AIIE. What a long chapter! That's why it's so late; it took me forever! This one is a bit better, I'd say, than the last few. Okay, maybe just longer, but there's more action and reasoning in this one.

Now for some notes to my reviewers! To Thais, I know you liked the first chapter for the mushy stuff, but I don't see any in the near future. Just some yummy Marth/Roy treachery… To Houou, I'll give you a paper bag if you need to breathe into one. And, to Morias, thank you many times for your interest. Be assured that I'll be glued to your page, looking for part two!

On with my story.

Weeks had passed since the first two murders and nothing had improved. Several more Smashers had fallen to the mysterious killer, among them Jigglypuff, Ness, and Yoshi. The remaining Smashers were restless and several talked about leaving the House until this mystery was solved. Everyone feared for their lives.

Every warrior except one.

--

Though there was an impressive library in the Melee house, Doctor Mario had his own private library. His athenaeum was filled spine-to-spine with medical books. He had taken such painstaking measures so as to alphabetize his books by topic, too, and he currently had every book on hands laid out on his study table.

His head in his hands, Doctor Mario's bloodshot eyes scanned his medical books with wearied interest. Though he was tired of reading these books day in and day out for the past two weeks, he was determined to find the young Marth some medical help. The doctor was determined to help the young swordsman regain use of his hand and yet his books told him nothing of reviving the dead limb.

"Have-a you found anything yet?" The doctor's 'other self', Mario, now stood over him. The calm leader of the House smiled down at the doctor, who now sadly shook his head. "There's nothing that can be done for him. I've gone through almost all of my books now and I haven't found a thing." The leader nodded grimly, turning away from his twin with a sigh. "Then I guess there's nothing we can do…

"Marth will have to go."

--

The Altean prince was alone in his dorm room that evening. Roy was off in his Melees while Marth quietly moped. He currently stood in the bathroom, cleaning a maiden's blood from his blade. He had his precious weapon leaning on the edge of the porcelain sink and he steadied it with his right arm; with his bare left hand he was wiping the gore off. He impassively stared down at his reflection with an empty sort of pent-up rage.

The night Marth lost his hand was also the night that he died. When Marth woke up from his deep sleep that evening, he found Roy facedown on the infirmary bed, fast asleep. The sheets were stained with his blood and tears. Marth couldn't understand why Roy would be so upset and he lifted his arm to nudge his friend awake…

And that's when he saw it.

The moment Marth laid his eyes on his dead right wrist, he knew that his life was over. The Smash Brothers were flawless, elite warriors, and the loss of something as vital as his right hand proved virtually fatal to the swordsman. He knew of his sentence long before Doctor Mario had grimly delivered it to him: "I'm sorry, Marth, but you won't be able to fight anymore."

Oh, but how the good doctor was wrong! The mere loss of his right hand wouldn't keep Marth down; he knew that he could overcome this handicap. Lately, he'd learned to manipulate his divine blade with his left hand and he frequently exercised this talent in real world Melees with his defenseless comrades. He found that it was easy to overpower these dumb, susceptible creatures in a scenario where danger and death were very real.

In short, Marth had turned into a ruthless, heartless serial murderer. The prince's compassion had died along with his useless limb. The only time he ever let his anguish out was when he was with Roy. Roy was perhaps the only person who would ever see Marth smile or frown, laugh or cry again.

Depending on how long he lived, that is.

A knock at the door prompted Marth to exit the bathroom. He laid his sword on the bed before he went to the door. He slowly opened it and instinctively looked down to where the stout leader, Mario, stood. "Good evening-a, Marth," he cordially greeted his fellow warrior. "May I come in? I have something to talk to you about-a." Marth silently nodded, stepping aside to let the plumber in. "Have a seat, sir." He offered Mario a chair and took a seat on his own bed. Falchion was laid across his thighs and he began meticulously polishing and sharpening it.

"Marth, Doctor Mario and I have been putting our heads together to think of a way of helping you." Mario gulped, watching, wide-eyed, as Marth polished his weapon. The prince didn't even look up; he knew what was coming. "The doctor has gone through all of his medical books but he can't find a thing to help you, Marth. I'm very sorry."

Mario winced at the sound of stone on steel. Marth was leering at his guest from behind shocks of teal bangs. The plumber cleared his throat, squirming under that cold glare, and continued, "Now, you know the rules of the Melee House. No one but the Smashers lives here. Since the loss of your hand, you can no longer battle in Melees, tournaments, or anything of that sort. Because of that, and also because of the increasing security risk due to this rash of murders…" Mario trailed off as guilt tugged on his heartstrings. His gaze was cast to the floor. "I'm sorry, Marth, but I'm going to have to ask you to pack up and move out."

Silenced reigned between the two warriors. Marth was coldly staring straight into Mario's fear-stricken eyes. No one could tell what was going on behind those pained blue orbs. Marth slowly rose from the bed, gripping Falchion tightly in his left hand as he gradually approached and loomed over Mario. "I knew it," the plumber thought to himself, "he's going to kill me."

The tense moment was interrupted, though, by a cry from outside the door. "It's Zelda, she's been killed! Quick, someone find Mario!" "They're calling for me, I have to go!" Mario sighed with relief as he stood and practically ran to exit the room, but he never made it to the door.

With a strong thrust of his deadly weapon, Marth skewered Mario's head on Falchion's blade, piercing him through from spine to jaw. The plumber hadn't even cried out; he just hung lifeless on the weapon. The regal prince looked on apathetically as warm red blood stained the white carpets. "A pity," he murmured, "that I had to kill you so soon. Your hand probably won't even fit mine." Using his boot, Marth pried Mario's lifeless body from the blade and let it slump to the floor. The Altean lifted his sword high into the air, spraying blood on the walls, and brought it down to cleanly sever the plumber's white-gloved hand. He stooped to pick up the hand and, as he had all the others, he placed it against his wrist. No, the hand wouldn't fit his. Zelda had been a closer match than this one.

Disgusted, Marth tossed the dead hand back onto Mario's body. He went back into his bathroom to clean Falchion again and he shortly returned to his seat on the bed. Methodically, he began sharpening his only weapon, readying it for its next kill.

Perhaps this merits some explanation. Why would Marth kill friggin' Pichu and Jigglypuff, who don't even HAVE hands, in his search for a new one? Because he's snapped, that's why! Read and review, please.