A/N:

Straight action. This wasn't the most deep or rich chapter by any metrics, but it was one of the most fun to write. Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed it too, or consider joining the discord (aPVzn9X) if you like the story overall!

We'll see who wins ;)

Act I: Climbing the Mountain

Volume 8: Leaving Your Mark

Success is scary.

[ - Little Mac - ]

( - Mega Man 2 Medley | Super Smash Bros. Ultimate - )

Little sparks of fire erupted from the machines, as the unknown man's voice screamed, louder than ever. "THREE!"

"TWO!" Mind went blank, trying to recall Falcon's advice.

"ONE!" The vision returned. Ganondorf stood seven feet tall opposite me.

"GO!"

A fuse split and sparks burst. Ganondorf rocketed forward, feet extended. The pretty purple smoke eroded in the air.

I side-stepped briefly, not wanting to get hit by the monstrous attack.

He stopped right behind me.

I snapped a one, two-hit punch at the beast. He growled, guarding his face from both.

Again.

This time, he let his guard down too quickly, and both hits connected with a satisfying thwack.

Right to the face.

He shouted in surprise, falling to the main platform below. I rolled off the top plateau, meeting him. "LITTLE MAC DRAWS FIRST BLOOD AGAINST THE DEMON KING!" The crowd exploded in cheering, and my ear went hot with passion. It's just starting.

I faced him again. He faced me back. Unfazed by the punch, he ran forward with surprising speed. I put my guard up, preparing for a strike, but instead, Ganondorf's hand popped out and snapped onto my arm.

My wrist felt like it was breaking.

The floor, with all the rainbow coloured lights running through it, rushed up to me. It knocked the wind out, and I gasped for breath, already in the air.

A flash of vision came back, and the demon king grinned fiendishly. He leapt up, and one wicked knee slammed into my chest, then the second. THUD. THUD.

The pain shot through to my head, igniting a nerve, and fear swept through me.

No more.

I shot my arms behind me as I reached the ground, swinging my feet up to get back on my two legs, ready to catch the next attack. I would be on my guard.

It'll take more than that.

For a second, Ganondorf stood in front of me. Far enough for me to react to a sudden movement, but not close enough for me to strike. The stadium with its thousands of people turned to the background; I only heard my breathing, because I only wanted to focus on it.

"TWO STRIKES FROM EACH OF THESE FIGHTERS! LOOK AT THE WAY THEY LOCK EYES, IN THIS INTENSE STANDOFF…" I opened the bubble, for just a second, to hear the commentator's voice speak out. Something changed in that second, and suddenly, the man beast rushed forward. He jumped high, with an aerial overarm strike.

My hands flew up instinctively. Blood shot through my body, stone cold, as they met.

Retaliate.

In a second, I swept down, up, then slammed my right fist into his chin, fully compact, tense and furious. A ghoulish cry escaped his lips, before it was drowned out by the fanfare, the cheers.

Sudden comfort rose to the surface, and it was as though I was at home again. Their faces danced to the tune of their own ritual in my head, willing me forward.

This time WILL be different. He flew into the air, legs over his head, somersaulting onto the above platform.

I couldn't see through it. I had no idea where he was. But, he was above me.

Rising Uppercut! Pit's voice echoed, from that very same training session.

It felt right.

High-risk, high-reward. I spun upwards, and my fists met flesh, leather, armor, and he was at the tip of my knuckle. I saw the sky, the powerful beat of the night sky, and Ganondorf's face obscured it for just a second, shouting in surprise. I tucked into a ball, and everything was silently screaming at me, trying to catch my fall safely.

"THE ULTIMATE UNDERDOG IS LEADING THE MATCH BY A CONSIDERABLE MARGIN OVER THE DEMON KING!"

I was in his head.

I was in his head.

I'm finally pulling it off. I heard it more than I thought it. The speed of falling paralysed my legs together for a brief moment before I was on again.

Dropping through the top platform, Ganondorf's face betrayed his frustration. No doubt I would incur his wrath; he would be more impatient, play more risky, fish for stronger moves.

Then, I would win.

My adversary abruptly turned around, marching backwards away from me.

Do it.

It didn't cross my mind, until I felt my right fist burst into a beautiful blue blaze, a dazzling colour, my feet left the ground, and my eyes set dead on his back, my target, that it might be just bait.

I yelled out, swinging my arm at the apex of the jump. Someone in the crowd gasped.

But I hadn't spaced it properly.

I stopped, well short of him, and I saw his foot come down from an incredible, one-hundred-eighty degree stretch, and snap closed.

All of a sudden, I was on my back, facing the dreadful omnipresence of God again.

I remembered that he was still below me.

He was below me.

I got up abruptly to jump, but instead screamed.

My neck, my neck; it had pulled itself suddenly, from that Volcano Kick; my head couldn't move properly - it was stuck.

Swinging his brown hand below the platform, Ganondorf grabbed onto my ankle.

FUCK.

My vision watched his face as I was being spun violently, in the spin cycle of a vicious, nightmarish merry-go-round ride with plastic, murderous horses painted in blood, morph from a ghastly smile to a grimace of effort, and suddenly he disappeared. I saw the pretty colours of the sky, the blast zone, a girl in the crowd, a trace of Ganondorf's maroon hair, and heard the announcer scream some incoherent French nonsense. It was barely audible over the fiery eruption of the crowd.

My legs stopped flying over my head, and I watched Final Destination again. The dark, deathly spikes underneath it, powered by a threatening jet engine, the lights, and my opponent staring me down right as I fell. The lights flashed a bright forest green, morphing to teal.

Trust your training. Jolt Haymaker first.

Just like before, like all those times before, with Jane, Pit and Palu, in the gym testing it out again and again until I got it every single time, I did it. My muscles exploded in a rage, my neck even tighter and the pain more cancerous, like a grotesque green growth, than before, and I felt the cerulean flames more than I saw them, the sound of it eating at, consuming the leather glove wrapped around my knuckles a propulsion forward.

Trust your training. You know when you can jump. GO.

I waited, the crowd filling in the gaps for me, hearing the announcer say something I couldn't make out, ironically, and felt my legs push off something solid.

No more panic, no more fear. I was getting there.

Trust your training. Rising Uppercut.

My legs shot out under me, and I had to close my eyes to avoid the dizzying of the spin, the moment-long black dulling my senses. A moment of calm, before I felt the familiar stretch on the brachioradialis muscle and phalange tendons, the opening of my palm, the pull of my one arm singlehandedly withstanding the mass of my bodyweight, stopping it from dropping like a thick, dense weight to the blast zone.

I was close enough. I had made it. Surprised gasps went up from the mob.

No one is calling my recovery bad tonight, no, I won't give them the fucking chance.

The image of R.O.B. getting ledge-trumped, dropped off and smacked away brutally from the stage flipped itself, a steel mirror of hard realism in my head.

I wouldn't make the same mistake.

I pulled myself up quickly, flipping over in the air with a somersault to get a better perspective of the stage.

Where is he?

I scanned the area, seeing past the levitating platforms, the multicoloured volcanic lines eroding the surface of the stage, the burning hot enthusiasm of fans and spectators. Time slowed, as I caught a glance of the same pretty brunette woman in the crowd that I'd seen at Centiskorch's on that Saturday.

I remembered, then, that she was Palu in disguise.

My heart dropped.

Immediately as the pit of my chest imploded in on itself from the pressure, the overpowering aroma of a dark, smoky incense haphazardly burned from right under my nose, and I glanced down in an instinctually hot panic; Ganondorf's hand was outstretched, toxic purple gas firing from his armored wrists.

My neck spasmed as he grabbed it, squeezing until it almost broke.

I was on the verge of death.

Smelling the noxious fumes made me giddy. White spots punctuated every corner of my vision, and I was losing my focus. I was losing my consciousness. It grew thicker and more pungent, and I couldn't see past it, but I felt like I was dropping, my heart consumed by its own fears. The adrenalin weakened my knees. I couldn't move.

I was falling.

'That thing is bloody dangerous and scary, and you'll want to avoid it at all costs.'

Ganondorf dived down to the bottomless pit of the blast zone, carrying me with him.

• • • • •

[ - Palutena - ]

( - Corneria - Star Fox | Super Smash Bros. Ultimate - )

The first round of the match had just gone by.

Twin beams of white light, specked with bits of red, blue and purple intermingling flew in coordination with the sparks. Screams erupted from the group of sickeningly scantily-clad women in front of us, waving plastic signs about and big foam index fingers.

My eyes lost focus, recollecting the image of Mac's eyes looking directly into mine, and then the recognition of who I was meant to be, and then the way he reacted, so thrown, and then I saw the way he was caught off guard so quickly right after, and then, and then, and then both of them just went down in an instant.

The world might as well have been on fire, but no one had spoken since the match began.

"Mac's going aight," Falcon had commented, confidently nodding his head, "one-for-one so far." R.O.B. beeped, sharing his sentiments.

In my periphery, I saw Pit bite his nails. "Injuries between stocks still hurt - do you see the way he couldn't move his neck after getting kicked?"

Oh, god… they're even, but Mac's neck is done for. He won't be able to dodge as swiftly, he won't be able to block as quickly, he might lose, and when he loses… he'll be devastated, and I can't bear to see that again, even if I could be there for him… he'd be crushed.

Why am I thinking like this? He's not even down to his last yet, I can't think like that; how would I be able to look him in the eye after assuming he would lose so early? How?

He won't lose, he won't, he can't.

Above the thin platform, I saw, once more, two translucent steel plateaus.

The left carried Ganondorf, the right Mac.

His name flashed so clearly in my head, and a poison-green arrow of guilt pierced the wall of my heart.

They both dropped simultaneously, both like a sack of bricks. Mac had his arms already defensively up by his face, ready to guard, whereas Ganondorf wore that shit-eating grin, relaxed with his hands by his side.

I tapped the shape of each second with my fingers. Pit's voice spoke out quietly. Each moment felt like three, or four, as neither made a move to approach the other. An unspoken hush fell over the crowd, and the women in front of us stopped chanting, as they circled each other. Mac's gait was jerky, his head resistant to any sudden movements, his blue-black pupils concentrated deeply on his opponent.

"I said, do you notice it too, Lady Palutena?" Pit shook me, pointing to Mac's walk.

"I see it." I smiled grimly, and as I finished speaking, Mac rushed forward.

Something in my chest strung itself up, as Ganondorf unsheathed his cruel, dark sword, with its pure white central stripe and magnificent, heinous, sickeningly sweet honey-gold blade blunted only by rule and regulation. Mac's eyes widened, and the thing in my chest dropped itself like a ball of rich, hot fire and was extinguished instantly, the steam that rose coming out of my eyes, scalding my face with tears of fear.

Mac saw it too.

He barely sidestepped the beast as the monster crashed down, small sharp shards of rock flying out of the stage, and the audience cried bloody murder. Something red popped out of the corner of my vision - it was Pit's vein, throbbing out of his temple. I watched him grapple with the seat, an invisible wrestling match, as though he barely was able to keep himself together.

I wasn't too far off either. I whipped my head back round as I heard Ganondorf grunt, his severely whiffed move punished.

Mac launched a fast, fatal flurry of fists at him, and for a second I felt relief, until his adversary escaped one of them and instantly struck back with a brutal palm strike to Mac's chin. He flew backwards, landing on the ground. From even this large a distance away, I heard, over the rampaging rush of the audience, his breath escape him.

I gripped my seat until my knuckles turned white, until my fingers began to throb in protest, until my nail cracked, the pain of it distracting me from the tension coming from a problem that I couldn't control.

Get up, Mac.

Mac stayed on the ground.

Get up, Mac!

Ganondorf approached.

"GET UP, MAC!" I screamed, barely hearing myself over the sheer ear-splitting volume of the crowd's chanting. As Ganondorf jumped over him, his chest up and high, knees curled up to his chest, I realised he was preparing for a brutal head stomp.

"MAC!"

Pit grabbed my forearm tightly, the only thing stopping me from lurching out of my seat.

Mac rolled far backwards, out and away from his adversary in that second, and as Ganondorf's eyes swung out to spot his opponent, feet fully extending to meet the ground, Mac wound up for a violent punch. It connected with a powerful whack into his solidly built chest, and Ganondorf screamed, the noise rough, animalian, guttural, puncturing, vile, monstrous, dark.

The first time he'd ever betrayed any weakness.

Mac was breaking through.

He was going to finally win.

As he flew off into the distance, the crowd began to scream his name. The girls in the front row chanted, 'Lit-tle-mac! Lit-tle-mac! Lit-tle-mac!' The chant spread like a wildfire through the two stands, twelve thousand voices echoing his name. He grabbed his head, seemingly oblivious to the support he had once wanted so badly, and cradled it gently.

His neck.

During the punch, he'd leaned backwards, and swung as hard as he could. The impact would have strained his neck muscles even further. I grimaced, the same old anxiety gnawing at my heart, on the verge of shattering it into a million pieces but never doing it to the fullest, prodding and poking from a safe distance, and I bit on my tongue in frustration, to cope, to cope with the pressure this match was giving me. My blood ran hot in my arms and cold in my feet.

My head was about to collapse in on itself from stress.

The disembodied voice continued to commentate on the recovering Ganondorf, whilst Mac tried to piece together his own reality from nothing.

"Lady Palutena, Mac's going to be fine - trust him." He gave my arm a reassuring squeeze, breathing heavily.

I closed my eyes, and the world turned to black. I accepted Pit's words. I repressed those fiery emotions that burned down the air and nothing more, the feelings that could do nothing. I held it down like a rush, barely holding it together, and it burned.

Ganondorf was on the ledge the next time I opened my eyelids. Mac didn't challenge his standing back onto the stage. Trying to catch him off-guard, the warlock punched once, twice, the first Mac caught, but the second; the second sickeningly slammed into Mac's stomach, sending him sliding across the solid stone, an audible skid slipping off his slick shoes.

I baulked.

Mac got back onto his feet quickly, but as he moved, it was like he got up too quickly.

I watched powerlessly as he yelled out in pain, holding his hands up to his face. Ganondorf ran with deep-seated, dark energy towards him, from across the stage, and as Mac launched a feeble punch aimed in his general direction, spun around, avoiding the weak hit completely.

He turned his back to him, and I watched the devil's gleam burn in his eye as the wizard backhanded him off the stage.

Steam rose off Mac's body as he flew. He was at high damage, no doubt. The blast zone, with its indiscriminate bounds, approached Mac ever so closely. Sonic gulped from two seats down, his usual flippant demeanor having broken down.

I hadn't breathed for minutes. His velocity stopped him just short, and it was then I exhaled deeply. The stirring in the pit of my stomach, the nerves, it felt like I was going to vomit.

Mac, remember your training, I beg of you.

He floated downwards as Ganondorf jumped off the stage.

"OH? WHAT'S THIS?"

Shut up, please just shut up… What's he trying, oh lord, please…

As the image of Ganondorf began to cover his face, I swore I saw Mac grin weakly. With a demonic shriek, the warlock unsheathed that damned sword.

He swung it in midair at the recovering Mac.

Mac suddenly dropped his hips, raising his left arm in a counter pose.

That's it.

As the sword came down, I watched as Mac slipped past Ganondorf's sword, his body tightening with the effort, neck straining hard to just support the weight of his amazingly big head, and threw an aerial uppercut to the chin. A hollow crack resounded in the stadium with the thousand voices echoing, triumphantly brandishing itself like a trophy, a sound above the others.

And the force was of cosmic proportions.

His adversary's spine whipped with a backbreaking, paralysing thud into the flat underside of the stage, and bounced back off it at an irreversibly low angle.

I heard a bloodcurdling scream. I don't know who it was from.

Ganondorf flew with such speed past Mac, mere inches from taking Mac with him, but was just not enough to touch the blast zone.

Mac.

Is he going to make it back?

IS HE?

The stage was too far from him. He couldn't possibly…

As soon as I thought that thought, as soon as I heard myself scream out, as soon as all of that happened chaotically within the space of an immeasurably small period of time, less than a nanosecond, I saw Mac spin around, his normally emerald green boxing glove turn a magnificently shining, brilliantly burning, fiery blue; his forearm, elbow and fist twisting themselves strangely, contorted and disjointed from the head injury - the only bright thing in the dark night atmosphere, bar the glowsticks families waved around and the teenagers' phone cameras' recording lights - and as he flipped himself around to face his enemy, he aimed it perfectly at the back of his head, and it connected with a crushingly homicidal thwack; his opponent hurtled into the blast zone at the speed of sound, and the light that resounded right from Ganondorf's ending engulfed Mac fully, making his form, his figure, his enormous grin that he wore despite the circumstances, disappear right until he, too, reached the blast zone, his own luminous beam spurting out, borne from the ashes of his second-to-last life.

• • • • •

[ - Little Mac - ]

( - Gym Leader Final Pokémon Theme | Pokémon Sword and Shield - )

Two-for-two.

Both of our final stocks.

Both the metaphorical pressure of the battle and the physical strain of my neck tearing every time I moved bore down on my shoulders.

It hurt real bad.

I hadn't been this close since Round One.

I shook the thought out of my head, with a real head shake, in the real world.

My brain turned to mush.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S BEEN A TRULY REMARKABLE NIGHT, EVEN AND ESPECIALLY IN MY OWN EXPERIENCES - THERE HAS NEVER BEEN AS AMAZING, SURREAL AND POWERFUL BOUT OF SMASHING AS THIS ONE, AND, WELL, WHAT BETTER TO COMMEMORATE THIS STELLAR, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD FRIDAY EVENING WITH THIS FINAL ROUND, WITH ONE… STOCK… EACH… FROM BOTH OF OUR MAGNIFICENT COMPETITORS. GIVE IT UP FOR GANONDORF AND LITTLE MAC!"

The rumble of the crowd deeply rushed through the stage as though it was a level eight earthquake, but it wasn't destructive, chaotic and unsettling; it was grandeur, poised and empowering, and it crept into my veins with its own crazy touch. The fire that torched the right side of my neck every time I turned burned itself out, and suddenly it was numb, and I felt liberated.

I was free.

Ganondorf tumbled to the ground, seemingly disgruntled by the previous scene. The expression of pure hatred he bore was frightening… yet slightly, satisfying?

I hadn't been expecting myself to do that.

I'd wanted to make sure I would secure a kill, even if I myself wasn't getting back to centre-stage. The thoughts were for some reason, now more than ever, more clearly defined, in my head.

Bait.

Ganon rushed me down in that second with a frightening shoulder charge. I stepped backwards, out of the range of his strike.

Trap.

I crouched and punched hard at his ankles, tripping him up.

Punish.

Winding up my fist, I drew back and savagely thrust my fist through Ganondorf with full force, digging into his stomach. He reeled backwards to the easternmost edge of the stage, any semblance of power remaining having been broken.

He's done for.

It was my time.

I rushed up to him, finally finding the strength to commit to the move, swinging my arm overhead straight into his back.

Why is he… facing away from me?

My fist met its target well, but he barely responded. Ganondorf spun on his heels, a malicious smile forming on his lips, purple thunder gathering in the crook of his palm.

Warlock Punch.

I only had time to think that thought.

There was no pain anymore as I felt the ground's touch on my back. I knew it hit me, but I felt nothing. It was past visceral. The lumbering figure of Ganondorf, the Demon King, approached, and then it hit, the feeling of blood leaking inside my body, pure fear distilled into dark red life fluid.

I got up weakly, to at least run from the next hit.

Then, it was as though time stopped.

With a wicked grin, Ganondorf suddenly quickened his pace, rushing up. His foot thrust me right below the belt.

I flew backward and the ground slammed into my back again.

This time, there was no numbing.

No shield of adrenalin to protect from it.

The rush of discomfort, then pain, then agony rushed into my stomach.

Man's biggest weakness.

My vision blurred with tears of blood and acid. There were dark spots; treacherous, venomous black spiders that haphazardly swarmed my vision, and I was forced to force myself, to force myself, to force myself, to get up, barely able to exist without pain.

The internal bleeding pushed me to my limit.

One last time, Mac.

Doc's voice boomed in my head. Whenever I was down for the count.

One,

I stood tall, legs threatening to give, testicles numb, barely watching the glorious sight of purple lightning collect in Ganondorf's fist once again. Dark light clouded the edges of it.

last,

My fist at my side, I approached with a stagger in my step. The low light from the sky suddenly burned brightly, roasting my eyeballs.

time,

The expression I sewed on my face was a mask of animalistic frustration, boundless anger and infinite distress. If there was a time to call on emotion in a fight, it was now.

Mac.

I released my fist, thrown with the maximum force I could give it. It was my last shot.

He did too, his palm thrusting forward right at the same time.

And before I dissolved into nothing, I heard the yells of women and men both, felt the contact of black enchanted armor on my fist, and saw the figure of a seven-foot-tall titan rocket away from me with the force of a thousand suns.

Then, there was silence.

I couldn't hear anything. I slept.