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Kirby woke up to the sound of the clock striking seven. He had awoken from a terrible dream, a nightmare where his friend had turned into a hellish monster. But Kirby knew it to be a nightmare. Marx was a kind, gentle soul, slumbering gracefully beside him in the bed they had shared since they had found themselves trapped in this strange labrynth-esque structure. The clock on the wall served as the only time reference, suggesting they had been stuck here for about a week so far.

Kirby groaned as he stretched his little arms out before sitting up and getting ready for whatever they would encounter today. He looked over at Marx, snuggled up so peacefully. So comfortably. He couldn't help but smile a little. He was Kirby's little beacon of hope in this almost hopeless situation, as they had been to each other for years now.

The puffball had wanted to profess his love to the purple jester for a long while now, but always struggled with the wording. Sure, it would likely sound weird given they were in an escape situation, but his best friend — his true love — would surely understand. With each attempt Kirby made to tease that he might be interested in Marx, the jester happily played along, toying with the puffball so well he nearly spilled the beans multiple times. But this would be it: a culmination of all of his hard work! The two would finally be together forever happy!

Kirby heard his friend, but it wasn't the sound of him waking up. It was a raspy sort of breathing, the kind that happened when you were desperate. When you were saddened. He was clenching the bedsheets tighter and tighter, as if holding on to something. He was having a nightmare!

"Marx!" Kirby called. "Marx!!" He tried shaking his friend awake, but the jester didn't comply. In fact, it only seemed to make things worse, with him starting to talk in a quiet, depressing tone.

"D-don't leave me, Kirby..."

"Huh?" What was going on in that dream??

"We all care about you, Kirby... Don't leave us..." His voice was getting louder and louder. More and more desperate. But why?

"Please, Kirby!!" he was yelling now. "Don't leave me behind!!"

"MARX!!"

Marx gasped a deep breath, immediately sitting up, looking around to see where he was. He very quickly remembered before turning to Kirby. "...H-hi..."

"Poyo."

"I...I had another nightmare..."

"About what?" Kirby scooted in next to his trembling purple friend.

"It...it was short, b-but oh so torturous..." Marx whimpered. "You had...r-run away from everyone, and when we found you...y-you were dead... Or I think you were..."

"Don't worry, poyo. You know I'm always here for you." Kirby leaned in next to the jester, who seemed to be somewhat calmed by this gesture.

"You're a kind soul, Kirby..."

"I try to be, poy."

"You are, though, aren't you?"

"I-I guess."

"You guess? What's that supposed to mean?"

"N-nothing." Kirby said, his eyes drooping. "You wouldn't want to know..."

"C'mon, Kirby..." Marx playfully pinched Kirby's cheek. "What did you do?"

"Nnnnn" the puffball refused.

Marx snickered. "Don't worry about it." he said. "I'm just pinching your cheek."

"Huh?"

"Making fun. Idioms, much?"

"Well, you do look like the kind of person that would make fun, poyo."

"Yeah. I guess..." He trailed off. The room went silent. Kirby smiled, thinking his friend now felt better. That conclusion wasn't entirely wrong, mind you.

Seeing how the two usually exchanged each other's fantasies from previous nights as a regular pass time, Marx, instinctively, asked, "So...what did you dream about?"

Kirby froze. He had just calmed Marx down from a nightmare, so he didn't want him to worry much about his own. Still, he would feel guilty if he lied about it. What was he getting so worked up over? It was just a nightmare! He had literally defeated the lord of all nightmares himself!

But something felt off. Something felt wrong. Wherever or whenever they were, something really terrible had happened.

"Kirby, what's wrong?" Marx asked, confused about the puffball's quiet mumbling. Said puffball quickly recovered himself.

"It's-it's nothing." he reassured. "Just thinking of how to word it, poyo. That's all..."

"Was it like some sort of abstract dream?" Marx asked. "And I mean really abstract."

"Yes! Was an abstract dream, poyo! Couldn't understand it!"

Marx frowned. Kirby was hiding something, and he could tell even though he had only just woken up. But what did Kirby even have to hide from him? His best friend?? He hadn't hidden anything from Kirby, had he??

"Y...you're lying..." Marx stuttered.

"N-no I'm not!" Kirby tried covering it up. "I swears it! I don't know what it meant!" The last part wasn't a total lie. What was the point of even dreaming up that terrible situation to begin with? He of all people should know that these sorts of dreams aren't just random occurrences.

"Well...what happened in it then?" Marx asked.

"I...I..."

"Don't know? Or don't want to tell?"

"Marx, I can't—"

"Can't tell?" This was getting...intriguing...

"No, I can't... I'm sorry..."

"Why can't you tell me about your dream, Kirby? Was it a...a nightmare, too?"

Kirby squirmed, tears soaking his eyes beneath his shut eyelids, only nodding his head in approval.

"Well...I told you what happened in mine, right?" Kirby nodded again, slowly this time. "So why can't you tell me about yours?"

"You were a monster!" The words just slipped out from the pressure, hoping this would satisfy his angered friend. But, alas, it didn't. Marx was hungry for more...information...

"A monster, you say?" he said, a creepy aura in his voice. He seemed to slither around Kirby towards the other side of the bed, pinching the puffball's right cheek. "Tell me...what did I look like? As a monster; a demon beast; really, however you call it."

Kirby shook his head frantically. He didn't want to describe it. It was...far scarier than any demon beast could ever hope to look like, perhaps, besides Nightmare himself.

"Hmph. You know...all you're doing is making this harder for yourself, Kirby..." He started slightly pulling on Kirby's cheek. It hurt, though only a little at first.

"Marx, it's nothing..."

"It doesn't sound like nothing, Kirby." he pulled more, a shriek escaping Kirby's mouth. It started hurting a lot more...like...a lot more.

"Why do you want to know, poyo...?"

"Don't all friends deserve to know each other's secrets, Kirby?" he said coldly as he yanked again. "Doesn't Marx, your best friend, deserve to know his depiction as a demon beast??"

"YeOW! I'm not telling! Can't tell! Won't tell!"

Marx leaned in very closely and whispered, "I can make this even more painful for you... Far...far more painful for you... That is, of course, unless you tell me." Afterwards, he yanked again, as well as twist some of the ski in his hand. An audible rip could be heard as a small line of blood oozed its way down Kirby's face.

The puffball was now crying without restriction. This wasn't the Marx he knew! His Marx was kind and gentle! Warm, though self-obsessed. This Marx was acting more and more cruel. Had the nightmare changed him somehow? He squealed in terror. "Marx, it hurts..."

"I'm sure it does. Now answer me."

Kirby didn't want to tell.

"Should I then...speculate what I looked like in your nightmare, then, Kirby?" Marx asked, a sadistic smile on his face. Kirby squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to filter out the horror. In an attempt to believe this was still a nightmare. In an attempt to wake up. But it was all in vain.

"Hiding away in your own little world isn't going to save you, Kirby."

This was still a dream! This was still a—

"How about we play a game, then?"

"A...a game, poy...?" Kirby softly asked the void that surrounded him.

"Y-yes! A game. I'll go ahead and guess my appearance in your...nightmare, ...and you let me know if I was correct or not. Only yes or no questions and yes or no answers... Surely it'll take far longer to get a correct answer, right?"

"M-hm?"

"Good. So now that you know the rules, let's not waste any more time. Did I have...teeth? Sharp teeth? Or...fangs?"

Out of nowhere, Marx appeared in front of him with said fangs and sharp teeth. It wasn't scary on its own. In fact, it could probably even make Marx look like some sort of cute vampire. Even this Marx here was smiling so innocently. But Kirby knew exactly where this was headed. He nodded slowly.

"Did I...have...wings of some sort?"

"N...no." Kirby replied. The Marx with fangs standing in front of him remained unchanged.

"Could I...hover up off the ground?"

Kirby paused. In his nightmare, Marx didn't seem to be able to hover at all, but then again, when he was pinned up high on the wall, how was he able to reach him? "Maybe...?"

"That isn't a yes or no answer!"

"Y-yes! Yes, then!" The Marx now hovered ever so slightly above the ground, it's expression initially puzzles but then cheerful.

"Right... Was I...covered in blood? Covered in your blood?"

Kirby's eyes widened. Of course. Of course he would ask that question. As soon as he blinked, Marx was upon him, and retained the descriptions previously described. His innocent smile had been replaced with a sinister one. A smile of pure evil. Kirby shrieked in panic, Marx only cackling once he heard.

"D-don't hurt me!" Kirby pleaded.

"No need to worry... I wouldn't hurt a fly!" Marx said, his face and voice slowly distorting as he continued speaking the sentence. But that was a lie. Kirby didn't realize it until he felt a trickling feeling at his chest. It had been cut open, as if by some—

"Did I...have claws, Kirby?"

He was slashed at again by the Marx's claws, splattering even more of themselves and the darkness in blood. Kirby screamed in pain. Looking up at him, Marx was almost entirely unrecognizable, his face now an insane, bloodied mess.

"Kirby...did I have"

He was slashed again, this time further up his face. He squinted by reflex. "S...stop it, Marx..." he cried.

"Answer my question!!" Marx yelled.

Kirby's eyes shot wide open. He had forgotten that he had shut himself away from everything. He wasn't at the mercy of another monster Marx. Instead he was...oh, wait.

"No answer?" Marx said, bringing Kirby back to reality. "Oh well." He jabbed Kirby in the forehead, hurting a lot more than the puffball expected. Marx was small, but he sure packed a mean punch.

"S-stop it, poyo!" Kirby cried.

"Not until you tell me what I want!" He punched again.

"AAGH! Stop, Marx! This isn't you..."

"Then who am I, Kirby?"

"Why don't you tell me, then?"

"Says the one who isn't wanting to talk about their dreams! Who am I to you, Kirby??" He smacked Kirby again, who coughed out a bit of blood after the impact.

"M...Marx..."

The jester was now in front of Kirby, who was entirely at his mercy. Marx smiled, a wide, sadistic grin on his face. "Oh, poor, poor little Kirby... Going through all this needless pain when all you had to do was answer a single question." He hit Kirby again, this time on the cheek opposite of the one that was bleeding. After a harsh smack and a cry of agony from Kirby, it turned a bruised purple color. "Tell me what I am to you!" he yelled. "Friends don't keep their opinions from each other, do they??"

"N...no, poyo..."

"Exactly. And...concerning your earlier comment.." Marx continued, "You already know full well who and what I am."

"No...it c-can't be true..."

"Go on! What do you think I am?? Answer me!!" This time Marx hit him so hard that there wasn't even a scream. Not even a plea for him to stop. The force of the strike knocked Kirby off the bed where he fell to the floor, hitting his head on a nightstand along the way which only helped to open a larger wound from which his creamy blood could spill out.

Blood. There was so much of it... So much of it leaving his body... Why was it leaving his body...? Did the blood hate him that much...? So much that it wanted to leave?

After a little bit, however, much of his anxiety seemed to just wash away, as if the blood had taken it with them. It felt...so warm...so comforting...feeling the blood leak out of his wounds. It helped keep the cold away...at least for now. The darkness surrounded him like a blanket, making him start to feel at tad bit tired. He welcomed the numbness, the darkness. He even started to smile...

He was interrupted by a strange shaking sensation (though he could barely even feel it) and some pressure being applied where he was bleeding. Kirby couldn't tell who it was; everything was a blur and all sounds were muffled beyond comprehension.

Once everything started fading back in, he was puzzled. There was a mix of blue, red, and purple blurs that shrouded his vision. But it looked pretty. He wanted more. He reached upwards with all his strength, with his stubs being grasped by an unknown force.

His face. Something was streaking down his face. Tears. But not his...were they?

At last Kirby had been able to focus on the jester that was bawling their eyes out in front of them. It felt eerily familiar...like it had happened in a dream or distant memory, but he couldn't really figure it out. The top of his head seemed to be squeezed by some sort of bandage to keep the gaping wound from bleeding the puffball dry.

Kirby looked over at Marx, who he barely even managed to recognize, let alone in this state. The two soon made eye contact, and after a brief pause, Marx began speaking.

"Kirby, I..." he said. "I...I...I don't know what came over me. I'm-I'm sorry..."

Kirby blinked. Then again. He had already almost forgotten that he had been hit off the bed by the jester in a stroke of pure hatred toward him. The explanation failed to be adequate, though, and Kirby himself descended into a cold fury.

"Poyo, I..." he started. His voice very much sounded as if he were half-consious — somewhat bleak, indirect, and monotone. "I wanted to love you, poy..."

Marx's eyes widened. "Y-y-you—"

"But I can't. I won't. Not anymore..." Kirby continued. "A Star Warrior cannot love a monster."

"Kirby, I—"

"That's what you are, aren't you? What you've always been. This whole friendship was birthed from a lie..."

"I-I couldn't control myself, Kirby! I...I...Wh-what happened to me...?"

"Don't deny it, Marx... You're a monster."

"Kirby...I'm...I'm sorry..."

"J-just leave me alone, Marx..."

"Wha-? Kirby, you don't mean—"

Now it was the puffball's turn to act cruel. "I don't want to suffer your torment any longer." he said. "You...you've caused us so much pain..."

"Kirby...I said I was sorry..."

"And I said to leave, Marx... J-just go. I don't want you anymore..."

"But...but I..." Marx paused unexpectedly. He was trying to reach out to the pink Star Warrior, in a gesture of apology and forgiveness, but he unexpectedly found himself struggling. When at last he had managed to get his hand up, he gasped when he found it...melting? In fact, all of his being was starting to melt into a pile of colors. Immediately he started pleading ever more desperately to Kirby, thinking it could save him from his untimely fate. He cried harder than he or Kirby had ever cried before, begging for Kirby to let him redeem himself, give him a second chance — anything to escape what appeared to be certain death.

"Kirby...please!!" the jester shrieked. "I'm sorry for all I've done!! I'm sorry for making the Sun and Moon fight! I'm sorry for...for..."

The puffball turned his head the other way.

"Kirby I...I need you... You're the only friend I have left..."

"...I'm sorry for...having ever met you..."

Kirby sighed.

"Is this what you wanted...Kirby? Did you want to watch me suffer...while you sit back, ignoring my pleas for mercy without a care in the world...? Is it because I've... Is it because I've done the same to you...?"

Kirby breathed out, as though saddened by what Marx had just said.

"Am I suffering this because I...because I said I'd die for you?"

Kirby's head tilted down, a sniffle, although, quiet, was audible.

"...Kirby..."

Marx was unable to form any more words. His mouth, as did the rest of him, melted into nothingness, leaving behind only a few stains of color.

With that, Kirby was alone again.