Sorry if I hadn't been on here much of late. Was busy graduating from high school and working on some new projects. Hope it was worth the wait for y'all. In the meantime, there are plenty of review responses this time around! Thanks guys!

GirlOnDarkerSide ~ I won't blame you for struggling to follow along with the narrative. It is supposed to confuse and mislead the audience, so hopefully you don't feel too bad.

Queen Mistaky ~ Interesting comparison you've made there. It's okay if you don't find the relationship between Kirby and Marx in your interests and/or zone of comfort, as long as you recognize its significance within the progression of the story. Concerning your confusion on the sense of reality...read on. It will reveal itself in due time.

EveningEmerald ~ It is, indeed, a never-ending cycle. Or at least it seems that way...

King TeTeTePose ~ Glad you're excited! *slams table*

Once again, RnRs are highly appreciated! Thanks again, and, at long last, on with the story!

Marx sat still, worried and afraid. Not about their, situation, no. Not anymore. Having been kidnapped had stopped being interesting many months ago, especially with its perpetrator still yet to be seen. He had deduced not too long ago that this wasn't just any insane abductor that had forced himself and his best friend, Kirby, into this strange place. No. It must be the work of either yet another villainous group or an age old menace. Dark Matter, perhaps?

It didn't matter. Not right now, anyway. Something was off. Very off. It was Kirby. It wasn't his behavior; he had gotten used to the fact that Kirby was acting like a grown up, or what he believed to be a grown up. None of the adults that Marx knew matched Kirby's perceptions, but he could understand the puffball's efforts to an extent. It wasn't a secret: Kirby certainly was more of a child then much of everybody else. Maybe he just...wanted to change that? But...why? It made no sense...

Yet this too wasn't what was dominating Marx's thoughts. Rather, it was how Kirby had acted in the past day. Out of nowhere, his enjoyable company was suddenly nowhere to be found. He went all droopy and sulked to himself, desperately trying to escape every form of interaction with Marx as possible. In fact, he didn't even seem to want to sleep beside him the previous night, either. Something was very clearly amok, and Marx, as he usually did, was going to prod his answer out.

"Kirby?" he whispered. "You awake?"

Kirby didn't say anything. It wasn't because he was asleep; Marx could tell from his sobs and his face being plastered onto the pillow that the puffball was awake.

"Kirby, come on. You can talk to me." He pat the Star Warrior on the back. "Please?"

Kirby remained silent again, but only for a little bit. He finally sighed circa 30 seconds later before deciding to speak out. "There's no point..." he said, his voice dull, raspy, and strained. It was as if it had been put through so much pain it didn't even care anymore.

"Wha—what do yo mean there's—"

"There's no point in trying to find an escape from this place, poyo..." Kirby mumbled. "There is no escape..."

"But Kirby, w-we don't know that for sure—"

"I've been looking, Marx. Looking for much longer than you know..."

Marx squinted in confusion. "Huh? What're you talking about?"

"We're trapped Marx. Not physically, but mentally... Trapped in an endless loop of death and despair—"

"Who died?" Marx asked. "I don't understand what you're talking about!"

"I've died, Marx. I've died hundreds of times."

He froze. Something was clearly making Kirby — his Kirby — act delusional. But something was telling him to let Kirby continue. Something was telling him that he was telling the truth. A small voice, but a significant one.

"Sometimes I died by your hand... Other times I simply starved to death, alone... Sometimes you were there with me...a-and others...you-you left me, Marx..."

The jester was taken aback. Sure, he was a little nuts, but to this extent?? "Wha-?" he said. "K-Kirby, why would I ever want to hurt you? Let alone leave you?"

"Turn me around, Marx." Kirby whispered. Marx slowly yet reluctantly heeded his command. He grasped his friend's body, noting that it was deathly cold to the touch. That wasn't a good sign...

When Marx finally turned Kirby to face him, he noticed various scratches all over the puffball's body. But it didn't seem like anything major.

"You aren't allowing yourself to see the worst of them, Marx..." Kirby moaned.

"Wh-wha... St-stop it, Kirby! You're scaring me—"

Kirby shushed his friend, though with admittedly little effort. "Shh... Be quiet... Look..."

Marx squinted. He didn't at all understand what was going on. This made no sense! He could tell Kirby wasn't lying, but this was just...what even?? He felt like slapping the puffball upside the head, to knock some much-needed sense into him.

"Don't lose your patience..." Kirby murmured. "Open your eyes, ...relax...and you will see them in due tme."

After a puzzled look appeared on his face, Marx loosened himself up. The tension in his various body parts were relieved, and slowly but surely he was able to make out some new markings on his friend. And what he saw made him gasp in horror. All over Kirby's body there were scars. Lots of them, and most of them seemed to go very deep. This is likely what he meant by having died a bunch of times — how could one even be able to survive with just one of these wounds, let alone this many? "Who...who did this to you??" Marx asked.

"I've...already t-told you..."

"But...why...?"

"Because..." Kirby groaned as he tryed to turn himself back over, but to no avail. "Because, Marx... th-there's no point... There's no point anymore..." The puffball couldn't stop himself from crying. "There's no point in trying to escape... We're trapped here with no hope of leaving... N-not even death can allow us to leave..."

Marx gasped, but only for a moment. "You...you mean... H-how...?"

"I don't know!!" Kirby screamed. "I don't know why we're stuck here or why we can't leave! We weren't kidnapped, Marx. Not by anything we could imagine, but we might as well have trapped ourselves here... in a maze with no prize...a game we can never win..."

"Kirby..." Marx said. He really wanted to calm the puffball down — he really did — but what could he even hope to do?

"...and it's all my fault..." Kirby moaned. "I pushed you and everybody else away, a-and I-I don't know why... But whatever it is, it's come back to haunt me... To torture me without end... Is...is this my punishment, Marx...?" he asked in desperation, terror in his eyes. "Is this purgatory...?"

Marx thought hard about what he'd say. He didn't want to screw up. This is for him. he thought. He spoke, "I...don't know, Kirby. B-but! Kirby! There must be some higher reason for what's happening, right? W-why else would every room in this maze be modeled after some place you've been? And...I know it's been hard for you, trying to find an answer to your...unsolvable problem, but-but that's why I'm here, right?"

Kirby's eyes widened, as he looked, for the first time that day with an emotion that wasn't grief or depression, intrigued. With a small semblance of wonder within his bleak emotions.

"We're best friends, Kirby..." Marx said. "Trust me...I would never try to hurt you...at-at least of my own fruition." He added that last bit at the end given what Kirby had explained earlier.

Kirby said nothing. He blinked, starring straight into Marx's eyes, shaking a bit due to his insecurities concerning whether he had said the right things. They stood, or rather, layed like that for a solid minute, neither seeming like they wanted to move in case they upset the other.

And then, without any warning, Kirby leapt into Marx's arms and hugged him. Tightly. Taken aback by this, Marx nearly fell over, but just managed to keep his composure.

"Thank you..." the Star Warrior whispered.

"Hey. It's what I'm here for." the jester responded. "You don't have to be sad anymore."

"But I'm scared, Marx..."

"Me, too. But we'll get through this. We always do."

"I...I hope we do..."

"...Me, too, Kirby."

The embrace lasted for a decent amount of time — how much time? Neither was keeping track, as it wasn't important. Not now. Not when there was so much pain to dissolve. Not when there was so much sorrow to soak up. The two of them — no, they and everything that surrounded them — were motionless, as if stuck in time. All except for the ever present darkness behind every window.

After the two finally separated, Kirby looked much better off than before. Marx breathed out in relief; this was exactly what he wanted. He and Kirby, together, happy, ready to take on the world, or wherever it was they were.

"So..." Kirby began.

"Yes?" Marx said.

"I...I'm thinking—"

"What is it?"

"Well...if, well, all of this..." the puffball raised his stubs to point out the room they were situated in. "I was thinking about what you said. About all of this being places that I'm familiar with..."

"What about it?"

"I mean...if that's what this labrynth is based on...could that mean we're..."

"We're where?"

"In a dream? Like one of my dreams?"

"Hm." Marx scoffed. "From what you've described, this would be more like a nightmare than a dream."

Kirby caught on to his tone. "Marx, this isn't the time for jokes."

"But I'm serious!" Marx stepped up. "Wouldn't it make sense given all the horrors you said you've suffered? You even said this felt like purgatory; i.e. a never-ending nightmare!"

This sudden discussion about everything suddenly made Kirby feel ashamed. He started having second thoughts. "No, no... F-forget about what I said..."

"Wha-?" Marx was taken aback. "What're you talking about? You're idea makes sense! I'm not trying to make fun of it, okay?" He paused, realizing that perhaps he was sounding a little harsh, and maybe that was what was scaring his friend. He began again with a more somber tone, "I really do think you're right... Can't I at least help you try to understand what's happening to you?"

Kirby shifted uncomfortably. "M-Marx... I-I get it, that you're trying to help... But—"

"But what??" Marx snapped. He quickly covered his mouth afterwards.

"If I'm right...a-and this is all just a nightmare...th-then how can I be sure you're real?" Kirby asked.

Marx was speechless.

"I mean, you don't seem to remember all the times I've died — all the times we've died, Marx..." Kirby explained. "I've...s-seen you twist into h-hideous monsters. I've been stabbed, choked, had my guts ripped out, and everything in between, and all by your hand, and whether you were in control of not, I always awoke beside you, peacefully as if nothing ever went wrong. As if you've done nothing wrong..."

Marx just starred at him, emotionless. Growing more bitter by the second.

"So tell me...Marx..." Kirby asked, "In this room, this situation, right here, right now, are you real...? Or are you just a figment of my imagination, torturing me for whatever it is I've done wrong??" He was crying again, but this time Marx did not choose to comfort him. "What are you trying to tell me, Marx? What did I do wrong?? Is it because I left you all behind because I was growing up?? Is it because of something else?? I don't know what you want from me!"

Lightning flashed from beyond the windows, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them. A gust of wind surged in what was a room whose air was deathly still. A chill ran down Kirby's body as he looked up to see Marx, his eyes shrouded in shadow, not even in the form he often took when he murdered the puffball countless times. In fact, he was entirely silent, his form completely still and unchanged. Kirby, on the other hand, was swept aside by the sudden burst of wind, struggling to grab on to something — anything — to survive.

But wasn't it all pointless? If he were killed during this, he'd just wake up again, as if none of what happened here happened, but with time advancing nonetheless. No. This was just an instinct. A primitive instinct of survival and self-preservation, as Meta Knight had taught him. Yet there was nothing to be scared of! Hadn't he already grown numb to the cycle of death and terror that was this nightmare?

And yet now he felt fear. He felt scared. He had a sense of adrenaline. But why?

It was Marx... Kirby realized. We've had become so empty...so emotionless... That is why he is here.

Marx was never supposed to hurt Kirby. He was supposed to save him. Save him from this bleakness, this...darkness. The one that surrounded them even now. And he had believed that Marx meant for the worst when in reality he had meant for the best. And it was all his fault.

But no. Not this time. He was not going to abandon them anymore. Kirby wasn't going to run from himself anymore. He was going to confront the darkness within. The true culprit behind this elaborate scheme.

He was tightly grabbing on to the edge of the bed. If he let go now, the wind would shoot him out the window. Kirby took a deep breath, loosened his grip, and let go.

A hand suddenly grabbed hold of him. The puffball gasped, turning to face who had done so. "Kirby!" it said.

Kirby smiled. He knew who it was.

"Good luck..." Marx told him.

"Th-thank you, again..." Kirby replied.

And with that, he was set free.

TBC