He couldn't bring himself to look back as he walked away, stepping over the jagged ice with Galaxia in hand. He had his answers, and the blight on Popstar was dead. But he felt nothing—no relief, no justice…nothing.
The door to the other arena was sealed shut, an electronic panel beside it. Silence permeated from the other side. The battle was won, but the victor remained unknown. Meta listened intently for any sound, any indication of who had emerged victorious. Nothing. He studied the panel for a moment, feeling slow and numb.
The ice encasing his arm refused to melt. As he reached up to try activating the door, he noticed the glittering and winced at the sight. It clung to his gauntlet, making it difficult to flex his hand. He switched to his non-dominant hand, trying the panel instead. After several attempts at different pass codes, the door finally slid open.
The other arena told the story of a harsh battle: slices through the floor, burn marks on the walls, and shattered remains of a shell littering the ground.
Dark sat beside a body laid in a heap, some burns marking his armor and a section of his cape torn further than usual. He raised his head when the door slid open.
"I was beginning to wonder which of you was going to come out," he said.
Meta didn't respond immediately, his gaze sweeping over the aftermath of the fierce combat. His eyes fell on the figure beside Dark—a familiar face, though marred by battle. It was Escargoon, his body battered but still breathing.
Meta approached, his steps heavy and his expression unreadable. He looked down at Escargoon, noting the signs of a struggle and the burns that marred his flesh. Dark followed Meta's gaze and gave a small nod of reassurance.
"He's alive. Don't worry," Dark said, his voice carrying a gruff hint of indignation that Meta would doubt his ability.
Meta knelt beside Escargoon, examining the damage with a practiced eye. "You managed to save him," he said quietly, more a statement than a question.
Dark nodded, his expression a mix of exhaustion and relief. "It wasn't easy. He put up one hell of a fight, but I managed to bring him down… non-fatally."
Meta's eyes flicked to Dark, noting the singed edges of his cape and the fatigue etched into his features. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "You did well."
Dark shrugged, trying to mask the pain that lingered in his movements. Meta Knight picked up the limp man, hauling him over his shoulder. Dark slowly got to his feet with a heavy groan of ache.
"We can't leave this place until our job is done. He'll… have to come with us," Meta sighed, feeling the weight of yet another responsibility. Without an army to back them up, perhaps facing Nightmare would be a more tangible feat. He hoped so, at least. But he didn't have much of a heart for hoping now.
Dark's hand clapping on Meta's free shoulder dragged him out of his momentary numbness. "So, what happened over there?" Dark asked, cocking a brow. "You're, uh… You alright?"
Meta didn't respond immediately, his thoughts still swirling from the recent encounter. Dark couldn't possibly care, not really. He was just curious about the connection between Meta and Arcta. That much was clear. The time to tell him would come eventually, but now was not that time. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too immediate. He turned his attention back to Escargoon. "We need to keep moving."
Dark agreed, his grip tightening slightly on Meta's shoulder before letting go. "Let's find someplace to put him."
Slinking through the ship's halls was challenging with their extra cargo. They had to avoid every patrol that passed by, and finding hiding spaces large enough for all three of them was no easy task. The less commotion they caused, the better their chances of remaining undetected.
As another patrol approached—a pair of monsters chattering as they marched down the hall—Dark hissed in annoyance, searching for someplace to duck. Meta found a door along the wall and tested the handle, finding it unlocked. He cleared his throat to get Dark's attention and ducked inside.
They sighed in relief, shutting the door tight and leaning against it.
"How are we ever go—" Dark began, but Meta's hand clamped tightly on his shoulder, silencing him. Dark glared at Meta, then followed his gaze to the other end of the room.
A set of large monitors displayed images of various planets, each ruled by less-than-honorable kings or full-blown dictators using NME monsters against their people. Seated in front of the monitors was a familiar sleazeball: the Salesman.
Meta's anger was palpable, his grip on Dark's shoulder nearly vice-like. Dark didn't shrug him off or bat his hand away. His anger was directed now to the figure silhouetted by the screens. Dark set Escargoon up against the wall, tucked behind a row of cabinets. Meta released his shoulder to silently stalk towards him.
"Of course! We have just the monster for you," the Salesman exclaimed, his fingers clacking on the keyboard. "This bundle of minor monsters covers several elemental bases at once for whatever you need." He droned on, pitching the various services NME could offer, distracted by his sales patter. He encouraged his customer to indulge in the monsters available and wreak chaos on their people.
Once the call finally ended, the screen turned black, reflecting the room and himself. Only then did he notice Meta standing behind him, hand raised and trembling with fury. The Salesman's face barely changed; a slight knitting of his brows was the only indication that he had seen Meta.
Meta grabbed him by his hair and yanked him out of the chair, throwing him onto the metal floor. The Salesman yelped, hitting the ground hard. Meta's boot pinned the Salesman by his shoulder as he groaned in pain.
"We oughta teach him a lesson," Dark growled, his voice low and menacing.
The Salesman ignored Dark, his sunglasses hiding his gaze, but unable to conceal the slight quirk of emotion in his brows. "You two must have been quite slippery to get past our little ice queen," he spoke with a teasing inflection, though there was a hint of confusion, perhaps even concern.
Meta's body turned rigid, his boot pressing down harder on the Salesman's shoulder. "Velka… Arcta Knight is gone," he stated, his voice cold and final.
He was quiet. The Salesman winced after a moment, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his features. "Gone, you say? Well, isn't that a shame," he muttered, trying to maintain his smug demeanor despite the situation. "She was quite the… asset."
"She was more than an asset," Meta hissed, his anger barely contained. "She was a warrior, a person, and you twisted her into a monster."
The Salesman chuckled weakly, the sound hollow and nervous. "Everyone's got their uses, Meta Knight."
"You are proving to be real useless," Dark growled, drawing his sword to make his threat clear. "And once we're done with you, Nightmare is next."
The Salesman laughed, a forced and rattled noise that only fueled the Knights' anger. "You're not going to do anything to Nightmare. You could be the strongest in the galaxy, but that means nothing against the boss." His voice quivered slightly, betraying his attempt at bravado.
Meta leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. He was hiding something, it was obvious. Meta's glare was cold and piercing, scrutinizing the Salesman's face for more tells. "Tell us."
The Salesman's smirk wavered, but he forced it back onto his face. "Oh, MK, you really think I'd betray my boss just because you're a little rough with me? Nightmare's power is beyond anything you can comprehend. Even if I did spill a few secrets, you'd never stand a chance."
Dark's blade inched closer to the Salesman's throat. "Try us."
The Salesman gulped, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Alright, alright! But it won't do you any good. Nightmare... he feeds off fear and despair. The Star Rod is your only hope, but even that might not be enough. Kirby is the only one who can wield it properly, and without him, you're doomed."
Of course. Even with everything they had done to ensure no one but them would be in this mess, they would have to drag Kirby into it. And even if he were willing to throw the kid into the fray, he was injured from the previous encounter. Could Kirby really have the only answer?
Is Kirby really the only one who can save… anyone?
Meta's eyes flickered with determination. "Where is the Star Rod?"
The Salesman chuckled weakly. "Good luck finding it."
Dark threatened the blade against the Salesman's throat. "If you don't te—"
"It's hidden away in a place only Nightmare knows! You think I'd be trusted with that kind of information? I'm just the Salesman, remember?"
Dark's grip on his sword tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Then tell us something useful, or you won't be selling anything ever again."
The Salesman sighed, realizing he had little choice. "There… there's a secret chamber, deep within the ship. It's heavily guarded, but if you can get past the defenses, you might find something that can help you. Just don't say I didn't warn you... you're walking into a death trap."
"Then that's where we'll head," Meta decided with a sharp nod. He stepped away from the Salesman. Dark's sword remained trained on his throat.
"What about our cargo?" Dark asked, eyes flickering to the door where he knew Escargoon was laying.
Meta looked over his shoulder in the same direction. He muttered under his breath and sheathed Galaxia. "We can't just leave him. I know taking him with us isn't much better, but I don't see any other choice."
Dark grumbled, "then what about him?" he poked the tip of his sword at the Salesman's throat, nicking his Adam's Apple. He flinched and stiffened, afraid to breathe with the sword so close.
"Tie him down. If his information is bad, we can come back," Meta said, glaring at the Salesman. This was the only mercy he was willing to grant him. Dark huffed and sheathed his sword. If the man wanted to live, he'd stay put. It seemed he was well aware of that. There was barely a struggle as he was tied to a bolted table at the other side of the room.
Meta moved to lift Escargoon, throwing him over his shoulder. The Salesman watched with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, his eyes darting between the two knights and the burden.
"You'll see that my information is solid," the Salesman said.
"Good. Don't think it buys you any favors."
"I wouldn't dream of it," the Salesman replied with a nervous chuckle.
With Escargoon supported between them, Meta and Dark made their way out of the room and into the dimly lit corridors of the ship. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the threat of imminent danger.