(Thanks for reading! Though I have yet to hear from my 4th reader,
and you know who you are, Kirbster, I'm going to keep on typing away. Also,
as a heads up, I'm going to be getting a new system for my computer soon,
and so I might have to stop updating for a while. I probably have at least
a week, but don't get hopeful. OK, lets go to the story!)
I watched Aunt Tiffany work at her machines, pulling a wire here, twisting a screw there . . . After a while, all the monitors seemed to be back on-line. I sat back and waited for her to finish, but it seemed that she wouldn't be done for a while, So I left and went outside.
I started towards the ship, and stopped suddenly at the sound of voices. One of them was Mandela.
"What do you think your doing, with that wimp, that, that runt? He'll never take you anywhere. You should have stuck with me. We could have gone places!"
I stuck my head around the hedge that hid me, and felt myself flaring with anger. Mandela was standing over Masadona; fists' clenched at his sides. But I saw the bruise on Masadona's shoulder, and the nervous, regretful look on her face. I started to walk forward, but stopped again as Masadona got up.
"Gone places?" She hissed, rubbing her hurt arm. "Yeah, we would have gone places . . . Like to the holding cells on the red planet, or into NME's hands. And you forget, Mandela," she said, spitting out his name, "I've always been your partner: but never your girl. As for 'the runt,' I can tell, he's stronger than you ever were, no matter what your history is. And he's got something you don't: a heart, and a thinking mind." Mandela's eyes went dark with fury. He raised his fist at her, and got ready to haul off. That was enough for me.
"MANDELA!" I bellowed. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!" I charged at him, and took him by surprise. We both tumbled to the ground, pummeling each other viciously. Masadona cried out, and ran towards the ship. I was partially glad: I didn't want to her to watch this.
Mandela though, was full of pent up rage. The angry, shocked look he had been wearing when I had shoved him to the ground had been replaced with a malicious smile. Some how, his eyes had gone completely black, like jet colored stones in his head. Dead eyes. I was fighting a corpse.
I felt something graze my face. Reaching up, I felt blood. Mandela had pulled a dagger on me, and he was fast. I shoved off of him, and flew backwards. At close range, I would stand no chance unarmed against a dagger. What did I have to fight with? The vision of a sword flashed in my mind. My sword? No, the one that father had given to me was Under my bed in the bunkrooms. What sword? I felt at the belt around my waist, and found a hilt. Of course! The sword I had picked up. I pulled at it, and found that it was stuck. That made sense, as it wasn't the swords original sheath, but I continued pulling. Mandela ran forward, and tried to stab at me again. I dodged and finally got the sword free. The strangely tinted blade flashed in the sun, and I turned back to Mandela. He stopped dead in his tracks, the malevolent smile gone.
"So that how your gonna play, huh? FINE!" He thrust his dagger, and the blade grew longer. "Magical, isn't it?" He growled, but I knew how this worked. Kirby had shown me this trick. Certain swords had hollow hilts. Because of it, the blade could be hidden almost half way so as to look like a dagger or knife. While it made for a good trick, such swords were bad for hard combat.
This time, I attacked with the advantage. I slammed down on him, but didn't make contact. Instead, I whirled back around, and knocked his legs out from under him with the flat side of my new sword. He fell snarling, but didn't stop. He reached up with his sword and gashed my chest. I gritted my teeth and back slashed him, and began to feel very strange. I didn't pause to think about it . . . But when I lifted my foot, and then the other, I stayed there. In the air, that is. Mandela was nonplussed. I let go, and the world in front of me hazed into a fog. I felt rather than saw, and I was amazed by what I felt. My sword was whirling back and forth, at impossible angles. I felt each movement make contact, and I felt small flecks of blood hitting me. I was almost afraid, but let go entirely. I was bent on defeating Mandela now. I began to black out. The last thing I heard was Marthen calling me . . .
(Tiff) I stared at the screen. What was Magonumous doing? I Zoomed in. "What the . . ." His eyes had gone completely gold! And. . . WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH META KNIGHT'S SWORD?! I watched with silent horror and amazement. I didn't know how skilled he was with a blade. What had Kirby been teaching him? I shoved open the trap door, and climbed out to get back to the ship: I had a lot of questions for Marthen . . .
(Back to Magnum) "Magnum, Magnum! STOP I'!" I could hear some one yelling in my ear, and began to surface again. What was going on? The last I could remember, I had been fighting Mandela. I realized slowly that my arms and legs were bound, and some one was holding my head down. "MAGNUM!" They yelled again. I found it was Brutus. For all his size, he seemed to be having a hard time. I struggled to stop moving, and the fog before my eyes cleared away. I stopped moving instantly. Everyone was staring at me. Not only my aunt and new friends, but also most of the crew and warriors were there also for some strange reason. Why did so many of them look hurt? Did NME's troops attack while I was passed out? A horrible realization dawned on me . . .
"Magnum, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Marthen yelled into my face. "You almost KILLED Mandela, and, and, ARGH!" He stormed off, too angry to talk. I understood now. I had done all this, but how? Brutus saw that I was done fighting, and unleashed me. I rubbed my wrists, and looked around nervously. Auntie Tiff stepped forward, and examined my face. "You really don't know, do you?" she asked quietly.
I looked at her wonderingly. "Know what?" I asked. Everyone around me gave a small jump. Some one in the back shouted out. "He's a fury, isn't he?" Tiff turned around. "Who said that?" No one answered.
"Well, who ever you are, your correct."
"I'm a what?" I asked. Tiff guided me to the ship. "Come with me." I followed confusedly.
I found that she had already set up a small room for herself on the ship, and that the room had a huge screen. Much of the crew crowded into the room, and out in the hall. Aunt Tiffany pushed a tape into a slot beneath the screen, and I watched with a horrified fascination. I was watching myself: and I didn't like what I was seeing . . .
(The tape rolled, revealing what had been going on while Magnum had been mentally unconscious. His muscles and veins stood out, and froth flew from his jaws. His sword was an invisible blur, and the Person in front of him, Mandela, was unable to defend himself. He cowered under each blow, while blood ran from his every wound. The attack continued until Magnum was upon Mandela with his fists.)
I winced as I heard a few rapid snaps. I had broken Mandela's ribs, and one of his arms was hanging at a limp, awkward angle. I heard some of the crew behind me muttering.
(Several voices cut the air, and Marthen ran forward yelling Magnum's name. Brutus and much of the crew followed him. Masadona was by Marthen's side, carrying some sort of gun.)
I watched as myself on the screen turned on the crew and captain. I fought with strength that denied my size and age. I threw people out of my way, and hacked into others with the sword, which I had picked up again. Aunt Tiffany paused the tape, and zoomed in on my face. My expression was blank, but for my twisted mouth. I couldn't tell if I was grinning or scowling. I stared at my eyes. My normally dull, gold eyes, were now completely gold, and glowing. Aunt Tiffany shut off the tape. "Magnum, do you remember any of this?" She asked. I suddenly realized my entire body ached, but other than that, I felt nothing but confusion. "No," I told her. She nodded sadly. "Thought so . . ." She said.
"Magnum, you, are what is known as a berzerker Fury." "What?" I asked again. "You have the blood rage. Let me explain . . ." She turned to face the entire crew, and me. "This is usually a hereditary default. When you feel extreme emotions for some one, or something, and see them being harmed, or lets say that you see something that makes you impossibly angry, you become the fury. You will do any thing to defeat those that you are fighting, and anything to protect that which you care for. You become blind to the odds against you, numb to all pain, and deaf to the screams of pain you cause. You become a killing machine. If not for your young age, inexperience, all of these people, except most likely for Masadona, would be dead."
I couldn't move. "Let me get this straight . . ." I whispered. "I have some sort of disorder, that causes me to kill people with out knowing it?" "Not all the time." She told me. "Sometimes you'll just go mad." I looked at her angrily. "Oh, that makes it so much better." I said. But then I thought of something. "You said it was hereditary . . . who did I inherit it from?" I asked. Aunt Tiff smiled sadly. "Your father, of course. But his came out much later, in his teenage years. After the war though, it seemed to stop." I looked down at the floor, and wanted very much to leave. But where would I go?
I started to leave the room, and had to suppress the tears that came to my eyes when everyone moved out of my way with looks not of sympathy, but of fear. I had to go. I had to go and find my father. And maybe the original Meta Knight . . . Perhaps he could help. As I left, I stuck my hands into my pockets. I felt a crumpled ball of paper, and took it out. It was the parchment from mom's desk. "To whomever finds this first, be it Kirby or my dear son Magnum. . ."
(Well, that didn't take TOO long to type up. Hope you liked it. But now, Magnum is leaving all of his new friends behind to find some one to teach him. Can he handle the fact that if he ever loves some one, he may become a killer? Who will he run into first upon leaving his adoptive family? Kirby told him that his part in the war would be bloody . . . I guess we have seen his abilities to carry this prophecy out. But whom will the blood be from? And what does the letter from Claris say? To find out, continue reading, and please, please review.)
I watched Aunt Tiffany work at her machines, pulling a wire here, twisting a screw there . . . After a while, all the monitors seemed to be back on-line. I sat back and waited for her to finish, but it seemed that she wouldn't be done for a while, So I left and went outside.
I started towards the ship, and stopped suddenly at the sound of voices. One of them was Mandela.
"What do you think your doing, with that wimp, that, that runt? He'll never take you anywhere. You should have stuck with me. We could have gone places!"
I stuck my head around the hedge that hid me, and felt myself flaring with anger. Mandela was standing over Masadona; fists' clenched at his sides. But I saw the bruise on Masadona's shoulder, and the nervous, regretful look on her face. I started to walk forward, but stopped again as Masadona got up.
"Gone places?" She hissed, rubbing her hurt arm. "Yeah, we would have gone places . . . Like to the holding cells on the red planet, or into NME's hands. And you forget, Mandela," she said, spitting out his name, "I've always been your partner: but never your girl. As for 'the runt,' I can tell, he's stronger than you ever were, no matter what your history is. And he's got something you don't: a heart, and a thinking mind." Mandela's eyes went dark with fury. He raised his fist at her, and got ready to haul off. That was enough for me.
"MANDELA!" I bellowed. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!" I charged at him, and took him by surprise. We both tumbled to the ground, pummeling each other viciously. Masadona cried out, and ran towards the ship. I was partially glad: I didn't want to her to watch this.
Mandela though, was full of pent up rage. The angry, shocked look he had been wearing when I had shoved him to the ground had been replaced with a malicious smile. Some how, his eyes had gone completely black, like jet colored stones in his head. Dead eyes. I was fighting a corpse.
I felt something graze my face. Reaching up, I felt blood. Mandela had pulled a dagger on me, and he was fast. I shoved off of him, and flew backwards. At close range, I would stand no chance unarmed against a dagger. What did I have to fight with? The vision of a sword flashed in my mind. My sword? No, the one that father had given to me was Under my bed in the bunkrooms. What sword? I felt at the belt around my waist, and found a hilt. Of course! The sword I had picked up. I pulled at it, and found that it was stuck. That made sense, as it wasn't the swords original sheath, but I continued pulling. Mandela ran forward, and tried to stab at me again. I dodged and finally got the sword free. The strangely tinted blade flashed in the sun, and I turned back to Mandela. He stopped dead in his tracks, the malevolent smile gone.
"So that how your gonna play, huh? FINE!" He thrust his dagger, and the blade grew longer. "Magical, isn't it?" He growled, but I knew how this worked. Kirby had shown me this trick. Certain swords had hollow hilts. Because of it, the blade could be hidden almost half way so as to look like a dagger or knife. While it made for a good trick, such swords were bad for hard combat.
This time, I attacked with the advantage. I slammed down on him, but didn't make contact. Instead, I whirled back around, and knocked his legs out from under him with the flat side of my new sword. He fell snarling, but didn't stop. He reached up with his sword and gashed my chest. I gritted my teeth and back slashed him, and began to feel very strange. I didn't pause to think about it . . . But when I lifted my foot, and then the other, I stayed there. In the air, that is. Mandela was nonplussed. I let go, and the world in front of me hazed into a fog. I felt rather than saw, and I was amazed by what I felt. My sword was whirling back and forth, at impossible angles. I felt each movement make contact, and I felt small flecks of blood hitting me. I was almost afraid, but let go entirely. I was bent on defeating Mandela now. I began to black out. The last thing I heard was Marthen calling me . . .
(Tiff) I stared at the screen. What was Magonumous doing? I Zoomed in. "What the . . ." His eyes had gone completely gold! And. . . WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH META KNIGHT'S SWORD?! I watched with silent horror and amazement. I didn't know how skilled he was with a blade. What had Kirby been teaching him? I shoved open the trap door, and climbed out to get back to the ship: I had a lot of questions for Marthen . . .
(Back to Magnum) "Magnum, Magnum! STOP I'!" I could hear some one yelling in my ear, and began to surface again. What was going on? The last I could remember, I had been fighting Mandela. I realized slowly that my arms and legs were bound, and some one was holding my head down. "MAGNUM!" They yelled again. I found it was Brutus. For all his size, he seemed to be having a hard time. I struggled to stop moving, and the fog before my eyes cleared away. I stopped moving instantly. Everyone was staring at me. Not only my aunt and new friends, but also most of the crew and warriors were there also for some strange reason. Why did so many of them look hurt? Did NME's troops attack while I was passed out? A horrible realization dawned on me . . .
"Magnum, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Marthen yelled into my face. "You almost KILLED Mandela, and, and, ARGH!" He stormed off, too angry to talk. I understood now. I had done all this, but how? Brutus saw that I was done fighting, and unleashed me. I rubbed my wrists, and looked around nervously. Auntie Tiff stepped forward, and examined my face. "You really don't know, do you?" she asked quietly.
I looked at her wonderingly. "Know what?" I asked. Everyone around me gave a small jump. Some one in the back shouted out. "He's a fury, isn't he?" Tiff turned around. "Who said that?" No one answered.
"Well, who ever you are, your correct."
"I'm a what?" I asked. Tiff guided me to the ship. "Come with me." I followed confusedly.
I found that she had already set up a small room for herself on the ship, and that the room had a huge screen. Much of the crew crowded into the room, and out in the hall. Aunt Tiffany pushed a tape into a slot beneath the screen, and I watched with a horrified fascination. I was watching myself: and I didn't like what I was seeing . . .
(The tape rolled, revealing what had been going on while Magnum had been mentally unconscious. His muscles and veins stood out, and froth flew from his jaws. His sword was an invisible blur, and the Person in front of him, Mandela, was unable to defend himself. He cowered under each blow, while blood ran from his every wound. The attack continued until Magnum was upon Mandela with his fists.)
I winced as I heard a few rapid snaps. I had broken Mandela's ribs, and one of his arms was hanging at a limp, awkward angle. I heard some of the crew behind me muttering.
(Several voices cut the air, and Marthen ran forward yelling Magnum's name. Brutus and much of the crew followed him. Masadona was by Marthen's side, carrying some sort of gun.)
I watched as myself on the screen turned on the crew and captain. I fought with strength that denied my size and age. I threw people out of my way, and hacked into others with the sword, which I had picked up again. Aunt Tiffany paused the tape, and zoomed in on my face. My expression was blank, but for my twisted mouth. I couldn't tell if I was grinning or scowling. I stared at my eyes. My normally dull, gold eyes, were now completely gold, and glowing. Aunt Tiffany shut off the tape. "Magnum, do you remember any of this?" She asked. I suddenly realized my entire body ached, but other than that, I felt nothing but confusion. "No," I told her. She nodded sadly. "Thought so . . ." She said.
"Magnum, you, are what is known as a berzerker Fury." "What?" I asked again. "You have the blood rage. Let me explain . . ." She turned to face the entire crew, and me. "This is usually a hereditary default. When you feel extreme emotions for some one, or something, and see them being harmed, or lets say that you see something that makes you impossibly angry, you become the fury. You will do any thing to defeat those that you are fighting, and anything to protect that which you care for. You become blind to the odds against you, numb to all pain, and deaf to the screams of pain you cause. You become a killing machine. If not for your young age, inexperience, all of these people, except most likely for Masadona, would be dead."
I couldn't move. "Let me get this straight . . ." I whispered. "I have some sort of disorder, that causes me to kill people with out knowing it?" "Not all the time." She told me. "Sometimes you'll just go mad." I looked at her angrily. "Oh, that makes it so much better." I said. But then I thought of something. "You said it was hereditary . . . who did I inherit it from?" I asked. Aunt Tiff smiled sadly. "Your father, of course. But his came out much later, in his teenage years. After the war though, it seemed to stop." I looked down at the floor, and wanted very much to leave. But where would I go?
I started to leave the room, and had to suppress the tears that came to my eyes when everyone moved out of my way with looks not of sympathy, but of fear. I had to go. I had to go and find my father. And maybe the original Meta Knight . . . Perhaps he could help. As I left, I stuck my hands into my pockets. I felt a crumpled ball of paper, and took it out. It was the parchment from mom's desk. "To whomever finds this first, be it Kirby or my dear son Magnum. . ."
(Well, that didn't take TOO long to type up. Hope you liked it. But now, Magnum is leaving all of his new friends behind to find some one to teach him. Can he handle the fact that if he ever loves some one, he may become a killer? Who will he run into first upon leaving his adoptive family? Kirby told him that his part in the war would be bloody . . . I guess we have seen his abilities to carry this prophecy out. But whom will the blood be from? And what does the letter from Claris say? To find out, continue reading, and please, please review.)