Chapter Two: Psyche, Angelic Commander
Thanks for all your reviews!
Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Can someone give me Miyamoto's number?
"Psyche, I don't… we shouldn't… let's go back…"
The young girl smirked at her friend, her dark brown eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "What's wrong, Austin? What happened to your sense of adventure?"
The boy looked over his shoulder as she spoke, his hazel eyes alert and nervous. His neck length brown locks were drenched in a nervous sweat, the precious beads shining like diamonds upon his clear forehead. He was dressed in rags, the horribly thin clothes hanging off his frame like bits of old skin. His feet were scantily covered in worn white socks, now grey because of the dirt and filth all around him. He was thin, almost skeletal from the horrible life he was forced to lead, his brown eyes seeming to pop out of their sockets. His whole body shook with a cold, nervous tension as he and his friend climbed higher and higher, following the dim light of the candle the young girl held in her hand.
His friend was much like him in appearance, with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She too shook with the slightest amount of effort as her right hand held the candle aloft. She was dressed in a ragged and patched dress, the bodice splashed with a strange black substance. Like her friend, she was thin, so skeletal that every one of her ribs showed through. She was extremely pale, almost sickly, her long hair swept and unkept. It was a wonder she could hold herself so upright, weak as she was. Her lips were dried and chapped, glowing palest pink in the dim light of the candle. She let out a tiny sigh as her friend finally stopped looking about before continuing on her way once again.
"Do you always have to be so paranoid?" she grumbled, her footsteps making small creaking noises on the stairs.
"Do you always have to be so reckless?" Austin retorted, casting a glance over his shoulder.
The two young humans climbed up the stairs in silence, punctuated only by the soft creaking of the rotting wooden stairs. Psyche's candle flickered on ahead of them, illuminating the ever so dim halls. A thick layer of dust covered the steps completely, causing the two to cough convulsively, almost blinding them to their destination up ahead. The tiny particles of dust entered their lungs over and over again, their coughs reaching an almost deafening level. Once Psyche collapsed, clutching her ribs with her free hand as dust flew up around her.
Austin knelt down beside her, doing his best to hold back his own coughing as he gently pushed his friend's long hair away from her face. "P-Psyche we have to go back… we can't keep going like this…"
The girl immediately shot up, striking her hand across his cheek. A searing red mark appeared on the ghostly white cheek of her friend as tiny tears appeared in his eyes. A flash of regret crossed Psyche's face as she saw this, but it immediately melted into a hard scowl.
"We've made it this far already. What's the point of turning back?"
Her friend staggered to his feet, the searing red mark still evident on his pale features. "I guess… I guess you're right…"
"O-Of course I'm right!" she stammered, not meeting his eyes, "When have I ever been wrong?"
A small laugh escaped the boy, soon turning into a dreadful coughed. His young friend rushed forward to help him, but he halted her with one of his thin white hands. When she stopped he brought this hand to his mouth to catch his cough. With every heave of his chest, another cough escaped him, causing Psyche to take a few steps back in fear. Her brown eyes widened in horror as her friend finally stopped coughing and removed his hand from his mouth. Blood, bright red blood, was slathered all over his hand.
"Oh my god…" she gasped, taking deep pants and clutching her heart, "A-Austin… your hand…"
The boy stood up with a great effort and turned to face her, swaying slightly on his feet. "Yeah, what about it?"
"Y-Your hand… the b-blood," she stammered, unable to tear her eyes away from the horrible red substance that covered her friend's hand.
In response to her fear he shrugged, hiding his hand behind his back. "I haven't really been feeling well for a while so… it's probably normal."
Psyche shook her head, taking a few steps closer to the boy. "That's not normal… we have to get you to a physician… and fast…"
Austin shook his head, sending his grimy locks flying. "It's like you said before, we made it this far so what's the point of turning back?"
"B-But… your hand…"
"Forget my hand!" he answered her emphatically, "According to you we only have a couple more flights of stairs. Let's just get to the top and then worry about stuff like this!"
The girl hesitated for one brief moment before ascending the stairs again. Step after step met them, creak after creak sounded below them. Though they squinted their eyes as hard as they could, they were unable to penetrate the unending darkness beyond the candle's flame. Higher and higher they climbed, more dust filling their noses as they went. It was a horrid experience, ambling through the darkness with naught but a candle and dust to keep them company, but still they pressed on.
"Here it is," Psyche panted as they came to a rotting wooden door, "I found those wonderful things in here!"
Austin raised an eyebrow, trying his best to hold back a cough. "Wonderful things? In this time?"
A laughed escaped his friend as she grasped the doorhandle, feeling the smooth metal between her fingers. "Yes… in this time…"
With a small flourish she swung the door open, allowing a tiny breeze to sweep into the darkened hallway, tousling their hair and tickling their cheeks. A small gasp escaped Austin as he gazed into the room that was hidden behind the great door, his chest rising and falling heavily. His brown eyes were wide as saucers and filled with awe.
A small room had been revealed, filled with a great many boxes and cloth covered furniture. A healthy layer of dust covered every surface, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. Psyche couldn't help but laugh as her friend's shoulders tensed visibly at the site of the room, his laboured breaths coming out in tiny puffs. Taking his thin hand, she led him into the room with many a wobble and a creak until they reached the center and simply stood there, staring at everything that surrounded them.
"T-This… this is amazing…" Austin whispered, his great brown eyes sweeping the room.
"You're telling me!" Psyche laughed as she reached into one of the many dusty boxes, "There's so much stuff in here I can stay in here for days on end if I wanted to!"
The boy watched as his friend withdrew a strange looking object from the box. It was a quaint little thing with that looked like a small grey stick. There was a cap on one end and when Psyche pulled off this cap, a pointy, but not sharp thing appeared from underneath it. The two stared at the fascinating object for a bit longer before Austin broke the silence.
"What is that thing?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of it.
His friend's brows furrowed together thoughtfully as she tried to think of an answer. "I… I think it's that thing Jason talked about the other day… you know, the thing our ancestors used to write with? A… A pan, I think…"
"A pan, eh? Man, it feels so weird to see something our ancestors once used!"
She answered with a distracted nod as she pulled out yet another object out of the box. This object was jet black in color, with a long black handle and a round attachment to it. It smelled distantly of fried eggs and bacon. Though covered in dust and cobwebs, it shone like a star in the light of the moon coming through the great window.
"And this… this is a pen, I think!" Psyche exclaimed, holding it aloft, "It was used to cook meals!"
Austin closed his eyes as he took the pan and breathed deeply, inhaling its exotic scent. In his mind's eye he could only imagine the image of fresh fried eggs and bacon he had seen the Smashers eat so many times as they supervised their work. It had been pure torture for him to sit there at his work station, melding together some type of radioactive material to create synthetic Smashballs as real ones were lost long ago. How he wished at that moment that he could taste the precious foods on his tongue, relishing in the warmth and savoring the flavour. Compared to the disgusting porridge they were served morning, noon, and night, what their slave drivers ate was heaven to all the workers of the plant.
"Smash Planet must've been some place back then," he murmured, still lost in his own world, "Good food, no slave labour, the Smashers helping us out every now and then…"
Psyche whirled on him, disbelief etched all over her pale face. "You don't believe in those old legends do you?"
"Why not?" he asked, shrugging a bit, "Everyone has some good in them right? Everyone has a soul don't they?"
"No way in heck those stupid Smashers do…" Psyche mumbled irritably.
A small sigh escaped her friend, soon turning into a rattling cough. He held back his friend with his hand as she ran forward to assist him, more blood appearing on his other hand as he kept coughing. It was a horrid sight indeed to see this young man on all fours, coughing up blood like there was no tomorrow.
"I'm fine," he grunted in response to his friend's worried glance, "Got anything else in those boxes?"
Psyche hesitated a moment before dipping her hand in the box once again, rummaging through the pile of rubbish. When she withdrew her hand again, she came up with a truly ancient looking object. It was rectangular with a dark cover and strange white things within it that the girl knew to be called "pages". These pages were thin and fragile, yellowed with age and covered with strange looking scribbles and blots of a black substance called "ink".
A musty smell filled the room as she opened it, releasing dust galore. On the very first page there was naught but a title, written in beautiful script. She squinted at it, trying to make it out.
"T-The… Die… Ar… Ya… The Die- Ar- Ya of… M-Master… R…. H-H… Ae… nd. The Die- ar- ya- of Master R. Hae-nd…" she murmured, her voice full of confusion, "What's a Die- ar- ya?"
Austin's jaw dropped. "Y-You know how to read?!"
She shrugged. "I sort of taught myself how to when we were younger… and Jason taught me some… but what's a Die- ar- ya?"
A small laugh escaped her friend. "I think what they're trying to say is diary. The Diary of Master R. Hand!"
With a small scowl, Psyche turned the page to gaze at the date written rather sloppily in the top right hand corner: June 21st, 2010.
"That's over a hundred years ago…" the girl said in awe.
"So the legends must be true!" her friend said excitedly, "Master Hand was the kindly ruler of Smash Planet and his faithful Smashers were always ready to obey him!"
Excitement pumped in their veins as the two leaned over to gaze at the entry, trying to make out the mess of scribbles on the page. In Psyche's eye, letters formed, then words, then sentences. She leaned in even closer, her nose almost touching the page as she began to read: I, Master Right Hand, hereby write this now as a record for one of the greatest burdens I have had to undertake in the many years I have been al-
A hard rapping was heard on the door, as if there was someone on the other side wishing to come in. the two teens backed away in fear, towards the great window in the very back of the room. Yet another hard rap was heard as the two continued to back away. Psyche's back met the window, the cold glass sending chills down her spine. Austin had grabbed a heavy brass lamp from somewhere and stood there in battle position with both hands grasping the heavy metal as if for dear life.
The rapping stopped, being instead replaced by a great bang. Though the wood of the door was strong, it would not hold for much longer as the banging continued. Psyche shrank back in fear, grasping the diary tightly.
"Psyche, break the window and jump," Austin said, his voice quavering slightly, "Break the window, jump out, and run like Hell!"
"No!" she yelled, tears appearing in the corner of her eyes, "I can't leave you!"
"If they get to us we're both dead!" Austin screamed at her, "At least if one of us survives, we can escape with that diary and see if there's a way to make the world how it once was a hundred years ago! Psyche, get out of here!"
"But what about you? I can't leave you! You'll never be able to hold them off!" she sobbed, "Austin, please!"
It was at that moment that the door flew right off its hinges with a great bang! Three Smashers rushed into the room. Three swords flashed silver in the dim moonlight, three capes blew in the breeze. Something deep within the two squirmed fearfully at the site of the three caped Smashers, the Legendary Swordsmen, the Fire Emblem Crew.
For a few moments, the five people did nothing, merely stared at each other with hate and scorn shining within their eyes. With a sudden sweep of his arm, Austin swung the lamp so that it smashed through the window, sending glass flying everywhere. Psyche, leaning against this window lost her balance and toppled into the clump of bushes below, clutching the diary close to her chest. She stood up immediately and let loose a scream of fear as she saw two strong pairs of arms grab her beloved friend, one pair pinning him down while the other wrenched the lamp from his grip. Her eyes widened in horror as a fountain of blood appeared out of nowhere, cascading out the window and showering the young woman in horrible crimson fluid.
"No…" she whispered, her chest heaving, "No… he can't be… he can't be…"
She fell to her knees, the diary hanging limply in her hand. For a few brief moments, she was merely an empty shell, no feeling and no mind of her own. A sudden thump! Behind her knocked her back to reality. Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a mop of darkest blue hair and eyes that glowed a horrible yellow in the dark night. Prince Marth said nothing, only making a gesture that said quite plainly, "Come with me or you'll end up like your pal."
Psyche responded with a swift kick to his crotch before turning tail and running away as fast as her spindly legs could carry her. Footsteps behind her told her that Marth was in hot pursuit, gliding over the many mud puddles and rocks in the way like it was nothing to him. Faster and faster she ran, even when her chest began to heave and her heart felt as if it would burst. Taking a sharp turn, she ran directly into a narrow alleyway only to skid to a stop to keep from colliding with a brick wall. A dead end.
Quiet footsteps behind her made her turn around and meet her pursuer, who was coming towards her with a smirk etched on his smug face. Before she knew it, his fingers were upon her neck, squeezing the air out of her. Her vision was failing, darkness slowly surrounded her. She was dying and she knew it. Closing her eyes, she imagined her friend, seeing his smiling face for the last time…
"Use the bow!"
Suddenly, Marth's fingers disappeared. Psyche dropped to the ground in surprise, watching with wide eyes as Marth was blown back against a wall. Almost immediately he picked himself back up again and scanned his surroundings with his glowing yellow eyes. After making sure there was no outside force prowling about, he leaped back onto his feet, Falchion's blade out and ready. The deadly sword shone silver in the moonlight, sending chills down Psyche's spine.
"Use the bow!" the voice screamed again.
As suddenly as the voice began to speak a golden bow appeared in Psyche's hands. It was a beautifully crafted thing, so sharp it could be a sword and so durable it could only be a sacred item. With a small gasp of surprise, the young girl dropped the bow, allowing it to skitter away with many a clatter and clank.
"Idiot!" the voice screamed.
Psyche had no time to react as she dodged the deadly tip of Marth's sword, sweeping a kick at his legs in the process. She knew not of how such a voice had entered her mind, but she had no intention of letting it stay.
"Get out of my head!" she screamed, slamming her fist against a wall.
The footsteps of Marth of Altea could be heard behind her, every step taunting her, telling her of just how weak and defenceless she truly was.
"No time! Just grab the bow!"
Another quick dodge brought the girl to the location of the precious bow, its shining tips almost lost in a dark gutter. With her thin fingers she grabbed the bow and held it loosely in her weak hands as the point of Marth's sword came down upon her bare shoulder, splattering her blood everywhere. A great cry of pain escaped her as she collapsed, grasping her bloodied shoulder.
"Attack him!" the voice yelled, "If you want to live, you should attack him!"
The girl took no notice of the voice as she lay there whimpering, the golden bow at her feet. Her life flashed before her eyes as she saw the horrible tip of Marth's sword raise high in the air, pointed directly at her precious beating heart.
"For the love of Palutena!"
Suddenly, Psyche felt a strange sensation in her very being, as if a hand was wrenching out her very soul. One moment she was staring straight into the horrid yellow eyes of Marth Lowell and the next she was floating in a strange realm, a realm of dreams. Shadows flitted past her, the image of her parents, her friends, a world where Smashers and humans got along in harmony…
It was then she noticed a strange shape, a small portal to the outside world. With small, measured steps she carefully made her way over to the portal and looked out, her eyes widening in awe. On the other side she saw herself using the bow to fight off Marth. Her every movement was swift and unchanging, as if she were dancing. Her every move was quick as lightning, her every block strong as a rock. And yet, what had to be the most amazing off all were the color of her eyes, no longer deep brown but a brilliant sky blue.
She watched with wide as her blue eyed self dodged and attacked with a fierceness only a great warrior would possess. She could see very clearly how no matter how hard or how swift Prince Marth was, she was swifter. It was strange to see her look so determined, to see her grasping such a heavy bow as if it were nothing at all.
Prince Marth noticed this sudden change in her as well, his great yellow eyes widening inquisitively. With a great war he aimed his sword at her heart and struck. Psyche of the Blue Eyes dodged nimbly and ran the bow right through Marth's body, coming out his back. Marth gasped in surprise as blood stained his tunic, slowly spreading to the ground. He collapsed onto the wet ground, clutching his chest in agony.
"Wow…" Psyche whispered, reaching out to touch the portal.
Before her fingers could even glaze the surface, she was herself again, panting up a storm. The young girl collapsed on all fours as soon as she regained her senses, feeling as if she had just run a thousand miles for days on end. Every bit of energy seemed to sap away from her as she simply knelt there, watching as Marth's deep red blood poured from his body. She knew that he would not, could not die. Sooner or later Ike and Roy would be here and she would stand no chance. Though she tried her hardest to stand, she lacked the energy to do it.
"Pathetic!" the voice spat inside her head, "Can't even get up after someone does the fighting for you! Heck, you can't even hold a bow properly!"
Taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes, trying to find where this voice was coming from within her mind. "Who are you? What are you doing inside my head?"
The voice hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I am Pit Icarus of the Sup-"
"Monster!" she screamed, "Get out of my head you heartless monster! You horrible, horrible traitor!"
"Heartless monster?!" Pit protested, "Who's the guy who had to save your pathetic little butt back there? I am!"
"Get out of my head!" she screamed again, "You don't belong here!"
"Oh I belong here alright!" Pit yelled back, "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead by now!"
"I feel dead already," Psyche grumbled, struggling to her feet.
"Get used to it," Pit mumbled, "Unfortunately, I've been chosen to live inside your head of all effin' humans on this planet… Palutena, what have I done to deserve this? A weakling like you won't last two seconds out here without me…"
"Why would it matter if I'm weak or not?" she snarled, "You can find some other girl's head to annoy!"
"It doesn't work that way!" the angel said annoyingly, "The only time I can leave your head is for a few minutes when I want to think for myself. If you die, I die too!"
Psyche's eyes lit up as a horrible thought entered her head. "Your life line depends on mine, huh? Well… maybe I ought to end it right now if it means avoiding another brainful of your whining!"
With that, she picked up the bow and examined its ends, staring with wide, interested eyes at its sharp ends. Pit's voice rang out loud and clear inside her head, but there was another hint of something strange in his voice. The unmistakable tinge of fear.
"D-Don't you dare," he stammered, "I'm warning you!"
The girl lowered the weapon, a small smirk on her face. "Then where to, partner of mine?"
"We're not partners…" Pit mumbled, "I am the leader of an angelic army. You are to refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Commander'."
"Where to then, Commander?" Psyche asked, rolling the last word off her tongue in a sarcastic fashion.
"Head to the outskirts of Smashville," Pit answered, "There are a few people I'd like you to meet…"
That is right, ladies and gentlemen! One of the heroes can't read or write!