§4 Envy
I do not forget some things easily.
I would not pretend that I am some savant, some person with a miraculous mind that maintains everything that drops into it. I am not. But I do have one folder in there, and I will remember everything that folder contains. Time will not dull their sharp edges, and all attempts to empty the folder will invariably fail. It is a sort of mental safe, if you will.
The folder is entitled "My Mistakes".
It is not, comparatively speaking, a big folder. I like to think that I consider my actions more than most, and as a result make correspondingly fewer errors. But when something gets into that folder, it sticks to the inside like a disgusting lump of chewing gum. It sits and festers and when I let the hand of my thoughts wander for a bit, it invariably gets into the folder and sticks to one or more mistakes, which I will then spend a long time ruing long after everyone else has forgotten them completely. The greater the mistake, the larger the lump and the more likely it is my hand will get stuck to it, and the longer it will take to un-stick myself.
There is only one solvent which will successfully clean a lump of mistake from the inside of the folder, and that is to atone for the mistake. The only way to do this is to apologise and make it up to all the people who have been adversely affected by my error, and should this be too difficult or impossible to accomplish (as it frequently is) then it will remain there, to be regretted at irregular intervals, until my dying day.
If you are dying to say, "Why, oh Meta Knight, do you not simply close this folder up so that you cannot insert your hand, or burn it or something?", then I say to you that you have taken my metaphor too far, and maybe you should try burning or closing up a bit of your brain. I think that at this point you would retreat.
This is part of the story of how I tried to remove the largest, stickiest mistake that has ever taken up residence within my folder.
o o o
My narrative starts in the green plains of Hyrule Field. Well, actually that is untrue – my narrative starts, chronologically speaking, on a distant planet the Nintens call "Pop Star", an allusion to its five-pointed shape and its multicoloured rings. All in good time, though – for now, my narrative is in Hyrule Field.
Not for long, though, for it picks up a few weeks after I joined the anti-LOVE force the planet would unfortunately come to know as the League of Legends, or "LOL" for short. It also begins several hours after the League's chance meeting with Shadow, the dark-furred doppelganger of our apparent leader Sonic. During this time, I had used the Mach Tornado technique to traverse much of the ground between the meeting point and the place where Hyrule bordered Dreamland. The technique is aptly named – the user spins around like a tornado, drawing debris and foes in like a tornado, and then spits them out like a tornado; and a skilled user can travel in tornado form at greater than the speed of sound, otherwise known as Mach 1. Hence, Mach Tornado.
Dreamland, you may recall, is a massive country-continent characterised by a somewhat artificial appearance. Its origin story is an interesting one, as it was originally a nation of Pop Star; but as I said earlier, all in good time. For now, it will suffice to recall that King Dedede was currently in charge of it and that I had been second-in-command of it up until my permanent exclusion from the LOVE about nine months ago.
It took me about twenty-four hours to traverse the expanse of Hyrule Field without crashing into too many of the Moblins, goblins and other varieties of x-oblin that patrolled the grasses. As a master of the Mach Tornado, I was able to spin on autopilot and concentrate on more important things, like how much I had failed everyone who mattered to me and how depressed I was. I do that a lot. It depresses me even more, so I think more about how depressed I am. It's a vicious cycle.
As I reached the border the day after meeting Shadow, where the flowing greenery of Hyrule suddenly gave way to the almost artificial greenery of Dreamland, the unmistakable swish of rollerblades hissed out over the plains. Toppling out of my tornado in a dizzy daze, I stumbled over to a bush and hid myself. A creature a little taller than me, yellow in hue, decked out in a red baseball cap and holding a large paintbrush, skated along the join between the countries. It drew to a stop, painted a gun turret onto the grass and then skated off without a backward glance. Shortly afterwards, a gun turret appeared on the ground where the graffiti had been.
The presence of Paint Roller on the border rather suggested that King Dedede was keeping an eye out for someone trying to sneak into his country, or more likely eight someones, possibly accompanied by a grey-garbed someone with a beard. I smiled to myself beneath my mask. What a very efficient defence mechanism, I thought, as I zipped past the slowly moving shells.
o o o
As I span at over 600 rpm down the patchwork-esque country roads, I thought over the rough plan I had constructed on my journey. It involved me facing up to and apologising to some of the people my mistake had hurt worst (just worst, you understand, not the worst), and in a way I looked forward to it. It would be awkward and difficult and painful, but that was all part of the purging… Sorry, poor choice of word: it was part of the cleansing process. Each embarrassed glance at the floor, each muttered expression of regret, each reddening of my blue cheeks would be a wave of solvent washing over that big sticky lump of discarded gum.
The only problem was finding the people. They had no reason to remain loyal to me after what I had done. Suppose they had regrouped? What if they had left Dreamland altogether? I would be left fighting my way into King Dedede's fortress on my own, and I like my life. Sometimes. When I'm not regretting things. Then I hate it. But not enough to end it by fighting my way into King Dedede's fortress on my own.
It took me about eight hours to traverse the expanse of Dreamland without crashing into too many of the Waddle Dees, Waddle Doos and Waddevers that patrolled the streets. As a master of the Mach Tornado, I was able to spin on autopilot and concentrate on more important things, like how much I had failed everyone who mattered to me and…
I feel like I am repeating myself.
Not important, anyway. What is important is what happened when those eight hours were up, and Dreamland was shrouded in darkness. It was a relief for me, as Mach Tornado-ing into the capital city of Dreamland, known to most simply as "The City", would have rather spoilt my attempt at stealth. I am, however, very good at flitting through shadows. Wrapped in my cape, I move almost unseen from one shadow to the next, and when The City is dark save for street lamps and shop lights then the shadows are everywhere and I move like a fish in a stream, swimming in smooth continuous movement from one nook or cranny to the next and only emerge to deliver a sharp slash to the throat of a transgressor (which I must admit is not typical of most fish). I was not responsible for the rending of any jugulars on this occasion – that too would have spoilt the attempt at stealth. I simply swam until I reached the inconspicuous wooden door, a bit creaky but still intact.
I held my breath as I tapped in the strange pattern on the door, which included knocking, doorbell ringing and "accidentally" rapping one's knuckles on the frame. Suppose they should have moved on? Suppose, worse still, someone else had moved in, and should emerge wondering what this cretin was doing being unable to knock properly? And what if they should recognise me? I would be in the figurative soup for sure. I heard the soft frequent footsteps of a Waddle Dee plodding down the hall towards the door, and prayed to Zelda's goddesses that it was wearing a sailor's hat.
The eye-hatch opened, and above the large black eyes was a sailor's hat. I breathed a massive sigh of relief.
"Hello, Nautilus," I said, in a way I hoped was "chummy" enough while still conveying a sense of deep apology.
Nautilus' response was to grow his eyes several times and jump back as if stung. I cannot blame him – the last he had heard of me was that I had been banished from the LOVE, presumed dead. To his credit, he rallied splendidly. He returned to the hatch and looked me dead in the eyes, shaking only slightly.
"M-m-meta!" he squeaked. "They told us you were dead!"
"Did they really. So, how about letting me in?"
Nautilus' eyes faced the floor. "The new boss says you're permanently excluded from the Meta-Knights under section two, clause two."
"Any Meta-Knight who at any point with the Meta-Knights abandons the Meta-Knights for reasons deemed selfish by the remaining Meta-Knights shall be permanently excluded from the Meta-Knights." I knew it off by heart, and had been long aware that it was one of the many clauses from my own code that would be used against me when I came grovelling back. However, I had a counter-strike prepared, at least to get me in.
"And what is clause two of section four?" I retaliated.
Nautilus' eyes became thoughtful for a moment. "'The list of excluding crimes includes, but is not limited to, stealing the food of another member…'?"
"No, that's clause four of section two."
"'A Meta-Knight must not endanger his own life for stupid or unnecessary reasons, unless failing to do so would endanger the safety of innocents or the Meta-Knights in general'?"
"Bingo." I unsheathed Galaxia and waved it before the hatch. "Now, it would be greatly endangering your life not to let me in, and I'd get to the rest of the Meta-Knights either way."
I gave this time to sink in. Through the hatch, I could see Nautilus' eyes heaven-turned and pondering, then focused on Galaxia, then locked on mine with a hint of fear for his life around the edges. Finally they moved to one side, and after a bit of grinding of locks Nautilus' head, and therefore his body, peeked around the door.
"Well, you'd better come in then."
o o o
I was the only one of my friends who liked swords. I say "friends" – I was quiet in my formative years, a diminutive blue blob with stubby to non-existent arms and legs and a tendency to blush. But there was a group of people at City Prep who I tended to hang around because we all liked sharp things, and they tolerated me as an outsider.
There was Alfonso, with yellow spiky hair he hid under a similarly shaped purple helmet and large soulful eyes. He was the unofficial leader of the group, and liked maces. Ezlo resembled a skull with purple shoes and a red horned helmet; he followed Alfonso around like a faithful puppy and favoured axes. And Greg, the silent one, was made out of metal he had painted purple, and retrieved javelins from a hatch in his body. It was Alfonso's suggestion that they all wear some purple, and wanting to fit in I donned purple boots and cape.
Alfonso was fond of patronising me, and for a long time I did not object from the hope of forming friends. He would comment on how I looked too "cute" to be a soldier, and when the others acquired nicknames based on their preferred weapons (Mace Knight, Axe Knight, Javelin Knight) he called me "Blush Knight". Thus I crafted myself a mask out of an old hubcap to hide those wretched flushes; he duly changed my nickname to "Hub Knight". I duly challenged him to a duel, fed up at last, and after laughing at me dismissively he was du(e)ly sent to Matron with severe lacerations and bruising while I got detention for three days.
That changed things a bit in the playground. I was suddenly in charge, and now my quiet nature and mask made me "mysterious". My nickname became Metal Knight, and because I was unimaginative my band, of which I was now not only an accepted member but the leader, was named "the Metal-Knights". The "l" was later dropped because it was hard to pronounce. We met after school to practise with our weaponry, vowing to defend the innocent from the guilty, and carried on this practice after leaving City Prep, when I wrote up our code. We were heroes of all Dreamland, right up until someone else usurped us.
And after the journey down the steep stairs there they all were (plus one extra), sitting round a wooden table, all armoured up and with their weapons sitting by their sides, glinting in the light of the flaming torches. Not much had changed in the last year, clearly, apart from what would usually be a cry of recognition as I entered the room becoming a cry of horror and several sharp objects being thrust in my direction.
"Nauty, why did you let that thing in?" yelled Trident Knight.
That stung. As the weapons pointed in my direction, I saw that the eyes of my former comrades were not as hatred-filled as I had imagined them to be – Mace looked curious, Axe looked positively happy to see me and Javelin's optic panel was cyan, dictating neutral or interested feelings as opposed to angry or scared ones. But from beneath the purple helmet and the yellow moon Titania had fixed onto it, the scarlet orbs of our latest addition to the Knights' Inner Circle were pinpricks of pure anger directed at me. Nautilus merely cowered and looked around with big eyes.
"Code of the Meta-Knights, clause two, section four," I replied for him. "Who is…"
"And you in turn broke clause one, section two!" Trident cried back. "'Any Meta-Knight who threatens any other…'"
"Trident," said Mace calmly, "Meta has broken his own code in much more evident ways than sub-clause one, clause one, section two over the last year. Somehow I think that being told off for that is no great worry to him."
It was true that I had more pressing matters to deal with, but having my own code used against me was a stab in the ribs nonetheless. The same was true for the yellow feathers on what had been my chair, because I knew to whom they belonged. All part of the cleansing, all part of the cleansing. Keep calm.
Mace had been looking me up and down, and now he spoke. "The Code says nothing about letting traitors back in. Have you come to apologise, or to pretend you've turned over a new leaf?"
"Both, I expect. Have you heard of the League of Legends?"
That struck a chord. There were mutterings suggesting a mix of wonder and irritation that the LOL were doing the Knights' job better than the Knights could. Javelin's display flashed green (envy), navy (awe) and orange with pink stripes (I have no idea).
"I've been travelling with them," I said. "I rescued Solid Snake, brought him back to Yoshi's Island, and then five months later joined up with the LOL."
A modest triumph. Axe's eyes lit up, and his skull seemed to smile; Javelin's display settled between navy and yellow (happiness); Trident had lost her anger completely and was actually smiling, although her face became black again when I looked at her. Mace's large eyes remained expressionless.
"I don't believe you," he said. "There have been reports about the LOL on television, and no mention of you."
"Of course not," I said, trying not to sound like I was explaining the obvious to an exceptionally thick child with limited success. "They wanted the world to think I was dead."
"Why didn't they just kill you?"
I looked at the floor. "I don't know."
A glaring omission in my reasoning, true though it was. Mace was obviously and understandably unconvinced.
"I don't believe you," he repeated slowly, as if now I was the thick child.
"Neither do I!"
My heart, until now on a steady upward gradient, took a hard tumble earthwards. I had known this moment would come from the moment I saw the feathers, but that could not prepare me for the disgust and humiliation I felt upon seeing the large golden bird, admiral's hat askew and chest feathers puffed out like a pigeon in mating season. My self-control pushed its limit as he strutted forwards and lazily slumped into my… Sorry, what had been my chair.
"Well well," I hissed, fists clenched. "Captain Vul. How nice to see you again."
"That's Admiral Vul to you, shorty," he said, pointing out the new hat. "What are you doing here? Coming weeping back into the fold, eh?"
"I could ask you the same question."
Vul gave a harsh, squawking laugh. "Well, after the Meta-Knights' leader left them for a life of scum and villainy, I volunteered to fill the empty slot. They accepted me with open arms."
Javelin's screen, although cyan, was suffering from interference, and Axe was eyeing up the floor. They gave me the feeling that Vul had not experienced as little resistance as he claimed, which lit a flame of hope within my breast.
"All right," I said, still mindful of the weapons thrust towards me. "Now that all the Meta-Knights" (and Vul, I thought to myself) "are collected here, I have something to say to you all. I realise that deeds, not words, are needed to clear my name, but words seem a good place to start."
Vul yawned. "Speak your piece and then get out. We don't deal with traitors in the Meta-Knights."
I ground my teeth. That great feathery hypocrite! Nevertheless, I coughed slightly and spoke.
It was an adequate speech. Despite all the recitations I had done in my head I fluffed a few lines, and there were copious interruptions from the ill-mannered Vul. Gratifyingly, even Mace had grown tired of these by the end, shushing Vul impatiently. The speech was basically lots of apologies for my betrayal and resulting absence, my reasons, my acceptance that these reasons were essentially meaningless and what I planned to do to make up for them; and although no words could effectively convey the anguish that had torn at me from within, the thoughts of hara-kiri that had passed through my mind, still I felt that they did a sufficient job. It was at least long enough to make the others remove their armoury from my face and sit down.
"…but I cannot complete this plan without you," I ended, my voice impassioned. "I know that I have wronged you, and as I have said I regret it. But I long for the chance to prove that I have changed since my foolishness a year ago, and I beg for you to give it to me."
I stood stationary for a moment, sweating beneath the mask and waiting. The audience was watching me at different levels of rapt attention. After said moment had passed, Vul clapped slowly, got up from what had been my chair and spoke.
"Very eloquent, traitor," he sneered. "But let us suppose that we accept you back into the Meta-Knights, for a chance to put your little plan into action. You realise that would mean you working under me?"
Oh sweet Gods no. Cleansing was good, yes, but I could have murdered the entirety of the Knights and still not deserved that much cleansing. Vul must have noticed the pause, for his eyes locked smugly onto mine and he opened his beak to gloat.
"There's always 'The Duel'!"
Axe always spoke in a chirpy way that suggested too much coffee had dripped through his bones. It was the sort of thing that could make a man want to kill him and use his feet as doorstops, and yet now I shared his enthusiasm. The "The Duel" clause in The Code says that any dispute between Meta-Knights may be settled, with the agreement of both participants and a majority of the other Knights, by a Knights' Duel. Ever since that day in the schoolyard, nobody had wanted to challenge me to a Knights' Duel, but now Vul had no choice – although he could in theory veto the challenge in accordance with The Code, doing so would mark him out as a coward and Mace would probably take over as leader. With a look on his face that reminded me of a Cucco chicken just as Captain Falcon wrung its neck, he tried to think of another way out.
"But… but he's not a Meta-Knight any more!" he bwarked.
"Technically he is," said a grimacing Mace. "His own Code declares him a Meta-Knight until death." I silently thanked my foresight in including this at the back of The Code.
Vul looked at the others, frantically seeking escape, but found none. He was met by four inquisitive stares (if Javelin's could be called a "stare") and the angry but acquiescing eyes of Mace. He threw his wings to heaven and sighed.
"Fine!" he clucked. "All in favour of a Knights' Duel to decide hoo boy." He wiped his sweaty headfeathers before continuing. "…to decide who is to be the Meta-Knights' leader, please raise one hand now."
Axe's hand shot up immediately, confirming my belief that Vul had been less tolerant of his optimism than I had. Javelin's metal claw followed – I reckon it is harder to trick robots than the "alive". Mace unsurprisingly kept his hand down, as did Nautilus, which I supposed stemmed from me using his life as a bargaining chip and was fair enough. Trident's hands both remained attached to her trident, but her eyes were turned upwards (though away from mine) in consideration. Vul clearly missed this, and his squawk of triumph was cut short by her raised hand.
"Sure, why not?" said Trident, her voice indifferent. "At the end of the day they're both traitors, and while Meta may have done more wrong he has proven himself to be more consistently competent."
"Fine!" Vul croaked, turning his back. "That is just fine! We fight in the morning. But he's still a traitor for now. Chuck him in the cells!"
More cleansing. That was okay by me. But I had to talk to the stupid bird, to give him a chance, much though it pained me to do it.
"Vul!"
Mace and Axe had grabbed my arms, Mace roughly, Axe as if handling a china vase. Vul turned again, all kinds of hatred radiating from his face.
"You know that a Knights' Duel may go on to the death unless one fighter yields?" I said.
"Yes, I know!" said Vul, with a fiery glare.
"You know that you could just stand down to Mace, say, and avoid the fight altogether?"
"Yes, I know!" said Vul, with a contemptuous laugh.
"And you know that I'm not telling you this for my health?"
Vul maintained his proud stance as he swivelled around, but even while I was being dragged off I could see his shoulders droop, as if to say, "Yes, I know."
o o o
Galaxia, blade of champions…
It was this weapon I polished now, in my cell, and as I shined it with my cape I thought of the time when I had first wielded it. Even to be allowed into the presence of the blade was an honour – to be allowed to try and hold it, at the ripe old age of nineteen Pop Star years, was a privilege greater than any I could have expected, and one I was only granted due to swordsmanship so exceptional in the Dreamland army (my day job – the Meta-Knights were my hobby) that it had propelled me through the ranks and attracted the attention the higher-ups.
I was taken there by the supreme commander of the armed forces of Dreamland, a great swordsman himself, and his one-year-old son. He told me on the way how Galaxia would burn those it did not accept, and how on the advice of his superior officer he had attempted to grasp the blade. He showed me the burn scars and I winced.
It resided in a small cave, dank and dripping and lit only by the ethereal glow from the red jewel on its hilt. I could well believe that its yellow flame-like blade, made from still metal though it was, could burn the hands of the unwary. Yet the commander took his son off his shoulders and pushed me forwards. My confidence drained away as I unsteadily approached the sword's resting place.
My hand beneath my white glove shook as I reached it towards the blade and delicately touched it. Nothing happened – no unbearable pain, no smell of frazzled cloth. I seized the hilt with the same lack of effect, and pulled it loose. The chain that held it must have been centuries old, and fell apart easily. I swiped the blade a few times, and then threw it up in the air with reckless joy, as the commander cheered. Galaxia had chosen me as its wielder!
I failed to catch it, and sent it spinning across the floor towards my commander's feet. Then his son, hiding behind them, peeked out and inhaled deeply. He sucked the sword into his maw, pulled a face and spat it out again with no ill effects. Then he grabbed the hilt, looked solemnly at his father and said, "Goo."
That was Kirby. With no training, no effort, and whole days spent sleeping and eating, he was better than most people would ever be, and goodness did it grate. Every time I thought I'd upped my game, he could just grab a sword and mimic me exactly, or just inhale my sword, or just inhale me. The Meta-Knights' every attempt to save the kingdom from the greedy clutches of its self-proclaimed ruler "King" Dedede or (and I confess that as Kirby became more prolific this became our main goal) "accidentally" bump off the pink one was scuppered by Kirby's innate talent at inhaling and copying abilities, or just proving an expert at everything he took his hand to. Sometimes he would interfere with our plans to save Dreamland, spoil everything and then somehow manage to defeat the attacker anyway. And because of his undeniable cuteness and happy-go-lucky demeanour, Kirby became popular in a way a group of purple-armoured fighters could never hope to be.
The worst thing was that, notwithstanding the pink body and red feet, he looked almost exactly like a younger me beneath the mask.
"Galahad."
"Hello Trident," I said, without looking up.
I had been aware of the presence outside my cell for a while, although I had hoped that she would announce it in a slightly less detestable way. My mother always claimed that my first name was "noble" and "knightly", whereas I counterclaimed that it was stupid. I had been only too glad to drop it in favour of "Meta Knight". Now, only two people used it – Mace, when he felt like taunting me slightly, and Trident, who thought it "cute".
I looked up and saw that it was not, after all, Trident Knight, but Titania, the girl beneath the purple armour, a mint-green female of my species. When I looked up she jumped back, as if I was afraid that I should rush at her through the bars, and then looked rather disappointed that I did not.
"Why did you really come back?" she asked me in a stern tone.
I have always held that absolute honesty was the best approach, in the long one at least. In the short run, it frequently made me unpopular.
"To restore my honour in my own eyes and those of others," I said honestly.
"Including mine?"
"Of course." I had thought that was obvious from the context.
Trident's eyes sparkled in the torchlight; I could not be certain whether I had glimpsed tears. Her mouth formed itself into a wavering smile.
"That's sweet," she said.
I couldn't see it myself. Was it sweet to have betrayed my friends, my country and the whole world, and to now be slinking back grovelling for forgiveness? I told her this.
"Well, I think it's very big of you," she said. "Not many people would have had the guts to make up for their wrongdoings."
True. Then again, not many people would feel the unpleasant stickiness of regret as often as I did. All the same, one thing confused me.
"In which case, why did you called me 'that thing' when I came back?"
Now it was Titania's turn to look confused. "Well, I… Er… That is to say…" Her cheeks had gone bright scarlet by the time she gave me a parting glare and, turning through three quarters of a circle, coldly stalked off down the corridor.
I retrieved Galaxia and returned to my preparations for the duel tomorrow morning. On the whole, I felt that, given my previous acts and the fact that I had been allowed no time to prepare for the sudden interview, that little exchange had gone quite well.
o o o
My suggestion that we stage a takeover bid of Dreamland was met by the rest of the Meta-Knights' Inner Circle (Mace, Axe, Javelin and I) with surprise, but no objection. Dreamland's government was basically owned and run by King Dedede, who ruled through the military might of his Waddle Dee army, so nobody would miss its downfall and replacement. Besides, we all agreed that the main point of the venture would be to attract the attention of Kirby and then obliterate him. Actually taking over Dreamland was a secondary objective.
It seemed plausible enough at the time. The Knights had begun to take on recruits, and despite Kirby's popularity we managed to attract about fifty young hopefuls and train them in the arts of the blade, mace, axe or javelin. More importantly, as a gift for being the wielder of Galaxia the supreme commander of Dreamland's armed forces had put me in charge of a magnificent battle cruiser, and recently I had been receiving military grants towards upgrading it. (It did seem a bit cruel to use the commander's gift to destroy his son and potentially the army he commanded, but I was willing to go to almost any lengths in order to eliminate that pink blot on my landscape.) By the time the plan was in its final phases, the Halberd (as I named it) was the best-equipped ship on Pop Star, featuring obscene amounts of artillery, a special mega-gun called the Combo Cannon and its own on-board tank called the Heavy Lobster, all the weaponry and half the other functionality reliant on a Galaxia-enabled lock. Now all it needed was a helmsman and a captain to command it while I was fighting Kirby one-on-one.
The helmsman was a young Waddle Dee, who had spent a few years in Dreamland's navy before becoming disillusioned and giving it up to join the Meta-Knights. His Meta-Name was Nautilus, his trademark a small sailor's hat. The captain came direct from Dreamland's air force, and I signed him up more because of our shared hatred of Kirby ("He makes us all look bad!") and his skill in the air than because I liked him. His name, as you may have guessed, was Vul.
At last, everything was ready. After taking the ship out of Dreamland on the pretence of some aerial training, I gave the Knights their briefing while Vul flew us into Dreamland and blasted the seven bells out of some small settlements near Kirby's home town. This goes against section 1, clause 1 of the Code of the Meta-Knights, in which I firmly state that our objective is to help the innocent, not blow their villages to smithereens; but before I could take it up with Vul, Kirby was upon us.
I don't know how he did it. We managed to blast him off the ship twice, but he got back on, smashed both wings, the Heavy Lobster and the Combo Cannon, defeated me one-on-one and somehow got to safety. Despite the damage, it might have been possible to save the Halberd from a fate at the bottom of the sea, had its honourable captain not flown the coop. As a result, the thirty-four surviving Knights and I watched the ship descend into the ocean from five little jets.
Later we would pay the price for our actions. The Meta-Knights became an outlawed group in Dreamland, and most of the survivors left us, for which I cannot blame them. But there was a thin silver lining from my perspective – as I piloted the eight-man jet, tearing up with the frustration of failure and the loss of the Halberd, I was comforted by a mint-green Knight who, I had noticed, was more than usually skilled with the trident. Her name was Titania. I had met the future last member of the Meta-Knights' Inner Circle.
"Meta Knight, will you please enter the arena?"
I blinked. Back in the present day, the door in front of me had opened, and I walked out from my small side room into the largest whitest area in the Meta-Knights' base, set aside specifically for Knights' Duels. Trident, Axe, Javelin and Nautilus watched from the stands around the circumference, while Mace in the commentator's box spoke into his microphone with a rather bored expression.
"And the challenged party, Captain Vul. Will…"
He paused, and I noticed the small earpiece.
"Sorry," said Mace, sighing, "Admiral Vul. Will Admiral Vul please enter the arena?"
I allowed myself a half-smile. If the turkey went on like this, he might lose Mace's support by the end of the fight. Not that it made much difference. Knights' Duels were fought with the use of one weapon, and although I had heard of his proficiency with beak and talons I doubted that, restricted to one of the two, Vul could beat Galaxia.
"Booyah!"
…Although of course if he came in piloting a giant crustacean-shaped mech he might have a chance. It landed with a ground-shaking thunk.
"Meet the Heavy Lobster 2.0!" sneered Vul from behind a glass dome. "This is my one weapon, Meta. Let's see if Galaxia can scratch it!"
I racked my brains for some article in the Code that might bar Vul from entering with a metal lobster, but for some reason it had never occurred to me to write a sub-clause saying "no metal lobsters may be used in Knights' Duels". I looked with pleading eyes at Mace, who was staring with utter indifference at the centre of the room.
"Let the duel… begin."
The Heavy Lobster 2.0 lurched forward, making another thunk as it landed, and lashed out at me with two massive claws. I barely dodged them, feeling the air rush past me as I evaded. I flew up to the main body of the mech and gave it an experimental tap with Galaxia. The blade pinged off in a way that assured me that if I tried to take the Lobster down with my sword alone, I would end up breaking the most powerful weapon on old Pop Star.
As I dodged the Lobster's fire-spitting mouth, my mind was racing. If I could not take the Lobster head-on (and I couldn't), I would have to find some other way to win. I thought of its pilot – either blessed or cursed with a teeth-gritted determination to succeed at any cost (despite his lack of teeth) which often rendered him blind to anything else. As he threw everything the Halberd possessed at Kirby, he was indifferent to the survival of the ship itself, going so far as to suggest that bringing it down with Kirby trapped inside was our best move. Surely I could turn this against him? Whoops – mind that claw.
A-ha. All too easy.
Cannons on the sides of the Lobster opened up and peppered the area around me with red laser fire as I flew around the arena. I landed on one of the stands and stuck my middle finger up at the mech.
"Ya boo sucks to you, you stupid guinea fowl," I said, thinking of Sonic and Captain Falcon as I did so. "I hear that your mother is a female dog, and also chronically obese."
"What you say?" squawked the astonished Vul.
Well might he have been astonished. It was not often that I lowered myself into what I felt was playground vernacular. However, I continued to flip the bird at the bird and threw in a little dance for good measure.
"Yes," I continued. "A reliable source tells me that she will also sleep with anybody, and has thus contracted seventeen different STIs."
Vul's aggravated cawing was barely audible over the sound of the Lobster bearing down at 75 kph, missing me as I leapt out of the way and instead doing some serious damage to the innocent seating. It drew a set of astonished gasps from the peanut gallery.
"I can see why she might have to," I said, alighting on some stands closer to where the audience of four sat. "Beggars can't be choosers. And believe me, anyone that overweight and disfigured would have to beg."
The fire breath rushed towards me, coupled with another volley of laser fire. The lasers nearly singed my cape this time, but I was airborne again and out of the firing line before the shouts of dismay from the audience had died.
"Watch where you're firing, you great partridge!" shouted Trident.
"Shut up!" shrieked Vul at me. "My mother is a fine upstanding bird!"
"Sometimes," I said, delivering my coup de grâce: "Mostly she does it lying down."
The Lobster came thundering down on me, its claws flailing, and struck heavily several times where I had been. Unfortunately for Vul, that happened to be the commentary box. Mace stood petrified, his large eyes transfixed on the pincers stuck through the glass inches from his nose. For a while, all was deathly still.
"I hereby declare you disqualified from the Duel by reason of section twelve clause four sub-clause one as your actions in this Duel have put an innocent bystander in danger, and therefore claim the victory and reclaim the position of leader of the Meta-Knights," I said quickly from behind the Lobster.
All I could see was the back of Vul's head, and that was mostly hat. Then it slowly turned around independently of the mech, a strangled expression on its front. Vul emitted a sound I can only write as "Bwark!" and looked at Mace for confirmation. Mace, having at last retained his composure, coughed and angrily picked up the microphone.
"Hm, yes, er, I declare Meta Knight the winner of this ARGH!"
The Lobster's pincers were yanked out of the commentary box's windows, the glass shattering like Vul's façade of respectability.
"I'm gonna cut you into tiny pieces!" he yelled, charging. The last thing I remember before everything went black was the sight of a furious albatross-raptor thing commanding a massive metal arthropod, which was rushing at me at 75 kph with fire protruding from its gullet.