Well, since I've been 'artist-blocked' for a while, I decided to experiment a little and ended up with this story in my hands. I don't know how canon to consider it in my other Kirby fics. I think that in "Skybound Dreams" I will consider this to be canon, but I'm not yet sure about "Echoes of Another Dream". I made this somewhat ambiguous so that it can fit into both universes, but it fits a bit more into the animeverse.
Characters belong to Nintendo
For as long as he could remember, he had always known that being a weapon was the only reason for his existence.
That was what his creator called him, and that was all he could aspire to be. When his master sent him on a mission, he carried it out efficiently, with no doubts, delays, or regrets. He just did what he was ordered to do, the way his master intended. Carrying a black sword that was more an extension of his body than an instrument, he was capable of destroying his foe with a speed and ferocity that no inert weapon could achieve. Whether he battled mythical beings defending a treasure his master desired, an armed group of rebels, or war machines built in a desperate attempt to attack what could not be defeated, they would all fall beneath his blade.
He was the Lord of Nightmares' best weapon, the one who triumphed over those who dared to oppose the being who forged him. He had to always be above his enemies. If he were ever defeated, all the years spent forging him would be a waste.
Most of the time, he felt nothing except coldness and emptiness inside his body. However, he felt it was natural. At his core, he was no different than the destructive metal machines devised by his creator—cold at rest but dangerously warm when in use. He definitely warmed up when he was used, as in battle, a burning fury that made his insides boil always overtook him. He had no idea where his rage came from, but it pleased his creator. Maybe it had been put there by the Lord of Nightmares to make him a more destructive weapon. Maybe he was simply functioning as a conduit for the hate-filled emotions of the person who commanded him. He didn't know or care. At least it was an emotion, so it could be said that only in battle did he feel 'alive'.
Only in battle and when he looked at the stars.
They couldn't be seen from the Lord of Nightmares' home. The veil of darkness that engulfed the place (and was gradually spreading over the universe) prevented their light from reaching it. Yet when he was assigned to a planet with a clear atmosphere, something inside of him urged him to glance up at the night sky. It was not possible for a weapon to have emotions, but when he looked at the stars, his heart became filled with longing. A yearn he shouldn't be able to feel. He didn't understand it. Why did it feel like the stars were calling him? Why were they able to awaken emotions within him? Why, under their blanket, was it as if the void inside him hadn't always been there?
Perhaps it was because the atmosphere of that planet was especially pure and clean, or perhaps it was because the magic in that particular location was stronger, but, that night, the stars called to him more strongly than usual. He reached out his hand towards the sky, as if wanting to touch them. The more he looked at at the stars, the more he longed to spread his monster-like wings and soar towards them. Their light filled him with a warmth unlike the seething fury that consumed him in battle, keeping him from thinking about anything but the annihilation of his foe. The stars promised that there was a better place for him. He wanted to be guided away somewhere where the shadow of his master would not oppress him, where he could be more than a weapon.
Where, finally, he could be just 'him'.
But that couldn't be. Something as dark and tainted as him had no place among the stars. He belonged to his master. A weapon had no home or shelter, nor did it need them. And what was that about 'just being him'? A weapon didn't need an identity either; it just needed a purpose. And he was being distracted from what he needed to do: kill the sacred dragon that prevented his lord from spreading darkness and nightmares on that planet.
Bitterly, he lowered his hand and withdrew his gaze from the sky. It didn't take long for the coldness to take over him again, burying his fleeting desire for freedom and leaving him empty, with the only thought in his mind being the imminent battle.
The battle was brief. The dragon fought with all its might but could do nothing in the face of the unbeatable wrath of Nightmare's weapon. He took the dragon's life with astonishing violence and quickness. Once the guardian was struck down, its sacred power faded, as did the anger within him. Without allowing him a single second of relief, the cold and emptiness returned to his body.
With his mission now completed, he was ready to depart. However, the shadows soon began to envelop everything, forcing him to stay still. It didn't take long for a figure to materialise right next to the dragon's corpse.
"This took you longer than it should have," his master reprimanded him in a severe tone.
He did not respond. A weapon never argued with his master. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"You've been wasting time looking at the stars again, am I right?"
He nodded. A weapon was not allowed to deny, lie, or oppose its master. Another lesson.
"You are my best weapon, but even a top-notch product like you can begin to fail without the proper care," his master told him. The Lord of Nightmares approached him and then stroked his skin with an icy finger in a rough and cruel gesture. "Once I'm done with this planet, I will have to 'sharpen' you again."
'Sharpen you again' was actually an euphemism for 'putting you under more torture and experiments'. It was something that his master did to him periodically. A weapon must always be sharp so that its blade does not fail in combat.
"Now leave," his creator ordered as he moved away from him. "I must plague this world with nightmares and darkness. I'll take care of you later."
He bowed his head in forced reverence. Immediately afterwards, he opened his wings and flew towards the base that his master's forces had established on that planet. As he flew, the sky above his head gradually darkened, the stars vanishing one by one. As long as his immortal lord existed, they would never again bless that world with their light. Something deep inside him, buried under the cold, cried as he watched them disappear.
But was he crying for the stars, or were the stars the ones who cried for him?
º.·o·.
Meta Knight opened his eyes and sighed.
The stars that shone over Pop Star were different from the ones he had seen that distant night on that planet, whose name he had long forgotten, but their light was as bright and warm. Perhaps that was the reason why that specific memory had surfaced.
Not a single memory of his time under Nightmare's yoke was pleasant. Some of them were gruesome enough to make the person he chose to share them with sick. The truth of his origins was something he had revealed to very few people in his life, and even fewer knew all he had suffered through. Although, unlike the monsters, he had not been artificially created by the wizard, if he had never fallen into his clutches, it was quite likely thathe would not be who he was now if he had not fallen into his hands. "Meta Knight" had been born the moment he had managed to break the chains that imprisoned him and flew free for the first time, determined to become the strongest so he could stand up against the darkness. Without that experience, even if he had ended up going by the same name, he would have become a very different person.
Maybe someone like Kirby.
The younger puffball was by his side, snoring in a deep and pleasant sleep. They had been training until late, and Kirby had insisted on watching the stars with him, only to end up falling asleep after two minutes. Meta Knight shook his head. He couldn't understand how someone so energetic could fall asleep so fast.
"Come on, Kirby, wake up," he called Kirby as he gently tapped the other puffball on the head.
Kirby yawned, blinked a few times, yawned again, and looked at him sleepily.
"Mmm?" the little pink ball complained, sounding a little confused.
"It has gotten very late. It's time for you to go home," Meta Knight told Kirby, who yawned again and nodded. Meta Knight saw him quite dazed, so he decided: "I'll accompany you back."
Fortunately, Meta Knight had anticipated this eventuality and had chosen a stargazing location close to the pink puffball's home. Kirby nodded again and smiled, a way of thanking him without speaking due to sleepiness.
He took one last look at the sky before leaving. The stars were as beautiful and bright as ever. Despite the passage of time, Meta Knight continued to gaze at them every chance he had, but he no longer did it with a sad longing for freedom but with gratitude and hope for the home they had guided him to.