Cold.
Hopelessness.
Confusion.
Pain.
Marx's wiggling legs did little to steady his body as he drifted between the molten wreckage of the Nova. He was too weak now. Too vulnerable to the cruel touch of space. Any moment now, he would no longer feel his legs. Or his mouth. And then he would just fade away for good.
He longed for such mercy.
Things couldn't have gone more wrong. His plan, his ambition, all he ever wanted at the tip of his toes, all for nothing.
He could see Popstar in the distance. Far from his reach, shimmering bright as ever but way beyond hope now. To add insult to injury, the sun and the moon were back at their normal positions without the jester edging them into fighting more, surely having been talked out of it already by the hero of the day.
They couldn't talk. Hell, they couldn't emote at all. But Marx could hear their taunts. Marx could see the smug looks on them as they lazily rotated around Popstar, beckoning him to flap those legs a little more, make it back so he could have what he deserved.
Marx wouldn't go back. Not even if he could make it there. He was a joke. A failure. Kirby would tell them all about his double cross. They would cast him out again. They would reject him again. They would beat him again and again and again!
No. It was better for Marx if he stayed here. Stranded in space for the minutes he had left before the vacuum did him in, floating midst the rest of the junk left in Kirby's wake, right where he belonged.
Kirby...
That damned pink lump ruined everything.
Couldn't he have stayed out of this one? Couldn't he stop acting all high and moral for once? Was it hard for that stupid gumball to mind his own business and stay home? Would it KILL HIM TO JUST DIE?
Marx failed to notice the space around him rippling in response to his outrage, far too engrossed in cursing the one who had foiled his last stand.
Yes. Yes, it was all Kirby's fault. Marx's plan had been perfect. How could it not be? Fool some dunce into gathering all the parts needed to summon the Nova and then snatching the wish so he could control Popstar and do as he pleased! Simple, easy, effective. But no. No, that lump couldn't play his part. Couldn't stay stranded in space. Marx was the victim here. It was Kirby's fault, ALL HIS FAULT!
The jester screamed. He screamed and cursed and cried until his throat hurt and his lungs burned. But no sounds came out. The universe remained oblivious to his wrath, uncaring of this puny creature's cry for vengeance. He was but a speck of dust the cosmos would snuff out without so much as a glance.
But Marx would show them. Oh, they wouldn't see him coming. How would he get back to Popstar? Who cares! He would get out of this cosmic junkyard. He would find a way and then hell would break loose.
Marx could no longer feel his toes. His eyes burned as he stared at the faraway sight of his world, but he didn't care anymore. He would go down swinging, one way or another. Kirby would pay for stripping him from his powers.
The floating pieces of the Nova gathered around him as if magnetized, attracted to his strong emotions. The space surrounding the wreckage rippled and stretched as the lingering power of the Clockwork Star bent to the rage of the demented jester.
Marx could feel the effects now. Something felt wrong, a terrible dread that sent chills down his spine and alerted him that whatever was happening to him wasn't natural. This wasn't how Nova was supposed to wield Its powers.
And yet... he felt strong. Way stronger than when he first got his wish. So much power filling his very core while the dark energy of the Nova sparked before his very eyes, molding, changing, corrupting. Where was this the first time? Why hadn't he felt this... rush? This need for more?
Had the Nova tricked him? Had It fooled him into believing himself powerful and invincible while withholding so much raw power to Itself? Yes. Yes, that must have been it. The damn clock must have gotten greedy. It wouldn't want Marx to access all of that overwhelming strength and kept it all for Itself.
Despite the unjuries trying to choke the life out of him, Marx managed to crack a smile. Then a chuckle. And, uncaring of the oppressing silence of the void, he cackled. Ohhh, the bitter karma. The stupid Nova had tried to trick him? Now he would have all the power that belonged to him. He would sap up every last ounce of energy from that old clock and make it his own.
And then... he would give Kirby a piece of his mind.
Marx could feel himself changing now. All that power, all that negativity, it was all building under his skin, crawling into his very being like a worm in wet soil.
Marx knew deep down that this was a downward spiral. There would be no coming back once he surrended his will to this madness and let himself turn into... whatever was growing within him.
It took little consideration, though. After all, what's to take from one who's got nothing left to lose?
The jester shut his eyes and let go of any resistance, letting the globs of dark energy swallow his dying form and encapsule it in a pulsating cocoon.
His jaw elongated. His eyes bulged out until they nearly popped out of their sockets. His entire body deformed and rippled under the dark energy, corrupting him down to his very essence. Marx had never been a saint, oh that much he knew, but this...
This was far, far more perverse.
More hunger. His teeth sharpened. He siphoned more of that power. Yes, yes, he would absorb it all. Pour all of that wasted energy into the black hole that was becoming of his soul as he felt his sanity eroding away with each particle that came closer.
And it felt good.
A pair of sharp bat wings stabbed into the amorphous blob of power and sucked every last bit of that essence into the shimmering mosaic of crystals that made up its membranes. Finally, the creature cracked through its egg and awoke.
Marx no longer felt like himself. No longer was he the pitiful jester dying alone in space. No longer was he a joke Kirby could bowl over then go along on his merry way.
He was much, much more.
This time, he didn't mean to crack his jaw and laugh. He didn't think about spreading those demonic wings and smashing through some of the Nova debris, just because he could. He just... did. He didn't feel in control of himself, as if he were an idle spectator in a hazy dream.
Marx cackled. Or, at least, what remained of him did. A shell of a living being. A husk emptied of all but the filthiest of instinct and emotion. He could barely think straight now, dulled by the ravishing hunger that torn him from inside and urged him to light the world on fire to quench it.
And with that hunger, came the anger.
The monstrous jester spread out its wings, glowing with barely contained power as it set its eyes on the beautiful star shaped planet far across the galaxy just beckoning to be taken.
As Marx flapped its wings and propeled itself towards Popstar at breakneck speed, it let out one last maniacal cackle, one that couldn't quite be heard but could be felt in the hearts of all that would dare opposing this aberration of nature in its path of destruction.
There would be resistance, it knew that much. But it craved for that. It craved to feel the terror in the eyes of its victims as it plunged them into the black hole raging within its core and trapped them in an endless void of pain.
And the accursed pink fool would be the first to crumble under its might.
Marx sang joyfully to itself as it flew back to Popstar, dismissive to the fact nobody could hear it. It didn't matter. Soon enough, the entire universe would shudder at the sound of its laughter.