldn't get ready when given fifteen minutes to do so.

As usual, the new routine had gone by with the blink of an eye—and soon enough I was standing at axe-point in Nonsurat's ranks, holding a salute as stiff as a steel rod. We ran, this time increasing the number of laps to six. It was excruciating, especially because I could barely even manage four laps the day before—and now he was pushing the requirement to a mile and a half. Nevertheless, by conserving my energy and pushing my thoughts aside, I managed to step over the final finish line without feeling like I was going to die.
But it wasn't over yet—in Nonsurat's own words: hell no, it wasn't over. Now I could see firsthand what kind of physical torture the members of the Squad were susceptible to—and to an extent, his level of expectations as well.

It would be a long time until the morning meal—not until we'd stretched out every single muscle in our bodies and pushed ourself to the very limit. We sparred, we sprinted, and we were shouted at well into the morning. I managed well; only by shutting off my thought process did I get by without downright giving up or passing out. Granted, my reputation and pride was on the line. If I didn't want people to think I was weak, then I might as well make it a fact and a truth.
This mission statement got me far, but it was only until the final 'warmup' of the day when it was disproved. My muscles were sore, my core was dizzy, and I was holding onto pride and strength by a mere thread. And the tip of the axe ground into the sand of the equipment area, where the pull-up bars hung tall.

"All right, you lot! Get on the bars and stay in pull-up position—you hear me? And once you're on, stay that way!"

I looked up vulnerably at the height of the bars—there was no way I could reach them, even if I jumped! And if I did manage to get on them, I wouldn't even be able to hold on for a minute. But regardless, there was no giving up here...and with a swing of my arms and a bold leap of faith, I caught onto the bars in a strong overhand grip.
This was easier than I'd expected. But maintaining my eye level above the bar was the true challenge. With a shudder of pain in my arms, my muscles strained and I locked my joints into the right position, so that I could revel in my height and stare at the distance between me and the ground.

"Good. Nothing short of weak! Now, boys, here's the catch: none of you are getting breakfast until you count to ten—aloud! None of you can say the same number at the same time—and if anyone so as much as falls, falters, or messes up, you're starting all over. Got that? This is your chance to learn how to work together, men. This is why you chose to come here, and out of the kindness of my heart, I'm giving you the chance to redeem yourself. But I won't say anything except 'start over' until you've done it. Now get to it!"

As soon as Nonsurat finished talking, there were already five people shouting "One!".

"Start over!"

"Wait, guys!" Jecra shouted over the two others who were agressive enough to begin again. "We have to come up with something. There has to be an order we go in!"

"Yeah, says who?" argued Palamedes. "You're not our boss anymore! And who said that we could talk?"
I shot a glance at Nonsurat, but he was detached as ever, watching us suffer from afar. "He never said we could not!" I muttered, but my words were drowned out by Pollux, who hung directly across from me. "Either way, this is our time at waste! Do you intend to finish this or not?"

In frustration, Atelier lifted up her head and yelled over the circle. "One!"

Deneb and Palamedes ruined it by both yelling "Two!".

"Start over!"

We tried and tried again in vain, only managing to maintain the rally up to three. By then I was getting tired, almost ready to drop off like a dead bird out of a tree. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead and stung my eyes, but I could not let go of the bar and wipe it away. My arms twitched, and I cautiously tried to maneuver my hands into a reverse grip, in hopes to ease the pain. But I had miscalculated—and a slip of my thumb caused me to fall flat on the ground, landing on my feet and spraining my joints in the process.

"Get up, soldier!"

I winced and got back on the bar with a running jump, in disbelief for letting myself fall like that. And we pressed on and tried again, again and again until I could stand it no longer.

"Guys!" Jecra yelled in desperation. "We can't do this without a plan. Unless we have a set order, none of us will leave by the end of today. Go in the order we enlisted! That's the easiest way."

And all of a sudden, in lieu of the way Squad 19 always operated, everything began to work. Lamorak started off as one, followed by Atelier and Jecra, who were two and three. Then came Pollux, who was fourth. Palamedes and Deneb were five and six.
But then in that split-second after Deneb called out his number, I was confused. Without counting Jecra, I was the Squad's seventh soldier. But in technicality, if Jecra was counted...would I still be seven? Before I could think any further or break the chain, I called out seven and hoped that Vega, the only remaining soldier, would catch my mistake. He didn't, claiming eight instead, and nine and ten were covered by Lamorak and Atelier respectively.

And it was done! The entire Squad sighed collectively and fell in unison, grateful to be let off the hook at last. It was this quirk I was slowly getting used to—why was it that whenever we were in normal circumstances, we never got along with each other, but no matter what, when the time came, we were always able to come back together as one? It had happened many times before. Once in bringing my initiation, and again on the Excalibur. In all honesty, it was the only way we were able to get to Ripple Star alive.

In my celebration of letting my tension relax, I barely noticed Nonsurat as he marched back to us, stabbing his halberd into the ground in anger.

"Hey! Who said you could get off without my permission? Get the hell back on the bars, all of you! And in a different order than what you finished with!"

"What?" A collective groan arose from the Squad as we reluctantly mounted the pull-up bars again.

"You're not getting down from there unless I tell you to!"

"Yes, Sir!"

I sighed, hoping that everyone else would have the foresight just to go in reverse order.

It was going to be a long, long day.

Breakfast came and went—and no signs of chess games influencing the events of my life, but the only thing I remotely looked forward to was spending another training day in the forest with Arthur. Good thing I was not denied that right.

Arthur and I traveled the now-familiar path of the forest, drawing in the song of the birds and the sound of rustling leaves and most of all, the sweet, stardust-tasting air as the wind blew gently by. It was peaceful, indeed...but oddly, not as peaceful as it was the day before. An unsettling feeling ground into my stomach, tensing up at my sides, and the fear materialized into my right arm, and I pawed at the hilt of my sword, anxious to draw it for protection.

"Sir," I said, trying to keep my calm demeanor and the rising tension down. "This morning, Squad 19 mentioned an enlistment order. If so...then what number would that make me?"

"The seventh," Arthur replied. "As far as I am concerned, the soldier called Vega is the eighth. He joined the Squad the night after you arrived, when you remained unconscious."

So I was truly number seven...that explained how no one seemed confused.

"But sir...If...Jecra and the others joined the Army before me...what happened before I met them?"

Abruptly, Arthur stopped walking, dead in his tracks.

"That is...That is a long story, Meta. Are you sure you want to know about that?"

"Oh, no, not really. I was just wondering," I muttered before I could think. "If it's a hard subject that I don't deserve to know about, then don't tell me about things that are better left unknown."

The General refocused himself and kept on walking, making sure that the things he said were true. "Though at the heart of it...it's best that you know these things. There is only so much I can explain at one time, and only so much you can grasp as of now. But these are things you deserve to know, Meta. Because I trust that you will keep them well."

The two of us stopped at the clearing of the high ropes course, sitting on a fallen log that served as a bench for the people awaiting their turn on the course when it was in service. For a moment there was no sound but the rustle of the leaves in the trees as the wind blew by. It was here where Sir Arthur unsheathed his sword, holding it firmly and with power.

"What I now tell you has become a story of old," he began. "It was a long time ago. Eons and multitudes of generations past, in terms of mortal years. It was when the Emperor of Darkness—Nightmare—began his conquest of the universe." A cold, primordial anger rose in the General's throat, a glint of fire shone in his eyes at the mention of his one and only enemy.

"When he formulated his plans of domination, he decided to take the form of a company—one that sold goods for profit, one that could develop a monopoly. He knew that the hearts of sentient men craved consumerism, and the materialism in their lives was what he exploited. And when his production began, he made things, built as if they were mundane and harmless, but infused with the craft of some evil curse or malediction. And this caused the people—whomever was blind enough to buy his products—to be killed and taken over by the very things they bought and welcomed."

"He ran the company under many fronts, on many stars and many planets. And his preferred form of conquest was like this, in some way or the other. To woo a planet into falling for his business tactics, swindle them out of their money and resources...and until he was satisfied, he would take advantage of a planet until its forests were razed and its streams run dry. And then with a final wave of his hand...the things he sold would turn against their owners."

"Is this...Nightmare Enterprises?"

"Yes. That is just another name his company goes by. But his true name...is Holy Nightmare Corporation. And its C.E.O is none but the Emperor of Darkness himself...Nightmare..."

I stared back at Arthur in disbelief, my lips enunciating every syllable in wonder. "Holy...Nightmare...Co.?"

Another silent moment passed. It was Arthur who decided to bring up the subject again.

"Meta, have you ever heard of asbestos?"

The sudden question took me aback, as if it was random and almost unwarranted. "Yeah, it's a fireproof insulator that looks like white fibers. Why?"

"Why? Because it is also a carcinogen, Meta. If it gets into your lungs it becomes an irritant, and prolonged exposure can lead to lung cancer. In other words...it's a seemingly-harmless, useful product—and it causes death. Are you sensing a pattern here?"

I gasped at the realization. "Does that mean...Could it be that Nightmare manufactures asbestos only to kill innocent people?"

"Precisely. And many other things as well. Lead paint, defective packaged food, radioactive fuels, robots—just to name a few. The list goes on; there's not a single thing in any category Nightmare hasn't attempted to hold a monopoly on. But the real reason why he makes these things is to hide his true products. It's the demon beasts we fight."

"I heard before that Star Warriors were destined to fight, but they were called monsters."

"Essentially, they are—I suspect that if you heard about Nightmare Enterprises, you'll know them as monsters. That's nothing far from the truth. But monsters and demon beasts are the same thing. Either way, whatever you call them, they are made for only one purpose—destruction."

"And this is why," he said, standing and helping me up with a gentle hand. "You're going to fight one of his monsters today. Now normally, most soldiers would be fighting simulated demon beasts. In fact, I reckon that is exactly what Nonsurat is having the Squad do right now. But for you, my Meta...you will begin with the real thing."

A little further beyond the clearing where Kabu resided, the forest grew dark. Birds stopped singing. The ferns grew taller, drier, thicker, and more unkempt. The canopy of the trees filtered out more sunlight, giving the place into a moist, eerie atmosphere that made me uncomfortable and sent chills running down my spine.

Even the path had disappeared. I looked behind and saw that Kabu was long gone now, nowhere in sight—blocked by the massive layers of growth. It was easy to get lost here—just by blindfolding me and spinning me around a few times, I would probably never make my way out of this place.
Not far ahead, I began to see signs of civilization again. Or...more like signs of a dead civilization. The steel frame of a water tower lay collapsed in the fork of a tree, rusted until it was a garish brownish-orange. A row of dilapidated, overgrown stone structures wound around the trees. Not far ahead was a rotten-looking wagon, and when I approached it, I could see the skeleton of the driver propped up in its seat, its hands still positioned on the wheel.

"The remains of a bygone era," Arthur said with an ominous tone in his voice. "The Galaxy Soldier Army does not know what happened here, nor do the citizens of Ripple Star have records of this place ever existing. I found this place shortly after the fairies pointed us to Kabu. But all we know for sure...is that Nightmare has been here."

He and I stopped in front of a warehouse, or at least what used to be one—with the wooden plank walls knitted together through many layers of Kudzu vines, and the roof partially caved in.
"Are you afraid?"
Hesitantly, I nodded.
"Don't be. The Stars will always watch over you."

Sir Arthur stepped through the threshold with me in tow, and I found that the inside of the place wasn't as vulnerable-looking as the outside. The entire structure was reinforced with steel beams and the walls were metal-plated on the inside, which explained why it was able to last for as long as it did. Strangely, an old monitor screen hung on mechanical arms attached to the ceiling, presumably so that it could fold and be stored away and hidden in the support beams. But what piqued my curiosity was not how old the warehouse was—but the thing that was in the center of it.

What I saw was nothing short of science fiction—it was a circular raised platform adorned with glass plates and titanium supports, engineered and built like nothing else on the planet. A pointed spindle hung above it, and it rounded off to a red, globe-shaped point that was glowing—faintly and fading, but still in power nonetheless. It awed me how everything around it had already decayed and fallen apart, but this mysterious mechanism, though only barely weathered and laced with cobwebs, had survived and outlived all.

Arthur beckoned me to come with him and we walked over to the stack of crates that lay five feet away from it. He pushed away the top box to reveal a hidden panel with several unlabeled buttons on it, attached to a stand that suspended it from the ground.
"Meta, I want you to take a good look at this."

On the ground lay an open book, its pages faded yellow with age. I picked it up, dusting off the cover with my gauntleted hand. Illustrated on the cover of the book was none other than the sillouhette of Nightmare himself.

"You were right, Sir. Nightmare has been here!"

"Flip through it," he commanded, and I carefully turned the spiral-bound pages, flipping through page after page of illustrations containing the creations of the Emperor of Darkness. "Demon beast catalogue, war monster edition," I read aloud from the back cover.

"As to why the citizens of this civilization wanted that particular catalogue is unknown. Whatever the cause, we suspect that a beast from this volume caused the destruction of their settlement. But nevertheless...it will prove to be useful today."

Arthur placed his hand on the console and his finger hovered over the largest button. "You are looking at the demon beast transmitter, Nightmare's pride and joy. It is what sends his creations from his base of operations to his customers, through a level of technology that the GSA has yet to fully replicate. Today, we will be using it to download demon beasts. And you...you will fight them."

He took the catalogue and placed it on the floor, set open to a page with a picture of a blubbery, horned monstrosity and a caption below it. "War monster 00026-6B, Moon-class demon beast," he read from the caption. "Ah. So shamelessly mass-produced, it doesn't even have a name."

The General turned to me and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword, as if to salute me with this gesture. "In a moment, Meta, right after I press the download button, this demon beast will be your enemy. You will fight it, and you will kill it. Alone, they are vulnerable as soon as you strike through their weakness, but in groups of five or more...they can be lethal. I want you to remember nonetheless that this is a very real threat, and you may very well lose your life if you are not careful. Remember that you are no longer fighting me—while I may have shown you mercy, these demons will not. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Very well then. Download!"

With the press of a button, the transmitter sprung to life, sparkling with electricity as the beast materialized on the glass framed platform. In a blinding flash of light, the mechanism stopped—and before me stood a demonified walrus, with two curved tusks sharpened like scimitars and a horn like a drill bit mounted on its forehead. It reared its head and let out a bloodcurdling roar, slithering off the platform and upon its fall to the ground, it caused the foundation of the warehouse to shake.
I jumped back in surprise and unsheathed my sword, the reaction causing me to dodge an icy blast from the monster's mouth by a mere inch. I could feel the frost of the frozen jet stream gather on my arm, but I couldn't stand still and let the rest of my body become ice. But what was there to do? I couldn't bring myself to attack; no matter what, I knew that my blade couldn't penetrate through the monster's thick leathery skin or get through its defenses. Shivering, I ran behind the transmitter and circled over so that I was opposite of Arthur, who stood in the doorway, sealing off the only exit.

"Analyze it, Meta! See if you can find its weakness!"

Both my hands tightened around the hilt of my sword as I charged, aiming for the demon walrus' back flippers, only for it to kick me in mid-swing, without turning its head backwards, and it knocked me to the back wall of warehouse, collapsed in a crumpled heap.

"It is sensitive to noise," Arthur muttered quietly. "But its hearing is far stronger than its sight. See to it if you can exploit that!"

The demon beast turned around and lumbered towards me, its pointed, diamond-shaped eyes gleaming red. Grinning, the horn on its head began to spin, its head lowered as it charged at me, dragging its fat body along with an alarmingly fast speed. Before I could make contact with the beast, I jumped, using its exposed neck as a footstool to leap up again and grab onto the metal supports in the ceiling.
There I hung, tense and scared to even breathe, as the monster whipped its head around, looking for me. I held my breath as I examined its upper back, and the portions of its skin that seemed the most vulnerable. But I was quickly losing grip, and as my palms were damp with sweat it grew increasingly hard to keep holding on tight.
I shuddered. The tactic that came to me was nearly impossible for me to do, let alone plausible enough to pull off. The monster was still there, turning circles in confusion, looking in every direction but at the point directly above its head.

And that was when I struck. With a battle cry as faint as a whimper I dropped from the ceiling, holding my blade diagonal to the ground, and I winced as the blood splattered on my face as the sword hit home, severing through blubber and spinal cord and nerve endings. When my feet hit the ground, I came face-to-face with the headless body of the demon beast...and its decapitated head, sitting lifeless on the ground as it stared back up at me with empty, dead eyes.

I killed a monster. The realization hit me like the funnel cloud of a tornado. But before I could break down and stare in disbelief at the blood on my hands, the body of the monster began to spark with electricity. I tottered back in surprise, nearly hitting the opposite wall as the monster's body exploded in a storm of sparks, and when the dust settled it had completely disappeared, leaving no trace of its existence but the blood still smeared over my forehead.

The stained double-edged sword clattered on the ground at my feet, and I collapsed along with it. I was frozen in shock. I...killed something. For the first time, I'd drawn blood that wasn't mine. Intentionally.
I was no longer innocent, no longer pure. The blood that was set into my headband, dripping over my Warp Star, and soaked into my white gauntlets—that only proved it. And truly, from here on I was at a point where I could absolutely not run away. The deliberate killing of something had bound me into this Army. At least, that was what I felt. It was like crossing the threshold of the warehouse, from the forest and into the sight of the demon beast transmitter. It gave me an ugly, terrible feeling—as if it was some old, arcane evil, rising to power so that it could overwhelm me.

"Meta."

I barely noticed Sir Arthur when he strode over to my side.

"Look at me, Meta."

I looked up, and his hand was outstretched, his eyes gleaming with compassion. His gauntlets and armor were clean and bright. Then I glanced back at myself, dark and dirty and undeserving.

"A soldier shouldn't be caught up in fear and hatred. And there's no reason for you to mourn the death of a monster, either. You came here today so that you could carry out your mission, and I guarantee that you will many more times in the future. So cheer up, Meta. Don't drown yourself in these feelings, because it will only end up killing you."

Arthur reached down and helped me up, wiping the blood off my Warp Star until it was polished and gleaming brightly with its glorious glow. Although I couldn't see him smile, I was pretty sure he did.

"There...that's much better. Now how about we get you to Kabu right now?"

I nodded firmly, and Arthur's assurance was good enough to make me hop on my feet. "Yes, let's!"

"Under one condition, though, Meta."
"What is it?"

"After you're healed...you're coming right back for more."

Weeks passed since that visit to the warehouse.

In those weeks I'd grown stronger, far stronger than I'd ever been before. I couldn't say with confidence that the fear of death was still within me, but it was definitely receding, for sure. Of course, to face my fear with hopes of conquering it, I'd slain many more demon beasts—some real, some imitation. There were days where I'd spend almost the entire day with Arthur, sparring with him, walking with him, and, of course, enjoying his prescence. Yet also, there were days when I'd barely see him at all—and I spent those hours fulfilling my mandatory morning training with Nonsurat, running however many laps he ordered us to run, toughing through whatever form of torture he'd instill upon us next. Eventually, near the end of the first week, the number of laps we had to run maxed out at nine, totaling to just a little under five kilometers. It was unbelievable—it took time at first, but eventually, by the end of the second, I'd built up enough stamina to run the five kilometers in full. Perhaps the most interesting part of the day was when he put us through simulation training—running through exemplary wartime missions through the aid of some kind of advanced technology copied from Nightmare's own inventions, down to fully-functional, programmed demon beasts that could be produced solely for training soldiers. It was a new experience for me—going into a whitewashed room and having the walls morph into a virtual-reality simulator, complete with a battlefield and holographic demon beasts. All in all, I loved it. Not the fact that I was fighting—it would be immoral to ever enjoy fighting—but the essence of experiencing new things each day was good enough to make me excited.

How quickly time had passed, since my old routines were swapped out and replaced with new ones. Now it felt like this was the only life I'd ever lived and known...except I was pleased with it. The more I trained, the more I grew—as a soldier, as a person. Sir Arthur kept on mentioning it, that there was far more for me in store than what was on the surface, and for once, I began to think about the greater purpose of life. All my life I'd always wanted to reach for something that I thought was out there, but never had a chance to reach at. And now I'd reached it. Not only that, I'd found it, called to it, and nailed it into my heart. And it was then I realized that through my body, through my veins and my core and my innermost being...ran the blood of a Star Warrior.

And it was when I felt this feeling of inward direction the most, I was called and summoned before the General, Sir Arthur himself, and in their room of conference I stood before him, along with the three other Lieutenant Generals that were here for their one distinct purpose.

"Meta," the General announced in his firm, baritone voice.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do you know the reason why we called you here, Meta?"

"No, Sir."

"You are here...because of the plans ahead of you, Meta. The same plans we've discussed for the past weeks, those plans in the near future and of the events still yet to come. But anyway, we come to propose you a challenge—not a challenge you can refuse, but one that will test your ability as a rising soldier of the Stars."

I glanced at the three Lieutenant Generals standing behind Arthur, noting how rare it was for the four of them to ever be in the same place together. Sir Falspar, Sir Dragato, and even Nonsurat were present, all looking at me expectantly.

"Salutations, Meta," said Sir Falspar, the one wielding a sword. "We have heard much of you."

"All good things, apparently," added Dragato. "So we came to see if what Arthur said was true!"

Nonsurat said nothing.

"Well, there you have it," concluded Arthur. "Now you know what made us gather together. But if you want to be told plainly...then we propose to complete your final leg of training in a way that few have ever managed to complete before. We have analyzed the members of Squad 19 but found them all insufficient for this particular mission. And so we devised this—instead of going through another level of boot camp, you will receive firsthand experience of what it means to be a warrior–and be guided through by each of us, one General at a time. In other words, you will be trained by each of us and be put in four different missions—if you manage to complete all four successfully and come through alive, you will succeed.

"And...in other words...you are on your way to becoming a Knight."

Author's Note: 4/14/12

Now you have it—if you were waiting for me to give my take on the real backstory of HNM/NME (I use those names interchangeably), it's all in here. It's something I've wanted to put more depth to pretty much ever since I first saw the anime years ago, and I always thought that it was completely possible for Nightmare to have had an influence on our world. Who knew Nightmare could sell asbestos?
Can anyone figure out why this chapter's called 'Evil Arises'? Or why I keep on bolding the first letter of the chapter titles? Or why I spent so much time describing Wolfwrath earlier? [Hint: Foreshadowing. Confused? Don't worry about it]