The opponents' swords struck one another with tremendous force; then they withdrew and struck again. Tired and drenched with sweat, the two foes struggled fiercely with one another, each striving to overcome the other.

The first battler was human, six feet four inches tall, clad in a suit of tempered steel armor that gleamed brilliantly in the setting sun. His face was strained with exertion and streaked with mingled sweat and blood, and he panted heavily as he swung his blade. The second fighter was a Toad, little more than a boy of eight, also wearing a suit of armor and wielding a sword. He too looked worn, but he had not the injuries of his opponent. Furiously the two mismatched fighters clashed, staining the ground with blood.

Suddenly a blow of the younger dueler's sword caught his opponent off balance. Seeing his enemy teetering, he dealt a second strike that knocked the man down and sent his sword flying out of his hand. Panting from exertion, the Toad boy put the tip of his sword at his opponent's throat. The fallen warrior shakily raised his gauntleted hands in token of surrender.

The spectators in the stadium bleachers went wild, clapping and cheering and whistling for all they were worth. Someone in the stands held up a large placard. It read:

"GO MICHAEL!!!"

As the two opponents exited the arena to thunderous applause and shouting, one of the royal guards pushed his way through the screaming fans to an empty seat. Quickly he sat down and kissed his wife beside him. "How's he doing, dear? Am I too late?" he yelled over the din.

Rachel smiled at him. "He's doing great, Russ!" she shouted back.

The noise of the cheering onlookers died down somewhat, allowing the two to converse normally. "That's my boy!" Russ T. said with a nod and a smile. "I never thought he'd last this long, but he's blown me away! The tournament's almost over!" He looked out over the arena thoughtfully. "Any good contestants this year?"

"Two that I've seen," replied his wife. "Michael's one of them. The other is—"

"Attention!" barked the announcer's voice from the loudspeakers. "We have our finalists! From the first division, we have the Mushroom Kingdom's own Michael Toadfrey! And from the second division, we have possibly the most powerful fighter ever to enter the tournament—the Masked Warrior! This looks to be a tight match, folks! The final round will be held in fifteen minutes!"

Russ looked over at Rachel. "That's him?"

Rachel nodded. "He didn't register his name when he entered. That's what everyone's been calling him."

"Sounds like one tough cookie," Russ remarked dryly. "Come on. Let's go see Michael before the final round starts. He'll need a little pep rally to get him energized for this last fight." He stood and took his wife's hand, guiding her through the mass of spectators toward the stairs.

The couple pushed through the teeming bleachers and descended the steps into the entrance hall of the stadium. As Toads they were at a disadvantage among the many taller species thronging the room.

"Dad!"

Russ quickly pulled Rachel toward the call. He knew that voice.

"Dad! You made it!" Michael, still dripping with sweat, rushed into his father's arms.

Russ squeezed his son as much as Michael's armor would allow. "You're doing great, Michael! Keep going! You're almost to the top!"

Michael squeezed back with a huge smile on his face.

"I remember when I came here to compete for the first time," Russ told his son energetically. "I wasn't half as good as you are now! Make me proud, Michael!"

"Russ..."

The captain looked back at his wife. "What?" he asked, half-surprised at Rachel's warning tone.

Rachel put her hands on her hips. "Russell Toadfrey, quit wanting that boy to win just because you didn't." She shot him a warning look. "This is his battle, not yours."

Russ looked sheepish. "You're right as usual, dear," he admitted. "I didn't realize what I was doing." He held Michael at arm's length. "You're right on track, Michael. Don't give up now!"

"Contestants for the final round, please return to the arena. The referees will direct you to your starting positions. Contestants to the arena, please," boomed the loudspeakers.

"This is it, Michael," Russ said quickly, giving Michael a shake as he gripped his son's shoulders. "Go get 'em!"

"Yes, sir!" Michael bolted from his father's grasp, heading for the arena doors. Russ watched him go, a feeling of pride rising in his heart. Rachel came up beside him and gently took his arm, guiding him back to their seats in the stands to wait for the final round.

"You know, dear," commented Russ, "I seem to recall that you didn't want Michael in this tournament." He looked at his wife with a grin on his face.

Rachel looked reproachful. "Russell, you know I changed my mind, you little tease!"

Russ laughed. "I know, honey, I know. I just couldn't resist. See what you would have missed? Michael's going to walk away from this with the trophy, just you wait and see."

If Rachel had had a reply, it would have been drowned out by the announcer starting to introduce the finalists over the PA system. Husband and wife listened with anticipation, waiting for the match to begin.

From his seat in the staff booth, the announcer boomed out the names of the top two contestants. "On the east side of the arena, we have today's most popular contender—the Masked Warrior!"

The crowd erupted with cheers as a powerful-looking figure strode from the eastern arena entrance, cloaked in black and wearing a dark mask over his face. In his hand was a menacing steel sword that reflected the sun's setting rays. He seemed oblivious to the cheering around him as he gazed at the western doors, waiting for his opponent to come and face him. His very presence exuded an ominous chill.

"And on the west side, the challenger, and the youngest contestant ever to reach the final round—Michael Toadfrey!"

Again the spectators roared as Michael bounded from the west doors. His armor shone like burnished bronze in the orange rays of the sun. He looked almost angelic, so innocent and pure—and deadly in his skill with the sharp blade he gripped in his right hand. The Masked Warrior stared coldly at his young opponent from behind his mask.

"You mock me," muttered the black warrior. "You would send a boy to fight a man's battle?" He tightened his grip on his sword. "He shall taste my steel ere long—as it pierces his youthful heart."

"Let the final battle BEGIN!" shouted the announcer as the gong sounded its crashing note, signaling the start of the last round of the World Swordfighting Tournament.

Silence settled over the stadium. A brisk breeze blew through the arena, making the Masked Warrior's cloak flutter in the wind. Gripping his sword, the muscular warrior slowly moved toward his opponent. Michael braced himself for a sudden attack, but it did not come. Instead, the Masked Warrior stopped in the center of the arena and gazed around the stadium at the silent spectators.

"You've done well to come this far, little boy," the Masked Warrior said to Michael with iciness in his deep male voice. He leaned forward a bit and looked Michael in the eye. "But I'm afraid you've come too far for your own good." With that, his cloak fell from his back, revealing a red tunic with a long black vest over it. Completing the outfit were a pair of black leggings and two black velvet boots. He cast his sword aside, and his hand went to his mask.

"What the—" Russ stared at the man. "It—it can't be—"

The mask fell from the warrior's eyes, revealing a human face with a cruel, leering expression. He reached beneath his vest and withdrew a blood-red crown. Lifting it high over his head, he shouted to the horrified crowd, "Behold your king! Your Shadow King!!"

Rachel screamed.

Setting the crown on his head, the Shadow King again reached under his vest and brought forth a sword twice as large as his first. Russ started when he saw the massive blade. Michael backed away from his unmasked enemy, frightened.

"The Aeshma Sword!" shouted the King. "You may have cleansed it of its demon power, but its blade is yet sharp and cries for blood to avenge the Shadow Legion!" The Shadow King threw his left arm up, and with a crack of thunder, a pulsating dark-energy barrier encased the entire stadium, casting a shadow over the arena. Terrified screams rang out from the bleachers.

The King again fixed Michael with venomous red eyes. "Not one of these thousands will leave this place," he breathed menacingly. "After I have killed you, every last person here will fall to the Aeshma Sword. I will avenge my noble Legion today!"

Slowly the Shadow King advanced toward Michael, who backed against the arena wall and froze there as if paralyzed. The boy's breathing was rapid and shallow, and his face was chalky white.

"Come, little boy!" breathed the King vehemently as he stalked Michael. "Fight like a man!"

Michael was too terrified to reply.

"Fight!" exploded the King. "Fight! Or I will begin with THEM!" He swept his arm around the stadium at the spectators.

At this threat, Michael seemed to snap out of his terror. Cautiously he edged away from the King and out into the open arena. His opponent smiled wickedly.

"No!" Rachel jumped up and would have run down and leaped into the arena had not her husband grabbed her. "Russ, let go! It's the Shadow King! Michael—!!"

Russ held his wife tightly until she ceased struggling. "Rachel, no. Sit down. There…there's nothing we can do for him now."

Rachel burst into tears and allowed herself to be placed in her seat again. The captain watched his son with groaning heart. There was no hope now.

Michael now stood near the arena's center, and he and the Shadow King faced each other silently for a minute or so. Then, with an unearthly yell, the King rushed his eight-year-old enemy, the Aeshma Sword poised to strike. Michael braced himself and lashed out with his own sword, knocking the King's blade off aim. Seeing that he had missed, the King brought his sword around in a vicious arc toward Michael's neck. The boy ducked the decapitating stroke and jabbed his own blade into the King's right arm. Jerking his arm back, the Shadow King glared at Michael.

"Not bad—for a mere boy." He pointed accusingly at his adversary. "But do not think your skill will prevail against the might of the Shadow King!"

Immediately the King unleashed a fury of melee attacks which Michael could barely keep up with. He blocked and parried for all he was worth, never having a chance to counterattack, slowly being forced backward toward the arena wall. Once pinned to the wall, he would have nowhere to flee. The King would have him. Rachel put her hands over her eyes to hold back the tears.

Suddenly two petite arms seized Michael from behind in a crushing grip. The little boy cried out, dropped his sword, and struggled against his new assailant, but was held fast. There were more screams from the stands.

"My Shadow Queen!" greeted the King with an evil smile. "You have come!"

Rachel buried her face in her husband's shoulder, unwilling to watch.

The black-dressed Shadow Queen held the struggling Michael tightly. Her eyes met those of her husband's, and her red lips parted.

"Finish him."

With another wicked smile, the King raised the Aeshma Sword over Michael's head. Michael stopped fighting the Queen's hold on him and stared at the huge blade in terror.

"STOP!!!"

The King turned his head, still holding the Sword high. The Queen breathed hate through her teeth at the interrupter of their cold-blooded murder.

A lone woman stood not ten feet from the Shadows Royal and their helpless victim. Her hair was emerald green, shimmering as it blew in the dusk breeze. She was dressed in a rainbow-hued robe, and her green eyes sparked with childish indignation.

"Let him go!" she commanded in a girlish voice.

Lowering the Aeshma Sword, the King glowered at the intruder. "Emerald," he said under his breath. His eyes blazed. "Get out of this place. This is our business, not the Rainbow Guardians'." He raised the Sword as if to hack her in two with it.

Emerald's eyes blazed back at him. "You'll not kill him!"

"Oh, won't I?" The King smiled again and started to take a swing at Emerald—then toppled onto his face as Emerald warped behind him and slugged him in the back. Emerald turned to the Queen, authority on her youthful face.

"Release him!"

The Shadow Queen fixed Emerald with a defiant glare. "Never."

Emerald raised her right hand high, and her body began to glow bright green as the rainbow energy in her manifested itself. An expression of fear flitted across the Shadow Queen's face.

"No... Not that!" The Queen cowered back from the glowing Guardian.

The King was on his feet by this time. He moved to his queen's side. "Don't think you'll get the chance to use that power on us!" he growled. "We'll get you Guardians someday, isomeday/i...sooner than you think!"

The Royals faded into nothingness, and Emerald lowered her hand; she ceased to glow. The dark barrier around the stadium vanished.

"Are you OK, Michael?" Emerald asked anxiously. The eight-year-old nodded in relief.

"Not the Shadows Royal!" cried the Princess.

Emerald nodded. "They're around again."

Peach was obviously frightened. She moved restlessly about the throne room, unable to remain still. The only sound was that of her heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Your Highness, please," asked Russ T. at length, "try to remain calm."

"Calm?!" The Princess whirled around and confronted the captain. "CALM?!?! The Royals are back, and you want me to keep iCALM?!?!?!/i" She was almost in a rage. "That's insanity!" Russ backed away a little, surprised at Peach's unusual outburst.

Mario put a hand on her shoulder, and the anger seemed to melt from her body. She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Russ." Peach lifted tear-filled eyes and looked at the captain of the guard. "I'm just really...stressed out. That's not much of an excuse, though, for snapping at you like that. Forgive me."

"Forgiven, Your Highness," replied Russ readily.

Mario took Peach by the shoulders and looked her in the face. "You're tired, Peach. You're going to bed—NOW."

Peach protestingly tried to brush him off. "I'm fine, Mario, really. Just...mentally strained."

"You need rest," replied Mario firmly.

"That is true...Your Highness..."

Mari, Peach, Russ T., and Emerald turned to the golden double doors of the throne room to see the lovely Amethyst supporting a very tired-looking Athos as he struggled to remain on his feet. Athos smiled wanly. "You do seem...tired...Your Highness."

"I could say the same of you, Athos," retorted Peach playfully. "How are you feeling?"

"I have felt better in the past," Athos replied wearily "I am somewhat ashamed of myself, however. I have only just awoken and now find that it is time to prepare for bed!" He chuckled at his own joke.

"He's finally recovered from that sleeping drug, thank goodness," Amethyst reported with obvious relief.

"I would advise that you take some rest, Your Highness," pressed Athos.

Peach looked back at Mario, who gave her the "you-know-you-need-it-so-admit-it" look. She sighed again. "It seems the majority vote is that I go to bed now. I feel like a little girl again, being told when to go to sleep. It's only nine-thirty!"

Mario rolled his eyes.

Luigi burst through the throne room doors, sweaty and breathing in gasps. "The...the...Bowser's machine...and the clone...I got 'em..." he wheezed.

Mario pounded him on the back. "I told you you could do it!" All Luigi could do was grin as he caught his breath.

"I'm going to bed, Mario," Peach informed the plumber with a smile, knowing that she was giving in to his pressure. Then she looked serious. "In fact, I think we all could use some sleep right about now."

"Luigi and I are going to head home, then," replied Mario. "Good night, Peach."

"Good night, Mario," Peach called back as the brothers left. She and the others dispersed to their rooms for the night.

Amethyst helped the weakened Athos to his room and got him into his bed. As she tenderly drew the blankets over him, he said gratefully, "Thank you, dear Amethyst. It seems I am ever in your debt."

"It's my pleasure, Athos," she replied with a sweet smile.

"Come closer, Amethyst," requested Athos. "I have a secret to share with you."

Obligingly the seventh Guardian bent down to Athos's face so he could whisper into her ear. Athos suddenly kissed her cheek. She jumped, not having expected a kiss, and blushed deep red.

"I love you, Amethyst," said Athos gently. "I am smitten with your kindness—and your beauty."

The blush deepened. "Enough flattery for tonight, Athos," she replied with a bashful smile. "Good night."

"Good night, Amethyst," responded Athos as the fair Guardian turned the lights off and left the room. He heaved a deep sigh and shut his eyes, exhausted.

Stopping outside Athos's door, Amethyst allowed herself to smile that unbelieving yet expectant smile elicited only by romance. She breathed deeply as if to still her fluttering heart, then stepped off down the hall toward her room feeling light and free. Entering her own room, she shut the door and flipped the switch to turn on the lights. Immediately she screamed as, in the light, she saw someone standing in front of her.

"Citrine!" Amethyst stepped back, startled. "You're supposed to be in the infirmary!"

The golden-haired third Rainbow Guardian regarded her sister coldly. "I'm fine." Her face held a smoldering anger.

Amethyst rolled her eyes tiredly, sighed, and hung her head, shaking it in frustration. "Please, Citrine, no more. Not again."

"Give up this stupid idea of marrying Athos," Citrine began in disgust, ignoring Amethyst's plea. "You're a Rainbow Guardian first and foremost. You can't abandon your duty like this."

"How many times must I tell you that I am not abandoning my duty by marrying him?!" Amethyst exclaimed, exasperated.

"You swore the pledge like the rest of us," Citrine informed her coldly. "'To keep and protect the Rainbow Discs until death, as a duty sacred and feared above any other,' I believe it reads in part. If you marry Athos, what if the duties of Guardianship and matrimony conflict?"

Amethyst was taken aback at this pointed question and did not reply.

"It's one or the other, Amethyst." Citrine smiled slightly, certain she'd cornered her sister at last on this issue. "Make your choice." With that, the third Guardian brushed past Amethyst and left the room, leaving her sister alone and bewildered.

A huge plume of smoke shot from the dungeon doorway, quickly followed by a coughing and hacking little old man in a white lab coat and thick spectacles.

Mario stuck his head around the corner and quickly retreated as the smoke billowed out into the dungeon hallway toward him. After the smoke dissipated a bit, the intrepid plumber came trooping back through the hallways to the site of the explosion.

"Professor? You OK?"

The old man sneezed and wiped his nose with his handkerchief. "I'm just fine, sonny, and I plan to stay that way, you hear?" He shook his head as he surveyed his workspace. "Still don't know why those guards set me up to work down here in this hole..."

Mario chuckled. "Is the Time Sequence Alternator almost ready?"

"Yep," came the prompt reply. "Should be ready any time now." Professor Gadd held up a complex electrical component looking something like a spider with two dozen legs. "This here energy router won't sit right without blowing the system all to pieces! I'm trying to stick it somewhere where it won't cause trouble—shouldn't take long!" The eccentric professor disappeared back into the still-smoky cell.

"Let me know when it's done!" Mario hollered as he left the castle dungeons.