Disclaimer : All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony, ©1999-2008.
A/N: Let me say I'm glad to get this installment out. We're halfway through the story at this point. Three more chapters left!
So please enjoy. Constructive criticism is welcomed and reviews are appreciated.
III.
He Who Cannot Be Named
"His love for his people will be his tragic downfall and the Lord's greatest triumph."
Once upon a time, aeons ago, there was a planet called Terra. It was a tiny planet, just recently born into the multiverse, in a dimension with very few worlds of its own. It was the third planet from Solar the Sun and orbited in an elliptical manner. Terra had three moons: wintry Nayru, windy Farore and fiery Din, named after the goddesses whom created the homeworld and slumbered within their sacred realms. Terra was white, green and blue, the essence of nature embodied. Basked in the glow of Solar the planet drifted, untouched and pure.
The land was an epitome of harmony. Grasslands stretched as far as the horizon could take them, a sea of endless tranquility. Woodlords of spruce and pine bordered the banks of rivers and lakes, speaking in whispered tongues only the wind could hear. Snow-capped mountains stood in eternal repose, the piercing cloud covers a symbol of their yearning to reach the high heavens. Rivers, lakes and oceans shimmered beneath the sun's golden rays as they broke against cliff faces and lapped along muddy banks. Birdsong was ever present and wildlife roamed across the earth.
In those days, humans and anthropomorphs had not set foot upon Terra. Before the advent of the Smash Tournament, there was peace. Before the coming of interspecies civilization, there was the R.O.B.
The R.O.Bs -- or Robotic Operating Buddy, if one should prefer the meaning of their title -- were a race of sentient creatures forged from the smelting pool of the First Robot's stomach, he who was the first machine spawned from the turbulent aftermath of a technological singularity. They came in different colors and each shared the same appearance: A small rectangular head; long square pincers; rotary conveyor belts; and yellow fluorescent bulbs for eyes. Despite this they were distinguished by a language of various hums, squeaks, clicks and drones based on the pitch their voices made. They were a curious lot, often settling their gazes on anything that caught their attention. Wonders such as flowers, ants, thunder, rain, stars and comets would stir foreign emotions in their cores and turn the gears of their neural chips.
Because of this the R.O.Bs set about creating a place where they would not dare touch the earth, in fear that they might taint its ethereal beauty. Accompanied with the speed and articulation of their minds they built a city from a quarry of limestone and marble, erecting mighty observatory towers and modest temples to carry out the word and labor of nature. Their home grew and expanded each and every day, slowly rising from their foundations like plants in nurturing soil.
At the time they started there was an even number of two hundred R.O.Bs. Their leader, the Ancient Minister, divided them into two groups, one that would work during the day and the other at night. This plan was to conserve energy, the source of being awake and asleep laying in their batteries, and cut the time it took to build in half. It was a sound idea, they believed, so with his command entered in their processing banks the production models set off to accomplish this monumental task.
All the while the Ancient Minister oversaw the progress. He directed the traffic to different parts of the island they were inhabiting and gave his sixpence on what or what not should be done to the conglomerate of buildings, gardens and the like. He watched the R.O.Bs place misshapen minerals from the quarry and cut them down to smooth blocks. He watched them stack those pieces together and cement them in a fine glaze. He watched them wheel over to blueprints drawn in mounds of dirt, look at them with an inquisitive glean in their optics and size up the comparisons and contrasts between the picture and the real deal. He watched them plant colorful perennials and fill empty basins with water flowing in from artificial channels diverted from primary rivers.
He was proud to know they were capable of creating something as grand and magnificent as their holy land. However, it saddened him that they would have to leave behind the bountiful beauty that was Mother Terra. While there would be peace and nature, it would not feel same in the sky. The true oneness with creature, nature and machine on earth would never be wholly formed.
Five decades passed, and there was much preparation made for the Launching of the island. The R.O.Bs had by then finished constructing their home, but despite the potential loss they would suffer they could not wait to see the panoramic view that birds were wont granted with. As final touches were being made the Ancient Minister went on a long and melancholic journey to the center of the earth, for it was there he would offer his prayers (or, in technical terms, telecommunications) to the First Robot. Clips from his memory bank's video archive showed him the way to the Stairway of Creation, a road that lead far underground toward Terra's lodestone core and his god's smelting pool. Its walls depicted the genesis of a R.O.B, the modus operandi of how it was put together from piles of scrapped metal and forgotten technologies carved with delicate strokes and curves.
The weight of time bygone brought him a sense of nostalgia and a shuttering blink to his eyes. Through the matrix of gears, pulleys, levers, hard drives, microchips and motherboards, he witnessed the most brilliant entrance in all the universe. Under the name the First R.O.B. he still contained the videos of his birth and the meeting of the First Robot.
At the end of the Stairway he arrived at the dim, aurorean chamber that was his god's smelting pool. There the Ancient Minister requested the gift of flight to support the island and a safe trip among the Launch. After giving away the layer of plates on his body (as it was customary for worshipers to sacrifice a part of oneself to the First Robot, which was usually one plate) he took up his favored green cloak and left for the city, hoping for the best.
But their efforts were not in vain. The holy land rose from the ocean with the R.O.Bs on board like the mammoth hand of a giant. They stood in place, undeterred by the shift in gravity as they watched the continent shrink to a lush, viridian coin floating on the brine. Hours later, when the island had finally accustomed to the shift in gravity, two hundred Robotic Operating Buddies were held mesmerized by the sight of what they saw.
The sky was absolutely limitless! With its azure coat and off-white shades, the crown of Terra was a fitting masterpiece. Gulls winged across the expanse, some suspended in a pocket of timelessness as if they, too, were admiring the view. A breeze blew in cool, fresh and crisp. Solar's scarlet eye conquered the vast yonder and radiated like a beacon of hope, warmth and beginnings.
And it was a new beginning, indeed. A new way to continue the life they had on the surface, a new way to appreciate the gifts the Three Goddesses bestowed unto Terra and live for the moment.
From its long sleeves the Ancient Minister raised his arms and spread his pincers as far as he could. The R.O.Bs behind him lifted their heads and recorded his every word as it rang loud and clear in a voice as tall and large as their limestone towers and marble temples.
"We are Home."
For the first time since their creation, they finally felt true peace.
Twenty-thousand-two-hundred years.
It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to form Subspace. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to put the fear in its name and hopelessness in peoples' hearts. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to conquer one-hundred-eight dimensions, nine-hundred-fifty-eight galaxies, and one-hundred-forty-five-thousand planets. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to assemble his Envisioned Army.
Twenty-thousand-two-hundred years . . . and soon, the Conquest would be recognized as Final Judgment. Live and serve the Subspace Emissary . . . or die along with the rest of the planet.
His Army's numbers were reaching nigh one million in strength and counting. The sacrifice of countless Shadow Bugs had powered their Sun exponentially and the moon was flat and smooth from centuries of paving the Road of the Space King and demarcating the infrastructure of their Lord's Castle of Time. The Castle was a titanic monstrosity; so high and large did He command it to be that its staggering height vanished altogether in the lavender and obsidian mists making up the atmosphere. But had it not been for His curious mind and quick thinking, it would have made constructing that ivory ensemble impossible.
There was a Creed the creatures of Subspace so devotedly followed to their dying breath and final malfunction. It was called the Absolute Laws and they were ratified into five separate doctrines. As per their name, they each explained what He expected of them to portray and never break, for the oath they swore upon was sacred in the name of the Conquest. To never show fear and weakness; to remain unconditionally loyal to their Lord and Master the Subspace Emissary; to obey His every command without doubt or hesitation; to never hold back the full potential they possessed; and to accomplish the goals given to them by Him at all costs by whatever means necessary.
These last two rules were what made the Castle of Time come to be. It also ascended Him to unimaginable heights of power and status. What made this spectacular was the feat He performed before their very eyes and it was one no person, be he creature, human or First God, could ever hope to replicate.
For the Conquest to be stabilized there had to a symbol the peoples of the multiverse would look upon and recall; of awe, fear, power and invulnerability. It would remind them that the Hand of God was always omnipresent and His Eye omniscient, watching their every move with a fell sense of doom. So when He teleported them to the Spiral's supermassive black hole and transferred a fraction of that dark matter to Subspace, whatever congratulatory words they had in mind died away.
They were stricken speechless as He shaped and coagulated the energy into solid material. The end results of His experiment (as He put it in the loosest meaning) were blocks as smooth as polished marble and cold as untouched ice. When the Army and Hands were told to destroy these blocks, the fourth doctrine went into full swing. Bullets, plasma, energy, fire, thunder, metal, explosions and rapid-hitting attacks rocked the moon, so much so the moon rocked beneath tremors generated from its burning core. Try as they might, they could not break the setting stones. Indestructible they were, said He, for by using the Jyk core's energy inside Him and compacting it alongside the dark matter it became a shield that would forever house the Gateway to the Center of the One True Universe, their thriving source of strength and on-the-go trump card, and the Space King Himself.
-- We shall never be defeated so long as this Castle stands, He declared to His People. -- They who oppose the Conquest and Word of God shall not regain an inch of land or light-year nor set foot beyond the Maw of Subspace. You are My Knights who Live and Serve without a shadow of a doubt Your Liege and Emissary. These Laws we forged shall be cemented through all the known multiverse, and those who disobey those Laws shall be punished in as Absolute a manner as defined by Our Creed.
The creatures roared with approval, clapping and shouting. In their hollowed homes the Shadow Bugs hummed delightfully.
-- Our Conquest shall begin once Our Castle grazes the black and starless portal of the Heavens. He continued. Whence that is done We shall set forth on the Final Frontier and then, only then, shall we Claim and Legitimize what is Rightfully Ours. We shall cleanse the multiverse of its Taint. We shall become the Highest Power the First Gods speak in hushed, fearful tones: the Masters of Space and Time Beyond the Void and In Between!
And with those words came a thunderous applause, a most delectable sound He ever heard and tasted! like the sweet honey of sin and sharp, vinegar scent of napalm in the morning. They chanted and hailed the Subspace Emissary -- Long Live the King! they cried -- with as fiery a gusto they could muster from their corporal beings.
They could not wait for that Moment to come.
But all was not well for one particular entity.
Right Hand was doing all he could to calm his erratic younger brother. Left Hand roved back and forth along the munitions platform called Final Destination. True to its name, it was a place where Subspace creatures too weak (too fearful) and inferior to uphold their positions as Knights of the Conquest were taken to be 'put to rest'. The floor, a mural of the Creation of Everything in all its cosmic magnificence, was never stained by the blood that spilled from the creatures', or rather the Shadow Bugs', bodies. They were far too immaculate and one-dimensional to avoid the Spiral's event horizon, but the barrier holding the platform and its occupants was strong enough to not be detached from gravity and fly toward the black hole, touching the inevitable point of no return.
It was one thing for Left Hand to be skeptical of their Master, for they had watched through millennia the transformation He went, but it was an entirely different matter when it came to the thought of mutiny. Albeit the younger Hand had expressed those worrisome signs, it still shocked the elder to the core.
This was serious. This was not good. In fact, it was outrageous! Betraying a First God was a felony on the behest of excommunication of the Inner Circle of Divine Authority. Betraying the First God, the One God who was there from the very Beginning, from the very era Chaos awoke, was an immediate sentence of disgrace. An act as blasphemous as mutiny would mark one as Fallen and Beyond Saving for the rest of his or her life.
Right Hand did not want to lose the last of his family to a traitorous mindset. He did not want the Conquest to be the Cause of his brother's plight. He tried to dissuade him from leaving, but Left Hand would have none of it.
-- He is using us! he raved madly. -- He is using us to get what He wants! Not for us, O brother of mine, not for the Shadow Bugs who could not evolve and be closer to the One God, but for Himself!
-- Do not think such things aloud! warned Right Hand. -- Master will Punish you if He catches wind of this.
-- What will it matter? He is selfish. He is prideful. He is deceit! There will be no room for us in the Absolute Universe. There will only be blood and death and tears!
-- Dear Left Hand, said the elder, -- it may be so that what He's done is wrong, but look where it has brought us. Some planets were so defiled, its people impure and customs barbaric. We had to put them To Rest. Would you want these rapscallions to exist among Our Vision? A Vision of Free Rule, a Vision of Everything Whole and In Between, a Vision in which Dreams are realized, made profound and take flight?
-- The Vision is a Lie! cried the younger, fingers flailing wildly. -- It is Propaganda at its fullest! The Throne of God is saved solely for Him and Him Alone! There will be no sympathy, no mercy, no justice to stop His Eternal Reign! The Shadow Bugs will never know True Peace or True Salvation so long as they serve Him! This Conquest has sullied them their Way of Life!
-- But we are His Sons, they His Knights. He won't abandon us. He never will. In a Universe concocted by Chaos, one must strive to enforce Order. It is what Master is doing. Master is doing what He believes is Right!
-- And you think it Right to destroy countless worlds? Do you think it Right to hear those anguished cries, look upon those doomed and damned souls who deserve no better than a fitting death in the lives they lead? Do you think it Right they must be Punished for so much as nothing but their own petty sins? Raping them of their existence is Wrong! Robbing them of everlasting Eternity in Heaven or insufferable agony in Hell is Wrong! Bathing in their blood and tasting their tears is Wrong! It is Wrong! All Wrong!
-- Hush, O brother! Hush! Your words be weak and fearful in the Eyes of Our Lord! Please cease your misguided rambles!
-- Misguided? quoted Left Hand. -- I am misguided? Do you think me ill for spewing this nonsense? Do you think me ill for turning the other way? Nay, brother, it is not I who is misguided. It is you, you who believe in His serpent tongue, you who are held mesmerized in His black and gold gaze! Birds of a feather may flock together, but you reap what you sow, and what we have sowed unto this Universe is a Seed of Utmost Destruction! It will be the End of Everything!
-- O brother of mine, do not leave with me these horrible designs! bemoaned Right Hand. I need you as you need me! We need each other! We all shall survive this terrible ordeal as we have done with the First Gods! Stay with us!
-- I cannot! I cannot and will not be beside Him! If you wish to remain with Father, then do so. I will not stop nor change you.
-- O brother, please! Do not--!
-- Your Lord is not God. He is Tyrant! He is Pure Evil Incarnate!
Left Hand morphed into an airplane and, buffeted by his building energy, rocketed across the cosmos. Right Hand could only watch his younger sibling, his stalwart, gung-ho nuisance of a brother, became a white speck in the endless horizon. When the smoke in his wake dissipated, Left Hand was gone.
He was never seen again in the multiverse.
-- Let him go, said a voice behind him. Right Hand turned and gasped, for lo! standing at the edge of Final Destination was He, His arms crossed and wings spread in the perfect imitation of an Angel of Death. -- I shall not welcome him back.
-- Master! cried the Son.
-- Our Vision is All and Clear. Our Path to Enlightenment lies within the expansion of Subspace. There is no worth in pessimism among My Ranks. The brother you knew is no longer here. He is independent. He is free. . . . He is . . . Crazy."
-- Master . . . .
-- Do not call me Master anymore. To this day forward, I dub ye Master Hand. It is . . . a fitting name for one such intelligent specimen as you.
The newly named Master Hand bowed to his Lord. -- Thank you, My Liege. I am honored to hold this disposition. But if you are no longer Master, what then shall I call you?
-- Save for My titles, I hold no name of My own. Exiled from the First Gods I was, and with it went My name. It does not matter now, Dear Son, for I shall never go by that awful sign. If a name is what you seek of Me, then Tabuu I shall give to thee as I gave unto My Army.
-- Tabuu, said the Hand evenly, nodding. -- It suits you well for He Who Cannot Be Named.
-- Indeed, drawled the Space King. -- Now come. There is much to discuss.
And there was much to discussion between Father and Son, their ramblings and whispers made secret in the recesses of the Castle of Time. They spoke long into the night raising questions and answering problems with monosyllabic responses and inner monologues, and by the Sun's dawn they departed on an anticipating note.
Master Hand was uneasy. He listened with an undivided attentiveness as Tabuu explained the outline of their mission, nodding every now and then as He pointed out an important part that had to be done or needed back-up should anything stray from their course of action. He admitted it was a sound plan, one that was meticulously observed and revised down to the final draft.
Until he mentioned the S.S.A. Nemesis.
-- The S.S.A. Nemesis? queried he. -- What is that?
-- The S.S.A. Nemesis, said Tabuu. --It will be a Bird of Great Flight, a Phoenix that shall Never Fall. It will be the most feared of our devices, but not without some additional help. My Knights have detected a planet in a binary star system located far from the cluster of arms which make up the Spiral's external body. It is called Terra and it is inhabited not by humans or creatures, but sentient machines known as the R.O.B.
-- What plans do we have on Terra, my Lord Tabuu?
-- I wish to negotiate with them on terms of offering their resources to further expand Subspace. There are many an idea I want to invoke unto their Elder the Ancient Minister, who is also believed to be titled the First R.O.B. If all goes well (and dearly I do hope so) we shall be one step closer to achieving Conquest.
-- Ah! That is good to hear! said Master Hand, if somewhat nervously. --When shall we be parting?
-- One hour. Prepare Companies Alpha and Omega for launch.
Master Hand nodded his consent and left then to give command to the assorted representatives who would follow them on their journey.
They landed on Terra not a day later, fast as the Emissary and his Army was. Outside the Church of the First Robot, a massive building of grand proportions, assembled the R.O.Bs and their leader, he who was distinguished from the rest via a luminous emerald cloak.
Things did not go so well from that point.
They had argued heatedly over the details of the plan. Or rather, it was the Ancient Minister who ranted about wholeness and harmony and togetherness with the machines he called family and saying how wrong it was to commit such a crime towards Mother Nature and the One God. Tabuu, as He so introduced Himself, listened detachedly.
When the First R.O.B. finished, the Space King slowly repeated that He wanted the use of their facilities to create special bombs containing the dark matter spawned from the Spiral. This was to ensure that, while He was out destroying fragile worlds and subjugate those with an iron-clad authority an overloading of energies residing in the R.O.Bs, which would counteract with the bomb's dark matter and self-destruct.
The resulting explosion would absorb part of the planet and expand Subspace furthermore. He mentioned there need only be two R.O.Bs for it to be done.
The Ancient Minister immediately revolted at the idea. He shook his pincer at the Emissary and vehemently cursed Him for the evil, close-minded being He was. He cursed Him to go to hell and hoped He would suffer in the Jaws of Chaos for all Eternity.
Master Hand had never seen such anger before. Once upon a time he had believed machines were not capable of emotions, that they were wired to obey those commands given to them unto their superiors. What the Ancient Minister was displaying was so real, so riled, so frightening . . . .
When Tabuu's whip snapped forward and struck the frontmost R.O.B in the audience, the world came to a screeching halt.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He couldn't believe it was happening! His Lord only struck at His minions when they were exhausted from work or showed signs of the infamous fear that was described in the first doctrine. He only gave them rest when they were sentenced to Final Destination.
But this. . . . This was . . .
This was . . . !
The robot shattered upon impact, pincers and conveyor belts and gears and all. Detached from its body, the head sparked and rolled across the floor, sliding to a stop in front of the Ancient Minister.
He looked, and those dead, dead bulbs stared back.
-- Now, said the Angel of Death, -- you will either accept our offer or you and your people join your compatriot in the afterlife. He indicated to the pile of scrap metal with the blade of His whip. A gaze of cosmic nothingness and universal judgment bore into the lead R.O.B's core, glowing inside their sockets. -- What will it be?
There fell upon the conglomerate a deathly silence. No robot dared made a sound. Their optics, bright and full of existence, turned to the one they looked to as leader, as brother, as father. However, regardless of their gaze the Ancient Minister found himself alone in a solipsist conundrum. His processing banks was in overdrive, checking and re-checking decisions to be made, probabilities to become reality. His people were afraid. He was afraid. Would he sacrifice his home and brethren to serve unto the Space King's Whim, or die under that wicked blade, his body and that of many others melting in paradise set ablaze by His Wrath?
The Ancient Minister focused on Him, the Subspace Emissary, His whip gleaning dangerously in His hand.
He told Him his choice.
The R.O.Bs gasped.
Master Hand bit back a wounded cry.
Tabuu smiled.
And the Ancient Minister Fell From Grace.
It was a dark time for the R.O.Bs, and those decades that would follow would forever be remembered as the Grim Years. No longer did peace and oneness reigned. No longer did songs permeate the atmosphere with good cheer. No longer did they greet another as they wheeled the halls or waved from balconies.
Those days were gone, replaced by shades of grey and black oil. Their Holy Land was now an Inner Circle of Hell, their lascivious prison, their perfect image of harmony, they spent sunrises and sunsets to recreate. The towers and observatories and parks and avenues, all their hard work, was torn apart by the hands of the Envisioned Army. In their places stood factories tall and wide and soulless, and from them they produced not the nature-loving automatons but emotionless soldiers garbed in one-inch guns and ready for War. Drones were pulled dripping wet with battery acid from smelting pools filled to the brim of the R.O.Bs' life fluids and carted off to be programmed the mission objectives and Absolute Laws from the Space King's telekinetic powers.
The entirety of the R.O.Bs was sentenced to build the S.S.A. Nemesis on the other side of the Island. The Army delivered various metallic parts from the First Robot's smelting pool to the open grasslands which were home to the construction of the mighty gunship. Primids from different classes commanded and overlooked the enslaved machines as progress slowly surmounted to the monstrous skeletal frame.
In the midst of everything stood the Ancient Minister, his hood drawn close and his head bowed in shame. Master Hand, who was floating next to him, then felt a deep sadness settle in his core. His brother's words echoed like a symphony lost to the vacuums of space, and a motive unlike any that had crossed his thoughts appeared before him.
He knew it to be a very foolish, very cowardly move that would cost him his life, but in the dark depths of his psyche he concluded to be a good reason on his behalf and those who had found them prey to the Subspace Emissary.
He had to try. Try and get out of the mess he had started. The Shadow Bugs would have been better off if they had not sought the dying moon. Countless planets and civilizations would still be thriving if they had not joined the Space King in Exile.
For his brother, the First Gods and the One God, he would try.
A year later, when the S.S.A. Nemesis was nearing completion, Tabuu gathered His Envisioned Army to the Castle of Time for the most important announcement.
It was time to commence Operation Conquest.
The ovation He received was so grand it shook the Castle's foundations.
As they departed the pocket dimension, Master Hand regretted not going with his brother to the Final Frontier. He bemoaned the fact that Tabuu, His Lord and Father, shed the skin of the First God and became the twisted, maligned monster that He was. He despaired when the words of Crazy Hand defining the Shadow Bugs' Fall hit him hardest.
He wished he could be there by his side, traveling aimlessly across the stars without Cause or Purpose. He wished he could have seized that chance. He wished these turn of events never happened.
But most of all, deep in his core of cores, he wished to die. To die and never look upon the face of War and Blood and Hopelessness. If only to escape the Pure Evil that was Tabuu, the Subspace Emissary.
It was too late. War was Imminent, looming over the horizon.
Master Hand gave a world weary sigh, the gold chains tightening with each movement made. There was nothing he could do now to stop Tabuu, nothing he could do to change his past ways.
He would pay this indecision with his Life.