Author's note: Alright, here we go, chapter three. The plot really gets going here. With the events of the previous chapter in consideration, this chapter builds off of the last chapter and does more. Emotional conversations and actions drive the events of this chapter. New characters, old characters, old problems, and new ones. Enjoy!

Special Thanks:

Story Favorite (FFN): The Literary Lord, KamenDoctor

Story Follow (FFN): Kamen Doctor

Kudos: JBZ64 (Ao3)

…

The Measure of a Man

Part Three

Understand

A chilling breeze pushed around and through his path. He squeezed his shoulders together in an effort to keep himself warm, but even then he found himself uncontrollably shaking. He had been walking for a while by that point, and as he had been instructed, he was on his way to the castle.

It was as black as could be imagined, even minutes before dawn. His only method for keeping track of time was using the castle's visible clocktower, and even then, it was very difficult to see before his eyes had adjusted to the lack of lighting.

Frankly, he was going well out of his way to be there, and he had never really been close to the castle before. There was an eerie mood about the path and he constantly worried that at any moment a monster could dive from either side of the path and surprise him.

He sniffled and tried his best to keep his eyes ahead, despite the blatant risk he felt he was taking.

The castle gate came into sight and Marco picked up his pace to the best of his ability. It wasn't every day that you got to meet the king, let alone on an individual basis. So, he was fine with having missed sleep, especially given the fact that he wouldn't have slept much as it was. In fact, even while staying awake the entire night, he didn't even feel like he blinked as if the infinitely minuscule moment that his eyes would have closed could have forced him to think back on that moment the day before. Even still, he heard echoes bouncing around his subconscious mind, leaving that newly familiar sense of grief ever-present.

He drew near to the castle gate. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his cold hands and yawning as he approached.

"Stop, not another step," a gravelly voice commanded. Marco obliged, his eyes shooting open and the need for sleep vanishing. He didn't move a muscle. The voice had come from behind him. He didn't speak until the man did again.

"State your business," the man demanded.

Marco gulped, still frozen in place.

He stuttered, "I- River- King River asked me to meet him at the gate at dawn," Marco explained, his voice as dry as his throat was.

The man behind the intimidating voice came in front of Marco and stared him in the eyes, taking a moment before telling Marco off.

"Kid, you know that isn't true. What possible business would the king have with you," the man asked, his tone condescending and dismissive.

Marco looked to the side as the sky slowly started to gain a new hue.

"I don't- He didn't tell me why, but he told me to meet him at the castle gates at dawn. I'm sorry if I imposed-"

The man interrupted, grunting before explaining as if it were fact, "You have no right to be here. Now if you plan on continuing to lie to me, then you ought to get moving, boy."

Marco scoffed, loosening his posture and furrowing his brow in frustration.

Marco took a step forward asserting, "I told you, I-"

His gaze snapped toward the gate as a man cleared his throat. Ahead of him, King River stood with his arms crossed. The guard looked in the man's direction and immediately changed his attitude, standing at guard and not daring to make eye contact with the man.

"Marco," the man called, side-eyeing the guard with a scowl.

The boy loosened his stance, the king turning to face him with a softer expression.

The king continued, "You're punctual, I can appreciate that."

Marco, still surprised from the sudden change of tone along with the man's sudden appearance, stammered as he spoke to the man, muttering "Th- Thank you," as the man gestured at his guard to open the gate. The man looked to him with pleading eyes, but even for the sake of his own pride, the king wouldn't back down.

The gate opened and Marco looked at the ground, where the indent from the gate created a natural line in the gravelly path, then to the king's tired face.

The man watched almost curiously, not immediately gesturing for Marco to cross. Perhaps he wondered if Marco had the bravery to do so without being told to do so. Regardless, Marco was unsure and was naturally hesitant to step past the barrier, even in its intangible state.

The man nodded as he stroked his beard. He squinted his eye as if he had come to a conclusion, then gestured to Marco to come along. He nodded, not stepping on the line, but completely over it. The king led him along as the two marched toward the massive stone monument known as "Butterfly Castle," where monsters came to be executed and Mewmans were scarcely allowed to enter.

Marco felt out of place. The prejudiced glances of guards passing by along with the clashing of his scarcely clothed feet against the hard rock path made it feel as though he was the first person to ever walk that path… or, more accurately, the first poor Mewman to do so.

But, much to his surprise, the king never cared to acknowledge the tension that Marco felt was so visceral. Instead, he acted like it didn't even exist, as if Marco himself didn't, even while keeping him so close.

It was only when they made it to the massively tall castle door that he was finally acknowledged again.

"Marco," the man called before turning around. His tone more solemn, he spoke to the boy directly, "Know that what is due to happen will likely be out of my control," he warned, explaining, "It is… seldom that the castle welcomes people who-"

Marco cut in instinctively, his tone sounding more harsh than it was meant to, "People who are as poor and filthy as me," he questioned. The second that his words left him, he felt as though he had made a mistake, but as he maintained eye contact with the king, he was surprised. The man kept his serious nature, although slightly grinning after the outburst.

He nodded, affirming, "Yes, Marco, I am pleased that you understand. I only worry because I myself once stood in your shoes…" he looked to the ground, noticing his lack of foot protection, "...or bare feet… I only mean that the people of the castle can be… a bit… pretentious. Unfortunately, as the castle is large, it is inhabited by many, and the foyer is a very popular place to meet.

Marco lifted a brow, questioning "Foyer?" The man chuckled, smiling as he playfully nodded, explaining, "You'll see, now, are you ready?"

The boy, although still confused, nodded quickly, remarking, "Anything is better than out here, it's freezing!"

The man smiled, remarking, "Then it shall be," before slowly pulling the large wooden door open. Marco stood frozen as the eyes of the castle folk all fell on him. His body hardened in place. He felt like he could shatter into a million pieces with the tension that he felt. Then, the king walked ahead of him and led him inside. He followed the man, the crowd parted. Marco couldn't tell if it was out of respect for the king or disgust for him, the eyes of the many snobbish people tracking him all the way through the room. But beyond the people, the building was beautiful.

Marco's mouth hung open as he took in the grandeur of the castle. The roof was higher than he could have possibly imagined. The floors were more polished than he thought possible. The room in which he stood was larger than his entire village, and yet, it was practically empty. He spoke to the king, inquiring, "Why-" his voice reverberated off of the walls and back to his own ears. Though surprised, his curiosity remained, "Why is there nothing here?"

The king chuckled shortly, patting the boy on the shoulder as he began walking further into the room, remarking, "I asked the same question when I first stepped into this palace."

Marco grinned, following the man through the room. As they passed the center of the room, a chill ran down his spine. He felt like he was out of place, the eyes of the crowd still locked on him. Worst of all, the silence, or… relative silence. When they had first opened the door, the room was full of lively conversation, but now, it was quiet, the only remaining sounds being the murmurs and whispers of the crowd. For once, Marco was thankful that he couldn't hear them.

River periodically glanced back at him, leaving Marco even further confused. The man's intentions sounded positive the day before, but now, he only found himself afraid.

They finally stopped at the opposite end of the room, River gripped a handle belonging to a double door and looked back at Marco with doubt. Although he hesitated, he still went through with whatever he had planned, opening the door and gesturing for Marco to enter.

He walked through and ahead of him was a beautiful feat of nature. Completely surrounding him, beacons of life, the vines, foliage, and bright flowers left him intoxicated with delight. His eyes shimmered and he froze in place, his body growing numb as his wonder soared. River passed by him and sat on a bench just ahead of the boy, allowing him this moment of peace.

A fresh aroma crept into his nose and he was immediately filled with serenity. He felt his feet begin to feel lighter, his senses growing more vivid, and his mind growing numb. He opened his eyes and saw the man again, the cold of the outdoors vanished. He only felt the warmth of the world around him.

"This place," Marco began, his excitement clear, "It's amazing- How is this-"

The king smiled, simply patting a spot beside him on the bench. Marco's curious smile slowly faded as he took a seat beside the man, leaving only a grin. River sighed in contentment, closing his eyes and sagging into the bench.

Marco tilted his head in confusion.

Seconds passed without the man making even the smallest of movements, but just as Marco was about to question the man, he finally spoke.

"Magic, my boy, it is magic," River remarked, the smile on his face growing and curling as his mind was put at ease by the enchanting aroma.

Marco's brows lifted and his mouth gaped. For centuries, the folks of the village had told tales but never had he believed that- Magic was real, and beyond that, he was experiencing it.

River opened his eyes and took a deep inhale, the visible pollen shimmering as it wafted into his waiting nostrils. His shoulders fell as he finally made eye contact with the boy again, but as his eyes met the boy, he only gained confusion. The boy wasn't relaxed, wasn't excited, but instead, a conflicted expression riddled his young face.

River called to him, "Marco-"

The boy interjected, "If the magic is real…"

He paused, it was clear to the king that the boy even still had conflicts, both of whether what he was thinking could be true and whether he had any right to question it.

"...Then why is it only being used to make gardens?"

"Marco-" the man called in a calm tone. The boy's grin quickly vanished.

The king tried his best to explain, "Marco power such as this is not to be used to do harm, it is beautiful, not destructive-"

Marco grimaced, his tone slowly growing more accusatory, "Then- Why are the villages so poorly defended then?"

River sighed, "Marco, my boy-"

Marco's frustration boiled over, "Stop calling me that!"

The king recoiled in surprise. He stammered, "I didn't mean to-"

"But you did," Marco shouted, "I am not 'your boy', and I don't want to sit around in a magical garden with you."

River furrowed his brow, keeping his calm as he addressed the boy, "Marco, I understand what you are going through, believe me, I-"

"No you don't," Marco shouted in return, "For the love of- Why does everybody keep saying that? Nobody understands, my father was a good man, he didn't deserve to-"

He couldn't muster the strength to describe the man's fate. "Did you know… in his final word, he didn't once mention how much pain he was in?"

River's face fell as he allowed the boy to voice his frustrations. His eyes boiled over with hot tears that streamed down his face, even with the pervasive enchantment that the plants around him attempted to put over him.

"He told me that he loved me. He told me that to be a good man-"

His voice died out, but he pressed on, pleading to the universe to let someone understand.

"He told me that the measure of a man is how much he is willing to give up in order to do right."

He paused, his eyes falling to the ground. Around him, the enchanted flowers slowly stopped letting out their pollen. The king looked to the boy with sympathy. He reached out a hand, aiming it for the boy's shoulder. At first, the boy pushed his hand away, but slowly, his inhibitions faded. The man placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and held him steady.

"You should be thankful," the man remarked. Marco's eyes shot up to the man, confused anger expressed in his brow and his reddened eyes.

"I'm sorry, I should have explained better," the man verbally determined.

The boy's face fell again. River sighed, thinking further before continuing.

"Marco, your father was a good man, and for that, you should be thankful, as I am that I was so lucky to have such an amazing man for a father," he explained. The boy didn't respond.

"Your father wasn't one to complain, regardless of the pain he was in, mine was just the same, in fact, I never lived in a palace like this one, I actually lived in a yurt, which to be fair, was large, but that's against the point."

The man sighed, realizing that he had trailed off too far. He got back to his point.

"My father is dead, Marco," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, solemn and entirely serious. The boy slowly lifted his head to see if he was being serious.

"My father died almost twenty years ago, and I wasn't much older than yourself when it happened. And like your father, mine didn't complain, even as his life faded."

Marco didn't interrupt. His shoulders tightened and his mood slowly shifted as he began to feel guilty for shouting at the man.

"Marco, you said that I don't understand what you're going through, but I fear that I am one of the very few that do."

The boy fully lifted his head and made eye contact with the king as he spoke, wiping his eyes as the man continued, "I understand your anger, your grief, but unlike the people around you, I see your fear."

Marco's mouth opened slightly, his instinct was to object, but he couldn't find the strength. River continued.

"You are afraid. You worry for yourself. You worry for your mother. You worry that you will not be able to survive without your father's income. I understand, but what you don't understand yet is that his sacrifice will not be in vain."

Marco exhaled a ragged breath, his eyes glossing over as the man continued.

"In his final words, he gave you the greatest gift that a father can give. Not necessarily something that you can take or physically use, but it is by far the best tool a man can have. He gave you honor, or at least, the philosophy to live with it."

Marco sighed, lifting his head and hesitating before finally asking a question in return, "But I lost my father. Isn't his philosophy worth more if he is there to teach it to me?"

The king's face fell once more. He sighed, answering, "Marco, he died showing you exactly how true his message was. His teaching is only worth as much as his actions were."

The boy's gaze dropped to the ground once more. Both men remained silent for several minutes, the king never taking his eyes off of the boy, but finally, Marco broke the silence.

"What is his name," he questioned, his tone flat and his attention seeming elsewhere.

River lifted a brow in confusion, "Your father? His name was Rafael, right?"

Marco sighed, "No, not my father. What is the name of the monster that killed him? The one that started the attack on my village. The one who tore apart my home. The one who-"

"Marco, you don't want to-" River tried to warn, but the boy didn't allow it.

"What is his name," he questioned again, his tone feeling far more demanding the second time around.

The king sighed.

"Will telling you his name serve to help you grieve," the king asked, attempting to rationalize the boy's request.

Marco's tone grew desperate, he pled, "Sure, I need to know who killed him. I just- please, I need to know."

"Marco, I understand your anger, but are you sure that it would help you," the man questioned, his gaze filled with honest care.

The boy sighed, nodding his head, "I need to know who killed my father," pausing as he looked the man in the eyes.

His tone grew cold, "If everything you said was true- you know… about your father and that you understand what I'm going through, then you should understand why I need to know."

River looked to the ground, defeated.

"I- I know," he admitted, sighing as his shoulders fell.

The boy didn't say another word. He only stood in front of the king waiting, and when the king finally looked at him in return, he listened with intent.

"His name is…" he sighed, hesitating before finally uttering his name.

"Rasticore," he stated flatly.

The two locked eyes, Marco processing the information as River debated what more to tell him, "Rasticore Chaosous Disastorvaine," he completed, adding, "... and he would stop at nothing to bring the Butterfly kingdom down."

Marco's eyes narrowed as he took it all in, then, a question came to him.

"But- If that's- Then why did he need to kill my father?"

River exhaled, his eyes falling to the ground in shame. He gathered his thoughts and figured a way to configure his answer.

"Marco, Rasticore, he- He is the very antithesis of what your father stood for, but in his own eyes, he stands for the very same thing. From his view, he is doing everything in his power to help his people, which he views as right, and-"

He paused, looking into Marco's small pupils and explaining in a warning tone, "He believes that in order to help his own people, he needs to hurt ours, and in this case… it meant killing a man who was so clearly beloved to our people."

Marco's red eyes glossed over and his throat tightened.

"So…"

Words failed him, his emotions got the best of him and he found himself hardly able to speak.

"My father died because he was a good man?"

Seconds passed and the king nodded in affirmation.

Marco winced in emotional pain, turning his head and facing the door from which they had come. River observed his reaction with a sense of deja vu. What felt like only yesterday, he had lost his own father and his reaction was all too similar. And now, he had to watch it happen to another person, even more innocent than himself.

"Marco," the man called out in a soft tone. The boy didn't respond.

"You have to understand, we won't allow something like this to happen again, we-"

Marco scoffed. River continued.

"I will personally devote myself to assuring the village's safety. I swear to you."

Marco glared at the man, grunting in frustration.

"But don't you understand? It already happened. You said that you have been trying to stop them for decades, how is anything going to change?"

The man, flustered, quickly gave an answer, "I will station troops in defensive positions. That way-"

Marco shot back, "So, what? My father was just a martyr then," he finished with a venomous tone. Immediately, the two fell silent.

"Marco, I did not say that," the king exclaimed, continuing to explain, "You must understand that it is not possible to-"

"But it is," Marco cut in, shouting, "Look around you, you clearly have the power to protect the villages, and yet-"

"Marco, I can't do magic," the man explained.

Marco scoffed, questioning in an annoyed tone, "Then what is all this, why couldn't you… I don't know, build a wall around the kingdom," gesturing at the magical garden that surrounded him.

River fell silent, placing his face in his hands, his frustration with the boy growing. Marco opened his mouth to press further but was caught by surprise when another voice interrupted him.

"This is my work," a woman's cold voice explained. Marco flinched, immediately darting his gaze to the direction of the noise, which was directly behind him. He screeched, falling to the ground as the queen stood over him.

"Moon, don't," River commanded. The queen scoffed, stepping past the boy and standing behind her husband.

Marco shuffled to his feet, his body trembling as both of the most powerful people in Mewni eyes him with intent.

"Marco," the king began.

His wife cut in, "What you ask of me is impossible, not only would the energy that it would require likely kill me within a day, but also, the monsters are smarter than to be stopped by a simple wall, we have tried, believe it or not."

Marco opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable. River was unsure what to say, only able to give a concerned glance to the boy as his wife gave him a smug smile. Marco exhaled lightly. River held out a hand to the boy, but as he stared at the woman over his shoulder, he huffed. He put a foot in the ground and ran back into the foyer.

The crowd around him began to stare and insult him. They were much louder before, and they scarcely parted for him. He heard all that they had to say and each comment only made him feel worse.

"Peasant boy."

"Look at his rags."

"Who let him in here?"

He pushed through the crowd with all of his strength, doing his best not to allow River to catch up to him, as hard as he tried. The crowd parted without question for him. Marco used more force now, ignoring the disgusted faces that the castle folk made. As he pushed through the crowd, he felt them beginning to retaliate, some people pushing him while others tried to trip him. Worst of all, some began to hit him. His eyes welled over.

His body began to ache. He heard the king calling his name, but refused to look back. He passed the midway point in the room and continued to push, his mind exploding with conflicting emotions.

The door came into sight, but around him, the crowd began to disperse. Confused, he glanced from side to side. Around him, the guards of the castle began to close in on him. He made a final dash toward the door.

In the upper decks of the foyer, a young woman watched him dash through the scarcely opened doors. She turned around and ran toward the stairs with an expression of determination.

Marco didn't look back. Ahead of him, the gate to the castle was closed. The same man who tried to keep him out before sat in a chair with his feet up, only moving when he finally saw Marco.

The boy halted in place. His eyes shot to his rear, where River emerged from the castle doors, keeping his knights behind him.

"Marco," he called, "Don't leave, please."

The boy blinked his tears away and shunned the man. He faced forward and analyzed his options. The guard who protected the gate stood at a ready position, prepared to tackle him when he would make his attempt.

Behind the knight was the chair that he sat in before. The boy wasn't sure if he was capable, but he saw no better option. He sighed, running directly at the knight, who smugly smiled as he held his hands out, ready to catch the poor boy.

Marco was just as ready as the knight, however, and as he got just in front of the armored man, he immediately hit the deck, sliding under the man's slowly moving legs. He winced in pain as he got back to his feet, the rocky ground having done damage to his poorly protected hip.

He had no time to complain about the pain that he was in, though. Instead, he limped his way toward the chair, picking up his speed and finally preparing for the jump. He took a deep breath, nervously shaking, but as he looked back at the king, who held his troops back. He exhaled, laying a new determined expression on his face.

Like it was in slow motion, the dust kicked up from the ground as he began to accelerate. He felt the pain in his side slowly dissipate and his mind grew numb. He hopped from the ground, landing a single foot on the chair and pushing off of it.

His nerves vanished. With every moment that passed, he only got higher until he was completely above the spiked gate. Even then, he continued to rise. He felt like he was floating. He felt untouchable.

And as he hit the ground, he felt more in control than he ever had before. Adrenaline surged through his veins like water through a canyon. He felt strong, he felt powerful, he felt…

Angry

His blood was hot and his mind was racing. He ran, ran, then continued to run, not even breaking a sweat in the young morning breeze. His village was within view, his fists clenched at his sides as he thought of what the king had told him.

"He died showing you exactly how true his message was…"

"I will devote myself to protecting your village…"

" He is the very antithesis of what your father stood for…"

His knuckles cracked as he squeezed his fist. He came into his village and stopped at the center of town, breathing hard, but controlled breaths. He scanned from side to side. The people of the village all looked at him with confusion. All of the people that he had grown up knowing. All of the people who had experienced the same hardships as he had. And then, his mother. Her glance was the worst. She knew that his mind was troubled, but she couldn't have possibly known what he was thinking. Her hand lay on her stomach, which now that he looked at it, was showing slightly more than before.

The baby would never be safe. His mother would never be safe. All of these people who loved him would never be safe as long as the monsters existed. Marco's anger boiled over. He glanced to his side, where the blacksmith's home stood and he walked toward it. The man himself watched with confusion as Marco approached.

He stepped past the man and into his home, quickly scanning the room until he found what he was looking for. He picked it up and held it close, a steel blade with which he could finally do what his father had told him to do.

He would do what he had to in order to do what was right. He would protect the people he loved.

He gripped the handle of the blade and walked from the man's home, stepping through the town square and walking toward the forest. His mother sensed that something was wrong. She called out to him, screaming his name. The people of the town held her still. Marco didn't hear a thing.

His rage controlled him, inhibited his hearing, set a path forward for him. He wasn't even sure if what he was seeing was real. All he saw was his memory, the place where Rasticore had stood the day before, just before the attack. He wondered if the monster had known who he was going to attack or…

He pushed the thoughts away, leaving room only for anger. He placed his second hand on the sword, not knowing how to use it. He walked through the forest without aim, and yet, he had more intent than he had ever had before. He heard voices, although he wasn't sure they were real or if they were only figments of his unhinged mind.

He heard twigs and leaves crunch, each time his attention was drawn, but no cause for the noise was found. He stood ready to fight, aggressively shouting through the forest.

"Come on, Rasticore! You aren't too scared, are you?"

He cockily slashed his new blade through the dirt, hoping to see the creature that killed his father so he could do the same to him. Again, he heard a rustle in the trees around him. His eyes darted to where the sound came from. He saw a blur of brown, but lost the source.

"Rasticore! Come out already," he shouted once more.

Suddenly, he heard a twig break again. His eyes shot in its direction. His body ceased to move as he held his sword ahead of him.

"Stupid little Mewman," Rasticore said in his deep, cruel voice. Just in front of him, the creature parted some brush and stepped through. He stood ahead of Marco with a crooked smile.

"Your father was no fun, he died too easily, but you…"

"Don't you dare speak of him," Marco screamed back, slicing his blade in Rasticore's direction only to be effortlessly dodged.

"Didn't think it would be that easy, did you," the monster taunted, sheathing his claws and balling his fists.

Marco swung again, once again being dodged. Rasticore dashed with unbelievable speed, getting behind Marco, landing a punch to his side in the process. Marco winced but turned to defend himself nonetheless.

"I can't believe you Mewmans sometimes. It's like you enjoy being killed," he taunted again.

"I'm gonna- kill you-" Marco muttered, swinging the sword with the force of his entire body. Rasticore ducked underneath and punched him in the chest, sending him reeling. The sword fell out of his hands and Rasticore kicked it away.

To his left, he heard leaves crunching as a group of Mewmans stumbled into the woods. Upon seeing the monster, they halted in place. Rasticore smiled, chuckling as he placed his foot on Marco's chest, digging his claws into his chest. He screamed in pain, punching at the monster's leg. He hardly even flinched.

Rasticore chuckled again, "Now I'm gonna kill you… just like your-"

Like a blur, a cloaked figure jumped down from the trees above and struck Rasticore with a hard blow. Marco applied pressure to his fresh wound and crawled toward a tree, leaning himself against it as the figure fought off Rasticore.

A left, a right, then a kick to his legs, the short figure continued to masterfully attack. Just as Marco was to Rasticore, Rasticore was brutally outmatched against the figure. Marco's shoulders slumped as he watched in wonder.

Rasticore spun, trying to sweep their legs with his tail, but the figure jumped over it and landed another strike on his face. He stepped back in surprise, then lifted a section of brush before growling and glaring at Marco.

"You're dead. Watch yourself Mewman," he taunted, scoffing as he ducked under the brush in retreat.

The cloaked figure stood, watching the section of brush for several moments before turning to face Marco. Almost immediately, his eyes landed on their eyes, as blue as the sky on its clearest day, almost piercing, but kind. The figure approached quickly and knelt down beside him, a strand of blond hair falling over her forehead.

She spoke, her caring voice questioning him, "Are- are you alright?"

She held out a hand, hoping to help him to his feet, but as he reached out to take it, he winced, unable to pull himself to his feet.

"I-" he stammered, "I don't think so."

The girl frowned, her eyes meeting his wound.

"Oh my- I- You need to get to the castle, they can-"

"No," he cut in immediately. The girl flinched, dropping his hand.

"Wha- why," she questioned, reaching out her hand again, "Are you- Are you a criminal or something?"

He sighed, grabbing her soft hand again, "No, I… I just can't, not now."

The girl frowned, holding his hand in hers.

"Then-" she paused.

"Then at least let me help you get home," she pled, trying once more to help him up, this time applying more force.

He pulled against her force, slowly and arduously making his way to his feet. He leaned against her, hardly able to keep his feet under him.

"Which way do you live," she questioned, pulling him along with his arm around her shoulder line. The two walked through the group of Mewmans that had run into the forest behind him. They were silent, confused, and shocked. Marco only pointed, either too ashamed to speak or too tired to.

As they reached the edge of the village, the girl pulled the hood further over her head, pulling a mask over her mouth and nose. And as she lifted her gaze, she froze in place. Ahead of her, the entire village, all watching, all silent, all except one woman.

"Oh my-" Angelica began. She pushed off of the two men that had held her back before, sprinting in their direction. Marco spat out a ball of blood. When Angelica made it to her son, he collapsed into her arms. She felt up his chest until she found the wound. Panicked, she pressed against it, trying to keep the blood inside.

The two each turned to the side, Angelica meeting the girl's deep blue eyes, then seeing what she held out in her hand, a roll of white cloth bandages. And as Marco's eyes fell upon the girl's he felt his vision blurring. His mother called out his name, screaming at him to keep his eyes open. The last thing he remembered seeing after that was black as his unconscious body fell into his mother's arms.

…

Author's note: So, another chapter is complete. This one took forever. I feel like I find myself saying this more and more often, but I am sorry about that. I wish it was easier, that I could just pick a time every weekend and write a full chapter and be happy, but I just can't, not now at least. Regardless, I hope that my effort is clear with this chapter because I put a lot into it. The next chapter will come as soon as I can get it done. I don't delay releases or anything, so when it's done, you'll have it.

Comments:

JBZ64:

Comment: "Well this was shocking. Sad that Marco lost his dad in this story. I wonder if this will continue?"

Answer: It will, and I'm glad that it evoked the emotional reaction that it was supposed to. The story hasn't been given up, I just have a lot on my plate, and finding the time to write is hard. I already have up to chapter five planned, so don't worry about that.