| GCB Fanfics: The Fanfiction Project |
August 28th, 2003"Game On!" The dark-cloaked man scowled eastward from his rooftop perch as the first hint of morning light faded the black sky at the horizon to a pale grayed blue. He stared out over the landscape he knew he would see, though it may have shocked others. His twisted, devious mind still dwelled on the events of the past day. Galling was the only word to describe it. To be humbled by that bloodthirsty parasite and its thievery of the gold emerald was inexcusable. To let that feckless shadow of himself bear witness to the event was unconscionable. To be forced into a pact with the witless, vengeful failure because it could not comprehend the disastrous stupidity of its own resolve was unbearable. “Agree to my terms, or I’ll gladly kill us all,” he may as well have said. What hope has reason of providing a third option to one of that mindset? Sephiroth glared resentfully at the jewel he held tightly enough as if to crush in his hand. One of six, not seven, that he had recovered. The price had been too dear for an incomplete set—gone would be the awestruck, fearful deference of the masses if he should spare the mightier foes he had yet to face, but otherwise the failure would need to be avoided at all costs while he persisted in his blindly suicidal insistence on the matter. Dawn was coming. The black and silver phantom’s cloak whipped against the breeze, and he was gone. ------------ Sunlight slipped through the open windows of the little building on the outskirts of the contest compound as another late-August day began. Within the structure, the shining beam of morning light banished the dusky pre-dawn grays to corners and shadows. Flecks of dust danced in the luminous ray as it fell through one of the few open walkways inside to its rest on the sleeping face of the room’s sole occupant. Mario awoke gradually, unwilling to part with his fleeting dream of rescuing a beautiful, adoring princess helpless in her cell barred by extra-thick, doubly reinforced al dente manicotti. He had spent the night, as he often did, in the shop. The remaining fighters in the tournament hardly ever came to M-Mart anymore, and even more rarely made a purchase, but that only kept Mario in the role of shopkeeper longer. Demand for equipment may have reached a new low, but the supplies kept coming in. Swords, shields, armor made of seemingly any material from which it could be fashioned, strange electronic devices dangling wires and connectors—enough had piled up in the stores at M-Mart to arm any of the remaining warriors in the tournament for six of the most grueling battles they could ever imagine facing. Mario rose to his feet and stretched his arms wide with a yawn, nearly knocking over a shelf stocked to the ceiling with bottles of some strange yellow liquid marked only, “Love, Grandma” in a scrawling script. Everywhere there had ever been an inch of free space before or behind the building’s tiny counter, there were now tools or trinkets on display. Surplus items from months before were interspersed among the week’s new shipments almost at random. From enchanted spears to lock-picks to yo-yos, M-Mart had not only everything for the modern aspiring hero, but what often seemed simply like everything. Everything except customers. There was little preparation left to do for the elite few who remained. No new gadgetry could shock their foes; what remained was a test of skill and spirit. Mario was no exception. He knew his match would occur later that day, but it wasn’t time to think too hard about that yet. He shuffled between the piles of armored vests toward the small kitchen in the back of the shop to prepare his breakfast. No use-a trying to fight-a evil on an empty-a stomach. The plumber filled a pot with his brother’s favorite pasta sauce and sighed. Luigi… it’s a shame-a you’re-a not-a still here. None of-a these-a guys ever take-a the time to see it’s-a just a game-a. Just a game… that was the way Sonic had seen it. Maybe, Mario considered, he had in fact gained something in return for losing his longtime companions Luigi and Yoshi. With them by his side, would he ever have looked to others for alliance? There was little doubt that the three of them could have undone Bowser’s plot against Cloud and Aeris on the strength of experience alone, with or without the swordsman’s aid. Yet without them by his side, Mario came to rely on Sonic and the others. He had learned more from fighting alongside two of the most serious-minded competitors in Snake and Samus than he ever could have from fighting against them in the arena. Even if it’s just a game, the rules must be upheld, and the outcome could prove no laughing matter. In Sonic himself, he had found more—a kindred spirit… but now even Sonic was gone. Just a game… that’s what Crono would have said, too. Mario sighed, stirring his spaghetti weakly, then a fierce look of determination crept across his usually cheerful face. He remembered the chilling snarl that had escaped his friend’s lips as their spar turned to a fully-fledged battle: ”You can’t trick me. I know who you really are.” Just a game… but today, it was personal. The plumber saw a darker side to his experiences with newfound comrades as well. The tournament may be a game, but life in this world was not. Crono and Tommy Vercetti had suffered in the ring, thanks to the cruel machinations of fighters who were also playing games—breaking the spirits and wills of others for their own gain and amusement. That Mario had grown close to the two beforehand made their pain cut through his upbeat demeanor even further. It’s-a me, Mario! That’s-a who I really am. Nobody-a takes ad-a-vantage of-a Mario’s friends like-a that. Mario heaped his steaming pasta onto his plate. There was a thump behind him, and he spun to peer trough the tomato-scented mist that hung in the air toward the doorway. A warrior with a sword across his back stepped through the open door heavily, and his head’s distinctive silhouette against the morning sun behind him revealed him to be the one remaining bladesman Mario wished to see. A disheveled Cloud entered the shop, his blond spikes drooping and his eyes sunken and ringed. “You’re up-a early,” Mario said as he motioned Cloud to a seat Tom Nook had used to stand on to see over the counter. “Couldn’t sleep,” Cloud shrugged as he collapsed into the seat. Mario dug into his spaghetti with gusto as Cloud recounted why: the events following the past day’s match. Mario and Cloud—a friendship many might have thought unlikely in the extreme, after a timely resurgence of cheers from the audience had demoralized the swordfighter and propelled the plumber to a narrow victory in one of the most hard-fought battles seen the previous year. Yet respect, not rivalry, had ultimately won the day, even though the two had mindsets as disparate as black and white. When Bowser kidnapped Aeris, Cloud looked to Mario for help, albeit at Sonic’s suggestion. Together, the two had fought and formed a bond stronger than any others among the rescue team, save Samus and Solid Snake. How far they had come, thought Mario, from a request for help grudgingly made and tentatively accepted in this very shop three weeks ago. It was thanks to a common goal, and a common foe. Now the two shared another foe, and it was time for the master and pupil to reverse roles. “Oh, where are-a my manners? You want-a some spaghetti?” “I’m not hungry.” Sometimes, though, Mario still just couldn’t understand Cloud. “You’re-a sure? This is-a Luigi’s-a favorite sauce.” Then, after a pause, “Yoshi’s-a too,” ignoring the fact that he could pour gasoline over the pasta and Yoshi would still slurp it down as if it was his favorite. “You should sell the stuff… if you win today.” Even as Cloud finished the sentence, he mentally kicked himself. The only times he ever said too much were always at just the wrong moments. “Hmm, that’s-a a good-a idea! Oh-a, winning too. That-a reminds-a me. You-a know this-a guy better than any of us. Got any-a tips?” Cloud stared into the distance, his eyes narrowed in frustration. He owed it to Mario to help him any way he could, but he was finding it hard to imagine a way. This was not as simple as learning to leap yawning gulfs while dodging whirling flames. “I… don’t know. You’ve seen his power… we all have. More than that, I don’t know if I can help you.” Cloud winced, almost perceptibly, at the memories of his encounters with the black-clad blade-master. “Don’t forget who you are, and what you’re here to do. Don’t forget who he is, either.” “Okey-dokey!” Mario seemed much more satisfied with this than Cloud had ever expected him to be. Cloud’s bewildered look begged an explanation. “Like I told-a Sonic, what’s a fun-a-loving guy like-a me supposed to do but-a have-a fun? He can’t-a change-a that.” Then Mario lowered his voice as his face took on a look mixed from equal parts optimism and determination. “I’m-a gonna have fun getting-a back at-a him-a today for all he’s-a done-a to us.” Now Mario, in turn, was impressed by Cloud’s acceptance of his explanation. Cloud, after all, had always been one to question the willpower of someone going into a situation without a grim dedication to see it through. The mercenary, however, knew of only one power that had kept him alive and defiant against the all-pervasive manipulation of Sephiroth. The loss of Aeris and the utter failure to safeguard the Black Materia, and with it his friends’ lives, had nearly broken him. But as a great philosopher from Wutai had once written, ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger.’ Cloud’s rage against Sephiroth, his desire for revenge, had hardened his will beyond the reach of the master of trickery. Mario had seen Sephiroth try to break Crono mentally and lead Sonic to his own death. Mario would be ready. The plumber backed away from the counter with a satisfied burp. “All righty.” He headed for the back of the shop, toward one of the storerooms. Mario kept his own equipment stashed in the shop as well—it was as good a place as any. Cloud worked his way through an aisle featuring several swords shining on display as they caught the sunlight streaming through the eastern window. He stopped at the door, turning back and addressing the barrels and crates of supplies piled near where he guessed Mario to have retreated. “You really should check outside at some point. There’s something out here you need to see.” Mario heard Cloud only vaguely, paying the warrior’s cryptic comment little mind as he entered his personal storeroom in the back of M-Mart. A familiar metallic voice bleated, “Mario!” as he opened the door. “Not-a today,” Mario addressed the bizarre contraption built of pipes, nozzles, and tanks that hung from the wall. F.L.U.D.D. seemed a tool unlikely to have much value against Sephiroth. Conversely, the device would almost certainly prove potent against one opponent he might face in the following round—water has a way of ruining any system made predominantly of electronic parts. “You’re-a still my-a secret weapon.” Instead, Mario went for boxes stacked in another corner. Well, I-a used-a the fire-a flowers for all-a they’re worth last-a round. I shouldn’t-a rely on-a those so much-a this-a time. He’ll-a see it-a coming. He stuffed a handful into his apparently infinite pockets anyway. They were followed by mushrooms, feathers, leaves, and a flashing star that leaped about the room evading his grasp for minutes. Oh! I’d-a forgotten all about-a this. Better take-a this too. And-a one of-a these, hey, why-a not. A frog-a suit? Well… -a… nah. A few more items even less readily identifiable as armament were stuffed away in his sleeves, under his cap, and elsewhere in his overalls. Mario stepped out at long last, the miracles of Mushroom Kingdom tailoring leaving him his usual sprightly self despite a load that would give a pack mule pause. Cloud was right—he should sell his pasta. The plumber didn’t bother contemplating the possibility that he wouldn’t have a chance. Mario reached behind the counter to grab a piece of chalk, and headed for the door. There was a sign outside that would give him the perfect way to advertise. He stepped out to find Cloud still outside, staring beyond the compound. The reason was obvious enough. “Mama mia!” A day ago there had only been a smoldering black and ash-gray wound on the earth where there had once stood a forest. Today, the trees had returned. It was as if Link’s conflagration had been erased from history. “It’s real,” mumbled Cloud. “This world is…” He trailed off. He could not find the words to describe it. Mario, having recovered from his shock, was obviously pleased at this new development. “What is it? Do you know why this happened?” “This-a place, it doesn’t-a like-a change,” answered Mario matter-of-factly. “The forest, it’s-a grown back already. Every-a-body comes-a back in a year, even from-a the dead.” “Not everyone,” Cloud corrected his ally grimly. “What was his name…? Logan? Don’t take that chance. But what are you getting at?” “It’s-a like Snake-a said. Like-a YOU said. Sephiroth’s-a never won before. And I don’t-a lose to Bowser’s-a cronies. That’s-a the way it always-a is, and nobody can-a change-a ANYTHING here. There’s-a nothing to worry about!” Cloud had to shake his head at the thought of Sephiroth being labeled as Bowser’s crony, but Mario’s optimism was infectious and what he had said just might make sense. If this dimension was held in a physical status quo, then perhaps fate too was stagnant here. What is the Porta Dei? Perhaps nothing that happened here ever truly happened at all, save in the minds of those to whom it happened. Mario was scribbling on the sign beside the door of the shop. I wonder what I should-a call my-a spaghetti. ‘Super Mario…’ no, no, no, got-a to give Luigi-a credit too. What did-a Tommy always-a used to say about-a it? “This ****’s more addictive than crack.” Hmm… Cloud had already started back toward the hotel, probably intent on letting Mega Man and Snake know of the forest’s return. Mario finished his ad and looked back, admiring his work for a moment. He then followed Cloud’s lead down the path, letting the sign advertise the availability, immediately upon his return to the shop, of: Plumbers’ Crack ~5 gold coins~ "The First Law" A tense crowd filled the seating in the stadium to capacity, eagerly awaiting another duel between two of the rapidly dwindling ranks of elite fighters. All those who remained were cheered wildly and without hesitation. None could question their skill or dedication—these were truly the best of the best. It was unusual, then, that the attention of the few fighters that remained as spectators in the stands was focused not on the battle about to take place before them but on the peaceful world outside the raucous arena. Birds chirped and flitted between summer sunlight and shade, occasionally coming to light on the branches of what should have been an impossibility. Each of the remaining warriors had seen, with his own eyes, the flames leaping into the night sky not a day ago, marking the end of the woodland that surrounded their temporary home. Now, by the warming light of day, the night’s destruction had been undone. Mighty trees towered again into the distance unharmed, forming a thick green canopy over the land that stretched away nearly as far as the eye could see. Cloud Strife stared emptily across the swarm of yelling fans, pondering the nature of the force which had restored a hundred-year-old forest in a day. Solid Snake and Mega Man occasionally stepped into an aisle to catch another glimpse of the wood that had risen, like a phoenix from its own ashes, overnight. To the one’s brief and obvious question, the other remained sullenly silent. Without reaffirming the forest’s presence, it seemed they would not believe it was there. This dimension, the Porta Dei, would not allow those within to interfere in its inescapable task. The actions of all from the simplest of animals to the mightiest of warlocks were but fleeting victories against the inexorable will of the world itself to revert to the form it was made to hold. Stone and wood here forgot the days past as quickly as did air. The world would, at times, allow some shred of evidence of its former days to persist. A ruin, a burnt tree, a scorch-mark blackening the arena’s earthen floor from some recent duel. Perhaps these traces remained to reassure guest warriors of the reality of their surroundings. But to those who had seen through to the truth of Porta Dei, they were nothing but poorly constructed lies. The dimension itself was utterly alien, unbound by the concepts of time, space, life, and death with which Cloud, Mega Man, Snake, and Mario were trying to reconcile its behavior. It sought always to return to its original form; its unimaginable innate power focused on retaining stability despite the efforts of the most powerful beings within and without to convert it. An object at rest tends to remain at rest, unless acted upon by an outside force. Into the barren stone proving ground the roaring masses encircled strode the silver-haired swordsman cloaked in black, looking every inch the peerless warrior of his reputation. In previous battles he had dispatched, with crowd-wowing dramatic flair, a pair of supernatural swordfighters and a savvy gunfighter with reactions bordering on the inhuman. The audience knew to expect a spectacle when Sephiroth was called on to fight, and they let him know their appreciation with a welcoming cheer fit for an emperor. To the object of their adoration, it was not enough. Adulation befitting the imperial was standard. In a few short days, he would have them look upon him as their lord and god. Six of the seven keys to the gate of the gods shone in multicolored luster under the noon sun, inlaid into the hilt of Sephiroth’s lengthy blade. The emeralds could turn the vast power of the world itself away from its rote task of reassembly and toward whatever end their bearer wished. Once set in motion, an object will tend to remain in motion unless opposed by an outside force. From the opposite door a foe for the swordsman, equally determined to emerge victorious, entered the arena. In all aspects, the challenger looked the converse of his opponent. Mario waved a white-gloved hand to the crowd as he stepped into the tiled ring, his nonchalance as he met the frigid blue glare of his opponent capable of causing the onlooker to overlook the absurdity of contrast between the two and expect the forthcoming tumultuous cheer for him as well. Fame favored an eclectic elite cadre, but not at random. The happy-go-lucky slightly overweight plumber had proven his place among the crowd’s favorites with victories as numerous, memorable, and decisive as any steel-willed swordsman, bounty-hunter, or freedom-fighter could boast. The two walked to their starting positions, neither averting his gaze from the other’s. Sephiroth stopped and stood at the ready, his blade slung across his back. One hand grasped the hilt high over his shoulder. Mario bent at the knees, looking ready to make a feral pounce. One hand was on his knee, the other reached over his back and slipped something from behind the straps of his overalls. As if in imitation of his enemy, the plumber’s white glove closed around a leather-wrapped handle that protruded from behind the back of his overalls over his own shoulder. A whisper, part mockery and part apprehension, blew through the crowd like a breeze as Mario took his starting position. Cloud and Mega Man exchanged worried glances at this development. If emotion could still be read on Link’s transformed visage, there would have been no mistaking its expression as other than a sadistic grin. Few in the audience foresaw any hope for the fighter in red should he engage in a fencing match with the fallen SOLDIER. Sephiroth inclined his head forward to keep his ever-present condescending stare on Mario. He drew himself up, accentuating the difference in stature between the two, and opened his mouth as if to speak. His low, subtle tones were completely overshadowed by the interruption of an enthusiastic yell from his opponent. “Let’s-a go!” No sooner had the second of the three syllables broken the tension than Sephiroth’s blade was off his back, arcing around in a high horizontal slash. Unsheathed, its edge reflected the sun in the sky as a blinding flash as it swung around. For reasons that escaped even the Mushroom Kingdom’s leading experts in kinesiology, assuming a squatting position for a brief period of time enabled Mario’s already powerful legs to launch him even higher into the air. Bearing this in mind, the plumber had crouched down before the match began to take advantage of this unusual ability. Mario leaped high into the air, his left hand pulling something leafy and white of an irregular shape from his pocket as he rose. Sephiroth’s swing, spaced perfectly to sever the plumber’s legs from his body had he jumped from a standing start, whistled harmlessly inches below the soles of Mario’s boots. At the apex of Mario’s jump, the plumber threw the turnip-like vegetable up before him and drew his chosen weapon from over his back. The crowd had waited with bated breath for Mario to draw a blade with which to challenge the swordsman. Surely leaping Sephiroth’s leading attack would give Mario the advantage none thought he could find in a sword duel! Mario caught every onlooker off guard. In one swift motion, the plumber revealed the handle he held to belong not to a sharp steel edge, but a wide grid of sinew strings. Mario whipped his tennis racket through as wide an arc as his arm allowed with a grunted “Yah!” of exertion, connecting with his vegetable in a thundering overhead slam that would have sent even Yoshi into a desperate knee-skinning dive on the court. The turnip caught Sephiroth squarely in the face, knocking the swordsman’s head back and disrupting a follow-up to his first errant swing. The excited cheers signaling the start of the match just a fractional second ago became a deafening roar of approval ringing from the stands. Mario landed from his squat-powered leap and skipped to a safe distance behind Sephiroth as the swordsman turned to pin him with his inescapable stare. Humiliation. The warrior who fancied himself a god ascendant had been beaten to the first strike by this little man and his toys! And they cheer him? This plumber had been an annoyance for weeks. “Poor, pathetic, fool,” he had called Mario to twist Crono’s receptive mind, softened by the weakness of friendship, down a path it could not bear to see itself tread. “He was so easy to subdue, offering barely any resistance…” Nothing was further from the truth. To Sephiroth’s all-invasive mental probing, Mario was utterly inscrutable. At once like and wholly unlike Crono’s unshakable will when fighting for those in need of his aid, Mario’s love of a challenge for its own sake and his uniquely incomprehensible mindset rendered him untouchable by the subversive methods of the son of Jenova. Mario was unburdened by any consuming need to see justice served—to him, when all was said and done, there was simply no option but that it be. If breaking any other contestant’s mind was worming to the center of a raveled ball of twine, then breaking Mario’s psyche was worming to the center of a billiard ball. Pure, innocent, the consummate hero. Which I suppose casts me in the role of villain. Why must ambition always be decried as villainy? Mario was charging at Sephiroth as the swordsman turned, intent on keeping the early fight at close quarters. As one fluid motion the blue-eyed warrior brought the Masamune down and stabbed forward. Mario left his feet near the extreme of the lengthy sword’s reach, diving under the thrust, but Sephiroth felt his blade bite to the simultaneous sounds of a high-pitched “Whoa!” and the rip of fabric. By right of jealousy alone do these lesser beings imagine their destiny more important than my own; it is only that which allows them to call their hopeless crusade righteous. I was born for greater things than they could dream, and the weak always fear and hate that of which they cannot conceive. The SOLDIER’s attack had only cut behind Mario’s leg, hardly impeding his progress. The plumber somehow skipped along the ground on his belly to continue the assault, barreling headlong for the taller fighter to knock his legs out from under him. Sephiroth hastily sidestepped the bizarre, bouncing diving tackle. Mario flipped to his feet with an agility unusual in men half his girth. His sliding attack may have missed, but it brought him within inches of the silver-haired swordsman. As Mario sprang up, he brought his fist before him in a rising uppercut. Sephiroth struck back with the Masamune the only way it could be used at such short range. Clasping the hilt two-handed, he drove the butt of the weapon downward at his assailant. The two men yelled at once. Sephiroth’s head snapped back, struck on the chin by an uppercut known for its ability to break brick. Mario’s knees buckled as his head took a brutal hit from the Masamune, used as a bludgeon. Both fighters staggered backward, stunned. Mario had a black, bleeding bruise on his forehead in the shape of the faceted surface of a chaos emerald and the ridged edge of the materia slot where it was lodged. Sephiroth nursed his jaw and glowered, though whether the object of his displeasure was Mario or the fact that cheers for both fighters rang in the arena was impossible to tell. After only a split second’s pause, the action resumed. Without warning, Sephiroth drew his hand from his face while snapping his fingers. A flame burst from nothing on the ground around Mario, who leaped back into action just ahead of the blast with a startled “Hoo!” as it singed his pants. Mario’s leg was only lightly wounded, and he guided himself through the air as expertly as ever. Planting his boots on Sephiroth’s shoulder, he kicked off over his foe again. Sephiroth ‘s head whirled to follow him, his fingers snapping again while his mouth noiselessly formed the word “ice.” Blue-white ice formed around Mario in mid-air, and by the time he landed he was sealed from the torso down in a sparkling frozen chunk magically created in the sweltering summer sunshine. Mario had been reaching for some item to help in his battle as he was leaping away, and now there was no doubt in his mind what it was he needed. Though his arm was frozen in place, his hand sorted through the contents of his pocket. It closed tightly around the leaves and petals of a fire flower. Within moments of hitting the tiled stadium floor, the huge block of ice was reduced to a few white chunks in a frigid puddle, at the center of which a free Mario was stamping out the flickering tongues of flame he had lit on his own shoe in an overzealous effort to break loose of his enemy’s trap. In his haste to free himself Mario had lost track of Sephiroth, who a quick check of the battleground revealed to have momentarily disappeared. With a burst of greenish-white light that seemed to shrink into the jewels on the hilt of his sword as he rematerialized, Sephiroth was upon Mario again. This time, the attack caught the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom off guard. He tried to defend himself by throwing a fireball, but it was too late. He had been struck and had lost the power. The Masamune stabbed into his shoulder, its bearer wincing only briefly at the pain in his own shoulder at executing the strike. “Ya-how!” yelped Mario, falling backward off the tip of the blade to land with his back against the sun-warmed stone of the floor. The red cap he wore at all times fell from his head. Now there was no question for whom the crowd’s cheer was intended, as their self-appointed future lord stood over his fallen prey. Sephiroth towered over Mario, his shadow hiding the plumber’s face from the searing sun. He reassumed his prideful half-smile, rendered only more disturbing by the presence of blood hinted at between the thin lips. He idly skewered Mario’s hat with the tip of his sword, flicking it up into the air where it struck the unseen barriers at the edge of the ring and fell to the ground. “How futile your task is,” came the swordsman’s sibilant words, “to fight a battle you cannot win. You defy the Porta Dei itself. Until a worthy champion claims its power, it will ever resist change. The weak will remain weak, the slow slow,” he paused and lowered his voice theatrically, “and the superior shall always triumph.” While the proud warrior spoke, Mario’s gloved hands moved strangely. They were empty, but one flicked briefly as if shaking open some container. The other then seemed to grab something. As the SOLDIER realized there was some purpose to these motions, the foe he had previously believed incapacitated brought both hands up around his head. One held an unseen bill, the other made the motions of fitting a replacement hat onto Mario’s head. The Masamune stabbed downward swiftly, but there was nothing there. Sephiroth whirled, looking for his attacker and finding nothing. He expected another attack, but none came. “You cannot hide from me forever,” he cautioned, “any more than can your planet. Your fate is to meet me here. Leave cowering in your little world to those you claim to protect.” The vanish cap had rendered Mario invisible, but immaterial as well. Were he to attack the cloaked warrior, he would pass through as harmlessly as the other’s sword had through him. The brave plumber had little desire to end the match a stalemate. Sephiroth mouthed another brief incantation, dispelling the magical properties of Mario’s headwear just as Mario doffed it. With a quiet rustle vaguely reminiscent of muted shattering, the cap sparkled one final time and fell limp in Mario’s hand, reduced to nothing more than a simple, floppy blue serviceman’s hat. “Mama mia! I always-a thought it’d be-a red!” said a startled Mario as he tossed it aside. The SOLDIER once more held the upper hand in the duel, and would not surrender it so easily again. He waved his hands, softly muttering “fire” and “shadow flare” repeatedly. The lifeless stone floor burst aflame and pitch-black explosions resounded in the ring. Mario was sent running, narrowly evading pillars of fire and light-devouring blasts that chased him across the floor. He dodged left and right, occasionally stopping in his tracks to backflip to safety as the magical assault continued unabated. With a sprinting trio of leaps, he sailed over a gout of flame bursting beneath him, trying to close with his adversary. The frenetic pace of the fight was beginning to wear on the only seemingly infinite energy of the fighter in red. One moment’s indecision, and a lightless explosion detonated before Mario, throwing him to the wall of the arena forcefully. Sephiroth laughed derisively as Mario was slow to rise. The spry plumber may have been fighting as if he was unhurt, but clearly he was not. His head was cut, and his face blackened comically by the fires. Sephiroth, similarly battered about the head and shoulders, treaded softly toward Mario. The son of Jenova’s eyes bored into Mario’s skull, and his psychic powers reached out to ply the weakened fighter’s mind. Where before the heroic plumber’s mind had merely been an impenetrable fortress, now it was a bastion openly hostile to his prying. Sephiroth’s probing mind recoiled at the force with which it was repelled. It was not so much vengeful hate that threw him back as Mario’s unwillingness to settle for less than what he expected of himself—Crono, Aeris, even Bowser, in some strange way--the wrongs against them, in Mario’s mind, would be made right. Beyond the unseen force barriers, the crowd was dismayed. What had begun as one of the fastest-moving duels of the contest not featuring a hedgehog had come to an abrupt halt. From the stands, boos and catcalls rained down on the white-haired swordsman, who looked to them pensively inactive when he could seemingly easily have finished his enemy. As Mario’s mind forcibly ejected Sephiroth’s, the loud waves of disapproval crashed down on the ears of the first-class SOLDIER, snapping his focus back to reality. To the god in his temple, this was tantamount to sacrilege. For a moment, his gaze lifted murderously to the jeering fans, his knuckles whitening around green and blue jewels as he grasped his weapon. A split second was all the opening Mario needed. He pulled a folded green package from his overalls. It snapped open and in the blink of an eye he was inside a quirky contraption, bounding high above Sephiroth’s downward-arcing strike meant to cleave him in two. Mario’s arms hung out over the side of an enormous green boot that bounced across the arena in inhumanly high leaps. Mario gave only a faint impression of being in control of the shoe, but under his direction it came about in a wide arc and sprang toward Sephiroth on the ground far below. The heavy green device that could have been a giant’s footwear hit the ground with an audible thump. It took off again, bouncing to even greater heights, as a magically summoned bolt of lightning crackled to the stone behind it where it had landed moments before. The plumber fell through the air in his unusual weaponry, aimed this time to deliver a devastating blow to the head of his quarry. There was a flash of green light on the ground, and Kuribo’s shoe stomped down heavily on nothing but a single black-plumed feather. Swifter than the eye could catch, the swordsman reappeared with fire in his eyes, only feet away from Mario and already swinging his blade around in a fearsome arc with lethal intent. Though the sole of the boot was armored like a tank, its sides were made for comfort. On instinct, Mario ducked into the top of the green boot as the Masamune whistled past, removing the crank that powered the machine, its cuff, and a lock of Mario’s hair. A broken spring snapped into the air with a loud report. The shoe skipped off the ground again in a pathetic hop, barely reaching the height of a man before tipping over. It gave the fighter inside just enough time to jump free with a “Whoa!” as the enraged swordsman followed his earlier attack, slicing the shoe again. The frustrated son of Jenova did not stop his visual reaffirmation that he would not be humiliated by some silly maintenance man and his toys until nothing remained of Kuribo’s shoe but green ribbons and its nigh-indestructible sole. As ever, Mario landed on his feet and hit the ground running. Sephiroth’s angered excess gave him time to spring to safety, but he was painfully aware that he had made as little progress toward his foe’s defeat as Sephiroth had his. His hands dove into his stash of equipment indiscriminately. “Let’s-a see Sonic’s emeralds-a top-a this!” he muttered as he clutched the impressive collection he had drawn from his pockets. Sephiroth looked up from his devastation of Mario’s weapon, his face the calm after the storm. His eyes met those of Mario staring back at him with an unquenchable determination. What Sephiroth heard as the gazes of the two locked once more was not the fearful defiance of a fighter cornered and overmatched, staring the one-winged angel of death in the face. Instead it was the challenge of an opponent who had faced seemingly insurmountable evil head-on, times beyond number, and had never tasted--could not even fathom--defeat at its hands. A battle-cry rang with a clarion echo throughout the stony walls of the tension-silenced arena: “Here we goooo!” Sephiroth glimpsed the petals of a flower, a shimmering star, a white-feathered wing, and mushrooms in both red and shining golden orange flash as they disappeared in Mario’s hands. Mario appeared to inflate as he yelled, growing stubby pointed ears from his cap and a black-ringed tail before taking on the vibrant sparkle of the star he had held. A monstrous Mario sprinted at Sephiroth faster than even he thought he was capable of. As he closed the distance he spun, his flashing tail tracing a glowing curve along the ground. The swordsman’s SOLDIER-trained superhuman reflexes could not react fast enough. Mario’s tail slapped him in the stomach, knocking him up off his feet as the wind left his lungs with a whoosh. Sephiroth landed and was on his feet again quickly, but Mario’s tail had switched from a horizontal sweep to a vertical wag and the plumber had taken to the sky. Mario hovered in the air above Sephiroth, sparkling like a second sun undergoing some cataclysmic internal explosion. He began to swoop back and forth above the stadium, waving his hands to rain countless bouncing balls of fire down into the ring to which his opponent was confined. Balls of flame ricocheted from the rock walls and the force barriers that extended above them, bouncing along the floor toward and around the black-cloaked fighter. Sephiroth’s masterful swordsmanship was put to the test. The Masamune lashed out over and over, cleaving apart or batting aside the bounding orbs of fire as they threatened him. He had studied Mario’s fighting, and knew that any assault against the plumber would prove fruitless while he glowed with the power of his star. A part of his mind wondered idly, as he defended himself from the fiery assault, why Mario did not simply enter every match with enough stars to render him invulnerable for its duration. He dismissed it as one of the many frailties of the plumber’s incomprehensible, quirky behavior. Meanwhile, Mario had maneuvered above Sephiroth once again. Abruptly, he stopped wagging his tail and fell from the sky. As the plumber fell he went into a spin, feet-first. Fireballs sprayed outward from him in every direction, reflecting from the walls to fill the arena with bouncing flame. Sephiroth had little choice. As Mario fell at him, feet in a whirl capable of breaking blocks as easily as his punches, Sephiroth dove into the nearby sea of hopping fireballs. He was rolling as he landed to douse the flames that licked at him as quickly as possible. The rock of the floor cracked as the gigantic plumber landed, but his foe had eluded him again. Mario charged Sephiroth as the swordsman rose to his feet, the flashing raccoon tail swinging around again to knock the would-be god into the sky. Like the dousing of a candle, Mario’s luminous sparkle stopped and he reverted to soot-blackened red and blue. The Masamune flicked upward as its bearer arose, meeting the giant tail as it swung toward him again. The huge tail was sliced cleanly from Mario’s rear, disappearing as it came free. The ears on Mario’s cap disappeared simultaneously and the plumber stumbled, thrown off balance as his spin was interrupted by Sephiroth’s lightning-quick attack. Sephiroth neatly dodged between the legs of his giant adversary, swinging his weapon in another swift stroke that caught Mario on the leg. The legendary sword bit deep, and Mario seemed to deflate with the attack. Mario shrank to his standard size, and suddenly it was obvious that his most recent wound was not deep at all—what had been a severe slash to his gigantic thigh had now been reduced to little more than a bloody scratch. Mario’s attack had carried him well inside the arc of Sephiroth’s swing, once again in such proximity to the silver-haired warrior that his sword was more awkward than threatening. The plumber ignored the pain of his shoulder wound as only he could, reaching out to grab Sephiroth by the arm and leg. He planted his feet and let the momentum of his charge carry him about, clamping his grip down tightly. The son of Jenova was wrenched from his feet, swung through a dizzying circle. Around and around the pair spun ever faster, Mario the chubby red pivot about which Sephiroth’s flowing hair and cloak traced a black and white ring. To Sephiroth, the world had been spun into a wild swirl of color and noise howling for his victory or his undoing, caught between the blurred brown of the stadium wall below and the blue sky above. The summer sun, glaring down directly overhead was one of the two things that held their place. The other was Mario. Sephiroth lashed out with his sword one-handed, a sparkle of silver flashing through the circle the two formed, toward the man in red that held him. “So long, eh Sephy!?” Mario yelled jubilantly as he released the swordsman from his spin. The blade tip whistled inches from Mario’s protruding nose as Sephiroth flew backward through the air away from his target in a long, low path toward the wall. There was the sickening thunk of bone on stone, as Sephiroth hit the stadium wall headfirst. Mario raised his hand in a sign of victory to a cheer… and his jaw dropped as Sephiroth flipped to his feet, although unsteadily, to a louder one. The one-winged angel’s vision swam and sparkled, the back of his head throbbing as he sprang up. His usually aristocratically serene face was gone, warped in a sneer of pain and fury. Bloodstained white hair fell over his shoulder. “No more games,” he snarled through teeth bared and clenched. Mario had to chuckle as he fought the instincts that warned him to duck a clawed slash or a wave of rancid flaming breath. Sephiroth threw off his cloak, letting it fall in a heap on the ground. From behind, his body was now covered in another black shroud that had lay hidden underneath the first. The new shroud unfurled and flexed, a single great wing like that of a raven spreading behind the former SOLDIER. With a single beat of the wing he had revealed, Sephiroth lurched into the air. Mario leaped after him, trying to land another bone-jarring uppercut, but fell short. Sephiroth rose above the floor now, looking down on Mario as Mario had on him minutes before. His concussion robbed him of his standard menacing grace as he flew heavenward, but as he paused to hover above the battlefield he was able to reassume some of his regal bearing. The one-winged angel looked down on his opponent and the onlookers, his vision of them blurred and distorted by his injury and the summer heat. His eyes closed and his wing beat unhurriedly, keeping him aloft. Between his long fingers, the emeralds shone in six colors nested in their slots on the hilt of the Masamune. Their bearer’s lips moved silently. Mario reached into his sleeve as he touched down. The only way to reach his enemy would be to fly; fortunately, that was no problem. He pulled out a white and orange feather and squeezed it tightly in his fist. The heroic plumber took off at a run, opening his hand and letting the breeze whipping by unfold the yellow cape the feather had become. Mario fastened the cape around his neck just in time to leap into the air, soaring like an overweight superhero toward the hovering angelic form high above. The crowd held their breaths and craned their necks upward as one, waiting in anticipation for a climactic mid-air duel between the beleaguered combatants. They let out a gasp as a brilliant white comet streaked across the empty sky above the pair and was gone, barely a second before Mario was upon Sephiroth. Sephiroth opened his eyes to the sight of Mario completing his climb toward him. The arrogant smile froze on his face as Mario brought one white-gloved fist over his head in a powerful vertical haymaker. Sephiroth’s arm went up to block, but it was of no use. Mario’s fist grazed the one-winged angel across the face and smashed into his chest, driving him straight down from the sky like an inverted rocket. The plumber followed, his cape whipping behind him as he turned its magical flying power to assist in a power-dive. Down the pair plummeted, back into the center of the ring of fans roaring their approval. Mario could see the oddly smug expression on Sephiroth’s face even as he fell—“too little, too late,” it seemed to say. The fallen one-winged angel hit the bare tile floor hard, twisting to free his sword from under him as Mario came barreling down behind him. Headfirst the plumber smashed into the body of his foe, cracking ribs and shaking the ground. Sephiroth shuddered under the brutal smash but snapped out with his free arm, grabbing the yellow sheet on Mario’s back and ripping it free with startling force. With the same motion he brought the Masamune from beneath him, rolling over and pinning Mario under his battered body. The sword swung around, stopping when it had barely broken the skin of the plumber’s throat. Let them all be shown that none shall humiliate the lord in the house of his worship. It was then that Sephiroth saw, in the corner of his eye, a blond swordfighter on his feet at the edge of the arena wall. The image of the man cut in stark clarity through the son of Jenova’s blurred vision. Both of the man’s hands were clamped tightly on his oversize blade, and his blue eyes burned with the same hateful rage that flushed his face. Witless, illogical failure. Sephiroth turned the Masamune in his hand, angling it away from the jugular. He jumped back, completing the sword swipe as he rose away, leaving a gash across Mario’s chest from the edge of his other stab wound. “Ow! Owowow!” shouted Mario, but he was silenced by his enemy. Sephiroth’s voice came commandingly, though plainly labored, as his single wing lifted him from the ground once more. “Your life is in your hands. Consider it a gift… your absolution.” He paused dramatically and rose higher over the felled champion of the Mushroom Kingdom. “Now RUN.” Between the fighters and the crowd, the protective barriers, normally unseen and unheard, shimmered visibly. Their power redoubled, humming mechanically as they faded into view. The faint electric blue grid curled back over the stands, no longer a wall rising into the sky but becoming a shell. Bright blue hatching could now be seen covering the stands, from which the audience stared outward and upward in terror. While the battle between Mario and Sephiroth had fallen from high in the sky to the ground where they had begun, the mystically summoned comet that had appeared above their aerial duel in passing fell inward, swooping past nameless planets through a solar system crafted from raw chaotic energy to give life to a single world, on a collision course with the flaming star at the center. It struck the surface and burrowed into the ball of fiery gas, the physical embodiment of the power of a being whose amplified magical potency could shake the cosmos. A portion of the superheated surface blew outward from the impact, raging across the gulf of space toward the world known now as Porta Dei. With meticulously calculated accuracy, the wave of solar flame fell toward an earthen stone structure in the shape of a ring on the surface of that little world. The sun shone on Mario in a horrible parody of how its comforting warmth had awakened him that morning. Mario scrambled to his feet, staring in disbelief as Sephiroth hung above him arms outstretched. The one-winged angel was no longer a creature of the night: now he used the day itself as a weapon, shining resplendent in the glory of a sun that was falling from the sky. Mario turned on his feet a dashed for a corner of the stadium. Sephiroth seemed unfazed as the searing solar surface passed over him, and his winged form was quickly lost in the roaring wave of heat. It showed no sign of stopping. The wall of light and flame struck the stone floor of the arena, racing across it toward Mario. Mario had no time to think of a way to stand against it. Through the door by which he had entered the stadium, the plumber beat a hasty retreat. Through the locker room and out of the stadium he ran. The flaming corona roared behind him, incinerating the lockers and bursting from the door onto the outside world of Porta Dei. Mario sprinted into the forest as the sun’s surface rapidly gained on him from behind. The conflagration set in motion by Sephiroth burst upon the forest its life-bringing light had raised from afar, spreading from the stadium entry in a wide angle. Every tree it neared, newly remade that morning, vanished into ash and smoke once more. Mario was dashing for the only safe place he could think of when the solar wave reached him. He leaped into the sky at its blazing touch with a cry of “AH! Ahahahahahaaaa!” and clutching his sizzling posterior. The wave buoyed him up and bounced him along, howling all the way at its unbearable heat. He was being thrown rapidly toward a small building with a gaping open door. The blistering blast wave threw Mario through the door of the portal room. He twisted himself to ride the scorching gases in painful fashion toward a gleaming blue-black swirl. He fell through the open portal with a final yelp. Were anyone able to hear, a faint exhausted cry of “Oof! Mama mia!” wafted back through the whirling gate. The portal surface sealed gray and sterile after the plumber passed through it, barring any more traffic between the artificial world and the Mushroom Kingdom. One last noise made it back through, drowned out by the roar of the passing solar blast: “Hey! My-a hat!” Inaudible on the smoldering side of the former doorway, there was the noise of a large round nose bumping unexpectedly against a wall that had once been a gate to another world. The sun had retreated into the sky once more, its devastating work complete and its power again turned to its perpetual tasks of lighting and heating Porta Dei from a distance. The audience in the stadium rose from their prostrate positions, blinking back temporary blindness to look upon the jet black scorched floor of the arena. A few peered outward over the stadium’s outer wall, looking out from their high seats on a world that had been lush and verdant just moments before, now in a great arc turned black and ashen gray by the searing solar heat. The one-winged angel had reduced the lush forest to ruin as swiftly as it had been regrown the night before, undoing the dimension’s tireless reparation as if he who would rule defied the very power he would embrace to claim his crown. Only one creature had survived within the blast. It floated back to stagger to rest on the burned-out stadium floor, battered but regally triumphant, to the awed applause of a crowd once again united. The survivor’s single black wing folded back behind his back as a smile crossed his bruise-blackened visage. "Secrets Left Untold" The smoldering ash from the remains of Porta Dei’s once vibrant, twice burned forest still rose into the sky. Afternoon had came and went since today’s battle between Sephiroth and Mario… The sun had been put to rest for the night, and now only the stars shone over the landscape of the Porta Dei. And no one missed the sun. The light and heat granted by Porta Dei’s closest star barely registered with both the competitors and the audience that usually reveled in it... The sun had been put to a different use today. It had been a weapon, a ray of heat, light, and death, summoned by the black-caped man to run Mario in circles all around the Porta Dei. The noble plumber had barely escaped with his life. Be that as it may, Mario had still survived. That in itself was a major shock to many who had witnessed the fight this afternoon… Especially Cloud and Mega Man, who had both resigned themselves that day to the likelihood that Mario would be skewered or otherwise totally annihilated on the battlefield that day, just like Raziel, Max, and Alucard had been before him. Certainly, being sent fleeing by a ray of deadly sunlight was far from a pleasant experience. But Mario was alive… And that was more than anyone had been expecting. Of course, Sephiroth hadn’t spared this life out of the goodness of his heart. As always, there were ulterior motives behind this almost good deed. It was this and more that Sephiroth considered, as he stood at the highest point of the stadium… The same southernmost edge where Cloud and Aeris had met so long ago, for a date that had been promised for a very long time… Their last time together before everything went into turmoil. Soon after that peaceful romantic time together, there had been Bowser’s kidnapping, and rescue efforts had been necessary to save Aeris from the koopa’s clutches. But that was all in the past now. Even though he had a hand in how that whole saga had progressed… Sephiroth rarely pondered the events of times gone by anymore. There was too much to prepare for in the coming future. And of course, those plans were all he reflected on, as he stared down upon the rolling grasslands, the still ablaze remainders of the foliage, the stone colosseum that he stood on now, and especially, the village where the rapidly decreasing number of those few that remained between the black-caped man and his goal lived. Only four of the lesser insects remain now… The end is near for them all. While Sephiroth’s supreme confidence in his godlike ability remained… The fight he had faced today had been the hardest that he had faced yet. The battles before had been no challenge… Defeating Raziel, Max, and Alucard had been little more than formalities. But of all people… It had been a plumber that had been the first to stand up and demonstrate power even close to what was necessary to defeat the one-winged angel. It was puzzling. The plumber’s mental fortitude was… admirable. If the rest of those fools could possess mental discipline on that scale, perhaps they might rise above the pitiable level that they all exist at now. But in the end… His attacks were not even close to being strong enough. No matter what uncommon strength the plumber held in his mind, he was still weak. And the weak can never defeat the strong. Indeed… That Mario deserved a death just as much as the others. But… It is his lucky day. By circumstance, a reprieve has been granted to the fortunate weakling. He did not die at the Masamune’s blade today, but that is simply a temporary measure. After all, I did make a deal with the failure yesterday. And though he is nothing but a defective clone that somehow manages to overachieve his way to victory, there is no point in unnecessarily angering him. Better that he trust my word, that he is manipulated like he always has been. Since I have saved his friend the plumber, Cloud will begin to get complacent… Perhaps turn his attention to the masked boy, the other one that aspires for true power. The failure will no longer be watchful. His mind will unfold like the open book it is as soon as the inevitable happens… As soon as he takes his eyes off of me. There was always much to think about. Sephiroth enjoyed the little perch he had up here, in the highest part of the Porta Dei’s giant colosseum. As Cloud and Aeris had found out in that totally different era that a few weeks ago had been… You could see everything that was anything in the vast Porta Dei from up here. The view all the way to the far-off horizon was certainly a thing of immense beauty, more majestic than any of the sights that even the well traveled five that remained had seen. But while Cloud and Aeris had been absolutely transfixed by this same sight two weeks ago… It had barely affected Sephiroth, even at first glance. The one-winged angel admired and appreciated nothing, and he hadn’t for a very long time. There was a reason why Sephiroth had chosen this particular place to inhabit for the day as he pieced together the final steps he had to take to reach the goal that he had strived at for so long… Sephiroth was simply surveying his kingdom-to-be. The one winged angel held no doubts about the final matches ahead of him… Not anymore. He never really had been uncertain about his fate to begin with. Four foes had stood before him over this two-month span, and he had cut down each one of them in turn. First the so-called immortal, second the savvy gunfighter, third the son of Dracula, and now a far-from-simple plumber. After two more victories… Porta Dei would be in his grasp. And after the Gate of the Gods was under the power of Sephiroth… The rest of the multiverse would fall in short order. All of existence would be destroyed, and when it was rebuilt, Sephiroth would be its God. I have not been challenged yet… And I never will be. None that I have faced yet truly had the power to defeat me. And those that remain, the robot, the broken man that is the stealth fighter, and the two failures that call themselves swordsmen… They do not have that power either. Without a strong will, none of them can stand up to me, and rightfully challenge me for this right as a God. The only trait that this pitiable assortment of “fighters” share is that they are easily manipulated. It will be such a pleasure to show the worlds that adore these fools what their heroes really are, once the multiverse is under my control. So Sephiroth may have taken a few cuts and bruises… He was still slightly aching from the hit he had taken from when Mario had tossed him into the wall. But the supreme confidence that in four days, he would reign supreme over the Porta Dei was still ingrained into Sephiroth’s mind. He had never even considered the possibility that he might be defeated in the arena… Or regarded any past experience where he had fallen short. As he seethed slightly at something in front of him now… It wasn’t a competitor that Sephiroth regarded with dislike and anger. He barely even thought of his competition now… He had shown them all their inferiority before, in chance meetings spanning the landscape. In the arena very soon, he would show his power again. But the challenges that Sephiroth regarded now as he gazed into space were beyond the simple skirmishes that would soon commence in the colosseum. It was emblematic of his character that among sixty-three fighters of utmost skill from all across existence, he still regarded the Porta Dei itself as his greatest adversary. Sephiroth’s arrogance had led him to plan ahead now… How would he shape the annoyingly persistent Porta Dei, with forests that repaired themselves overnight, force fields repelling attacks against so many of the annoying features this world held, and in general currently unassailable by any power Sephiroth held? And what would happen to who… or what… was the almighty power over this artificial dimension? That was what was inside Sephiroth’s mind this night. But as always, in the quirky dimension that Porta Dei was… There were occurrences at every corner that warranted a few thoughts. For example… The daily reset of the dimension came on quickly, as the Porta Dei’s energy readied itself for the mysterious and instantaneous reorganization of its entire landscape. Sephiroth’s eyes snapped open, his reverie interrupted. The familiar feel of the energy of a planet registered faintly to the one-winged angel… Whether you called it Mako, Mana, or another of the many names that people through the multiverse granted to the spirit energy of the world they lived in, it was everywhere, throughout every single world under the stars. But it was different on the Porta Dei. Even the least metaphysical among the sixty-four that had lived here over the juncture of three months had sensed something odd here… To Sephiroth, the volatility of the spirit energy here was many, many times greater than anything he had seen before. It was yet another proof of the strange, important, and powerful nature in this place. Sephiroth’s cruel, pale face contorted for a moment at the familiar and almost painful sensations that reminded him of the energy that every planet held inside of it, as its lifeblood. For a man like Sephiroth, so in tune with the workings and the true soul of everything from the tiniest inhabitants of a planet to the planet itself, the daily resets of the Porta Dei constantly held so much force that they almost pained the one-winged angel. But within a few seconds, any aches or other sensations the spirit energy had produced in Sephiroth faded away, as they always had, and the customary superior grin returned to Sephiroth’s face. For the duration of the tourney, many of the contestants had set their day around the mainly daily events of the Porta Dei. The poker games were always a favorite of Snake, Vercetti, and their ilk, at nighttime in the Heroes’ Haunt. Kirby, Yoshi, and Pac-Man had always anticipated breakfast, lunch, and dinner as highlights of their day… The three of them had tried as hard as they did in the arena partially to enjoy the wonderful food that the chefs had prepared for them. Well… Perhaps they were chefs. Come to think of it, no one had ever seen what kind of kitchen staff the Porta Dei had… If there even was one. Mario and Luigi had always centered their days together around a nice game of golf. When he had been here, Tom Nook had put far more effort into his shop than he had in any training or skirmishes. Everyone here had that one thing, everyday, that made them tick in this strange new world. Since the very first week of the tournament… Sephiroth’s day had always included a pause around this time, to observe and sense the daily ritual of the spirit energy… The rearrangement of the Porta Dei. The sensations of the unpredictable movements of energy in this dimension had immediately tipped Sephiroth off that there was something strange and important here… And once he had pieced together his knowledge and truly realized what this place was, he had been able to make the first move towards making sure that he won this tournament… This battle of the best that was for so much more than it appeared. Sephiroth had been watching the resets practically since the beginning. But this was a special occasion… As soon as the one-winged angel had felt the movements of energy, deep within the earth, he had shifted his gaze straight at the charred remains of the Porta Dei’s once lush forest. He retrieved Masamune, propped up against a pillar, and stood to better his view of the wasteland in front of him. Its beauty had once been unrivalled… But now, it was being constantly destroyed by sinister flame. Still, however many times this forest was burned down, it would spring immediately back to life. That was just a given by now… It went with the principles of constant stability that whatever entity was behind the Porta Dei tried so hard to maintain. But even after all this time… Sephiroth had never seen anything as substantial in size as the forest restored through the reset. There were mysteries to the Porta Dei that even the one winged angel did not know… But right now, Sephiroth still held the same supreme confidence that was always ingrained into him, as he stared, unblinking, at the assorted tree stumps and charred earth in the distance. It was no mystery to Sephiroth that they would not stay in this state of destruction for long. He just wondered what the dimension would do to change things back. In the end, he never saw exactly what happened. Sephiroth’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by a surge of power stronger than anything he had felt from any spirit energy, anywhere. His gaze was broken as the sheer force of energy sent him hurtling forward, hitting the row of seats directly in front of him head on. For just a moment, everything went totally black in the sights of Sephiroth, as he rested, unmoving, slumped over a nearby chair. It wasn’t long before his haughty self returned, however, as he jumped to his feet… Albeit unsuccessfully. The fall that he had taken from whatever force the Porta Dei had sent throughout the dimension had been very disorienting, perhaps as bad as the header into the wall Sephiroth had taken from the plumber earlier that day. In the end, although it greatly injured his pride, Sephiroth pulled himself into a nearby seat, unable to stand from the dizziness that the plunge into the chairs had caused. Gradually, the stars faded out of the enraged swordsman’s vision, and he looked around, seething at the dimension that apparently had the nerve to mock the almighty one-winged angel in this way. By the time his vision focused… Anything that the reset had changed in the Porta Dei’s overall makeup was already transformed. The forest, straight ahead of the still slumped Sephiroth, had returned for the second time to its thriving and green self. No one knew exactly how, just like in the reset previous… It had not been seen. Somehow, the dimension had been sure of that, whether on purpose or by accident. The only one that was a true observer had been otherwise occupied, falling through space, at the time of the forest’s restoration. But Sephiroth, as he always did… Was working things out on his own. Impossible… This dimension would not dare to tamper with the inner workings and thoughts of those who live here. There’s no puppetmaster in an ivory tower controlling all aspects of life here. And even if there is, he’s too sickeningly benevolent to do anything like throw me across the floor. The energy tonight felt different from the countless times before. The power it held tonight, the task it must have been trying to perform must have involved power beyond imagination. It couldn’t have just been the forest. Could it? Sephiroth rose out of the seat, gingerly at first, but gradually regaining the stubborn confidence and determination that he always held. If this is a show of power from whatever operates this dimension to me… It has achieved nothing. This pathetic display of strength was sufficient only to temporarily distract me, if that was its intent… And when I am given the power over the multiverse four days hence, I will remember this insolence. Sephiroth had returned to where he stood before, to his favorite vantage point for overseeing the creation that he anticipated controlling very soon, and cast his eyes across the fields, the newly remade forest, and the… the village. There was something different there. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed as he searched for what was suddenly different, roving across the mansion, the objects little more than specks… Even a tiny blue figure, walking along a road on the outskirts. But something was not the same. The forest was not the only thing that had been changed in the reset. Sephiroth’s quizzical and sharp eyes did not take long to find this new development. And when he saw what had happened this night to truly gather up the energy to throw him across the ground… His mouth twisted into the menacing smirk that everyone feared. It seems that you have not revealed your secrets just yet, my Porta Dei. Well… Two can play at that game. (Meanwhile, in the village…) Sephiroth… What are you up to… Cloud Strife was bone weary. Between the anxiety he had gone through these past few days; training for what could be the toughest battles of his life, watching murders, worrying for the life of his friends, and facing his own unwanted challenge from a hedgehog that would not just give up and paid for that, any energy he had inside him was pretty much shot. Between this, the general peace and quiet of a village with so few inhabitants, and the necessities of being ready physically for his upcoming battle with Link… You would think that it would be simple for Cloud Strife to get some shut-eye. Not exactly. Pressure weighed heavily upon him now… He knew, in his head, that the chances of Solid Snake or Mega Man winning this tournament were slim to none. It wasn’t a slight on their abilities… Their worlds were just so different from what Cloud, Sephiroth, and Link had gone through on their original quests. And in the end, all the two of them had were bullets… Something that Sephiroth and Link had already proven was ineffective against the two villains. Cloud knew that he was the only person standing in the way of what would be an utter disaster… A victory by either of the other two swordsmen… was he. And knowing that his actions could very well determine the fate of trillions all across the universe was a very uncomfortable thought. So sleep was out. There was far too much on Cloud’s mind. Instead, he strode abruptly over to the door, opened it, and headed down the hall to the front door. Perhaps a walk could help get things in perspective. I guess I should just be thankful that he spared Mario’s life… The loss of Mario, the noble plumber, was weighing very heavily on Cloud Strife’s heart. Perhaps his style of fighting was too unorthodox to succeed… Perhaps he didn’t take things seriously enough… Perhaps he was just out of his league. Who could really tell? I’m just surprised that he fought as well as he did… Fighting and defeating Sephiroth is something that very few can claim. He has power beyond what anyone can imagine. Mario knew nothing about this almost godlike aura… And yet he still almost triumphed. But he didn’t. For perhaps the first time in his life… Mario wasn’t able to vanquish evil. It’s up to me now. A cold burst of wind from the outside interrupted Cloud’s reverie, and reminded him that there was a purpose to his standing here, alone, outside the mansion’s door. It was excessive thought that had driven him out here. This walk wasn’t simply to exhaust his mind further… Cloud Strife was trying to relax, a gift that had been too often denied from him once things in this dimension began to grow far more serious. So as abruptly as he had broken into thought, Cloud silenced the many conflicting viewpoints within his troubled mind and strode briskly out into the cold, darkening air. Cloud didn’t have the sense of the elements that Sephiroth had… No one did. Aeris was an Ancient, and in tune with a world’s energy herself. But she too, had failed to notice, or had ignored as a simple quirk of the dimension, the rumblings of energy within Porta Dei. So he was ignorant of whatever that the far away, high up being was feeling and thinking, atop the same parapet at the arena’s apex that Cloud had stood at for such a different reason, long ago. The similarities between Hojo’s greatest achievement and his worthless failure were deep under an untouched, unconsidered surface… But they were there. Both Cloud and Sephiroth had been drawn to that same spot, soaring atop the arena, as a place of recluse, where they just look down at the wondrous place that this creation was. Perhaps their reasons for coming up to the top of the world were different… Sephiroth used the spot for his vanity, so that he could look down on the land he anticipated as his own, to think about what would be done once ultimate control was his. Cloud Strife, in a show of emotion that was very rare for him… Had chosen the majestic view that came with that special setting as a place for the date that he had owed Aeris Gainsborough for a long time. But Aeris was gone now. So were Mario, Sonic, Crono, and other noble fighters that had fallen up short. Now, Cloud simply felt alone. Perhaps he walked solitarily through the dimension this night in more ways than one. But it was not long into Cloud Strife’s walk that he met a kindred spirit of sorts, also aimlessly wandering the village this night. “Cloud? Is that you?” Cloud looked up from the ground that he had been staring at for so long to see a familiar face in front of him… And one that was perhaps the kindest, purest left in the tournament. How could this boy that was running up to Cloud now, smiling, be evil anyway? Mega Man was a robot… He had not been built in a fashion of cruelty, he would thus not personify it. With robots, everything was so much more cut and dry than the grey areas between good and evil that the human mind tended to fall so much into. But all these matters of philosophy and danger were not on Mega Man’s mind at the moment. He was just happy to have a friend of sorts out here. “Glad you came when you did, Cloud. I was starting to get a little uneasy… Wandering out here by myself.” “Good to see you too…” Mega Man and Cloud had never really been close over the course of this long competition. You would think that after spending almost three months in the same world, with so little other company, and little to do but train and talk, everyone would meet everyone… But that hadn’t been the case for these two. They had just traveled in different circles for their whole time in the Porta Dei… Cloud had stuck with Squall, Aeris, and later on, Mario, Snake, and Samus, while Mega Man had been more apt to speak and train with his fellow robots… And Samus, when they had all left this dimension. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other… It was just that they were so different. And Cloud had still not opened up at all to Mega Man, even with practically no one else left. “Are you all right, Cloud?” “…I guess. Just thinking about the match.” Mega Man lowered his eyes in genuine sadness, putting off Cloud for just a moment… People forgot sometimes that even though Mega Man was a robot, emotion still lurked inside of him. “Mario was one of the good guys… I wish he hadn’t lost, especially to that scum. Now, everybody left just broods all day.” All was silent for a moment before Mega Man realized that he had said too much. “Um…! No offense!” There was no real reaction from Cloud. Things like simple misspeakings never had bothered the mercenary, and they especially didn’t now. There was so much more to worry about. Mega Man stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure if Cloud was angry with him, and too embarrassed to talk for the moment. He didn’t have to wait in unease for long. Cloud suddenly started off again, keeping with the walk that he had set out to do. But he wasn’t entirely cold… He beckoned to the blue bomber to follow. As reclusive as he might be, Cloud wouldn’t object to some company. Not when Link and Sephiroth lurked in the shadows. So Mega Man and Cloud just walked through the silent village for a few minutes, thinking about past, present, and future. The memories that all the places that the two walked by evoked were strong and numerous… The Porta Dei had truly left its mark on both of them. And there were memories that both Cloud and Mega Man had about There was the mansion, with its chats around the fireplace in its myriad common rooms. Cloud had always been dragged into the masterfully decorated lobby, with its glass chandeliers, marble tiles, and decorations of gold. Aeris had preferred this, the most beautiful aesthetically of anything in the Porta Dei, as her place for any important message or conversation, and neither Cloud nor Squall had cared enough to force the chat to somewhere else. Both of the two introverted men had genuinely liked the Ancient, even though her nature was much more outgoing and animated than theirs, and were content to have her happy even if they had to suffer a bit too much glitter. Mega Man, by contrast, had preferred a more drab, down-to-earth common room… Anything’s features and decorations had meant little to him, Bomberman, Zero, or even Samus… Those three had generally spent the day alongside Mega Man, whether it was training, mealtimes, or whatever else had caught the robots (one honorary) in this strange new dimension. There was the Heroes Haunt… “That… Was a crazy place.” Cloud Strife looked up at his companion, who had stopped a few yards behind him to stare up at the building where so much had gone on. Mega Man had been silent for a while, but Cloud didn’t have to have it that way… It wasn’t like Cloud really had someone to talk to either, with the loss of Mario. So he decided to humor the robot… And as well, though he would not admit it, humor his own want for company. “Wasn’t in there much myself… Did I miss much?” “You’d have to ask Samus or Snake… They used to tell me about everything that went on here, and it was fascinating. But I get the feeling that it wouldn’t quite be my place…” “Wouldn’t think that you’d be one to drink…” Mega Man chuckled, surprising Cloud further… The boy wasn’t as, well… robotic… as Cloud had always thought. “Nah. But Samus told me about all the things that happened here… Most of them because of that Vercetti. The poker, what he used to… um… say to some of the women there…, when he showed up once with KOS-MOS… It was just so different from what I had ever seen or heard.” “…Not sure if it would have been your kind of place.” “Well, Vercetti WAS the one that burned down my room, Cloud… I guess he didn’t like me very much.” There was no kind answer to that even if Cloud had knew Vercetti… But he had not. So Cloud simply shrugged his shoulders. It was time to move on. Cloud’s heart sank as he realized what was the next attraction on this tour of memories… The M-Mart, Mario’s pride and joy of the event for the last month. This place had practically been his home, ever since the shocking blow to Mario that Luigi’s loss was, and the end of the everyday golf outings and never-ending pasta at the Heroes’ Haunt. And now he was gone… Someone would have to close down the shop that the plumber had loved so much. However, as Cloud walked up to the site of the M-Mart… The mercenary and the suddenly wide-eyed blue bomber realized that the task in question would be unnecessary. The shop had disappeared. …What is the meaning of this? How can something just vanish into thin air? Cloud stared into the empty dusk ahead of him, totally confused. He knew that this was the spot where the M-Mart had stood a day before. But now, there was just a simple grassy lawn… And no trace of the thriving business Mario Mario had run here up to this morning. But while Cloud was simply puzzled at this new happening… Mega Man’s analytical mind had a hunch. And there was something that he needed to look at. “Hold on, Cloud. I’ll be right back.” There was no response from Cloud, who was still immersed in wonderings about what had truly happened here. But Cloud was not stupid… Even without the hunch of Mega Man, who had simply taken it for granted that Cloud had heard him and run off past the training center, he was beginning to form his own conclusions. Whether they were true or not… Was yet to be seen. So Mario’s gone…The place here that he loved the very most is gone. Perhaps neither is truly dead, but to this world, they’ve left their mark and faded away. …Or have they? Sephiroth. You didn’t kill Mario… But that couldn’t just have been out of the goodness of your own heart. You made that deal with me today, and you decided to follow it for some reason… A reason that was your own, of course, not one of kindness or honor. You just sent the sun after him, drove him away like the coward that he isn’t, insulted the power that he practically wielded over you. So you couldn’t kill him all, to appease me, I’m sure. What, then, you bastard, did you decide to eliminate this shop of his out of your own arrogance, destroy his memory here in the tournament? It’d be like you. And if you didn’t, then who did? You know all the answers, don’t you. Wherever you’re lurking, you’re formulating some plan now, working with or counteracting one of the many forces here. But in the end… You’ll have to face me. And we’ll see what you can do then. Mega Man, however… Had a better, more correct idea; at what this was odd occurrence was all about than his companion that sulked back at where the shop had once stood. Perhaps Mega Man, as he held less of the human nature that so heavily governed Cloud, Link, Snake, and even Sephiroth, was not quite as metaphysical as his opponents in the tournament… He’d just never considered things on as deep a level as the other four had. But he was still a kid. Albeit an extremely smart kid… And a kid that wasn’t even human. What Mega Man’s programming allowed him to have that so often eluded the humans here with him, on the Porta Dei, was rational thought. Mega Man was not quick to anger, hatred, trust, or so much else that had been a constant thorn in the side of so many of the others here in this dimension. And without preconceived suspicions or hatreds… Mega Man was on the trail of what had really happened to cause another of the many odd events here. Mega Man rushed hurriedly by the vast, multi-level training center that he just couldn’t see over. He knew what he needed a look at, and he knew that it stood on the other side of the building that dominated his view. It was a fairly long walk, as the state-of-the-art training center was truly a giant building. It was all the better to suit the needs of every single one of those that had lived here over these months. As Bowser had complained many times… It was more difficult and tiring to walk around the gigantic gymnasium of sorts than to actually train in any of the numerous activities to be found there. But Mega Man was reasonably fast, and didn’t tire easily. It didn’t take long for him to sprint to the other side of the training center, and see what he had suspected all along. For the second time… The forest had reappeared, as beautiful and alive as it always had been. But Mega Man would soon realize as he stared wide-eyed into the reborn trees that he was not the first to make this discovery. “I suppose I should have been expecting you.” Mega Man whirled around, alarmed at the voice that he recognized all too well. Standing barely visible in the shadows of the training center was a tall, lean figure… Clothes darker than the night itself, skin paler than the haunting moonlight, hair as silver as the blade that stood sheathed behind his head, almost as tall as the man himself. Sephiroth. “You are, after all, the smartest of those that remain, little robot. Your tendencies towards rationality rather than silly emotions assure that. So I assume that as I have… You have worked out the mystery that you needed this lovely reborn forest to tell you?” Mega Man seethed inwardly. Perhaps his decisions were not based on emotion. But his feelings, well… Were a different story. Mega Man had disliked the cold, condescending man from the moment he had met him. And a chat with Sephiroth, no matter how illuminating it might prove, was not something that he was anxious to have. “Why do you care?” “Come, now. Hostilities are quite unnecessary, I come in peace.” “After what you did to Mario this afternoon? He was a great fighter, and gave you a great fight! But you didn’t care. You ran him out of this world with a spell that could have killed him, and you made him look like a coward! I don’t think you have a heart. So how can you come here in peace?” Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. Disappointing. Not that I expected anything different. But it is a pity that a being with so much potential, so much that he could control with his power, is caught up in silly thoughts of justice and morals. The fools behind this robot could have had power beyond their wildest dreams at their command… Instead, they built in these silly judgments and blighted their creation. When Sephiroth spoke again, it was with none of the warm, gracious tone with which he had first greeted the robot. Now, Sephiroth was dead serious, and even slightly angered. “It is my right to do what I will with my opponents… As you should know, boy. We fought last year. I triumphed, and you were sent back to whatever world hails you as a hero as a pile of scrap metal. If we fight again in three days, I will do the same thing. Your lectures of morals and values are nothing but a very outdated code. It was once called chivalry. Now, it is simple idiocy.” Mega Man opened his mouth to speak again, but found that no words came out. Confused, the blue bomber looked up at Sephiroth… And found him muttering the last words of a spell of silence. “It is not your time to talk now, boy. You are still young. There are lessons you must learn from your elders and betters before you can live up to the enormous potential inside you. It is a pity… That you will never have a chance.” Mega Man felt the spell suddenly lifted, his robotic systems once more in sequence for speech. He immediately opened up with a rare anger, staring daggers into the eyes of Sephiroth. “That’s big talk. You make it sound like you’re a God.” “To triumph over the rest of you pathetic weaklings, I would hardly need the powers you speak of. But you are correct… I have them. I am practically a God, or you would have not witnessed me stamp out the four self-proclaimed fighters that have stood before me in the arena so easily.” Sephiroth paced over to the front of the training center, ignoring the yells of anger from the young blue bomber that followed behind him. Finally, after a minute, he turned around and stared into Mega Man’s eyes from the threshold of the forest. “You know nothing of the world you live in, little robot. Neither does the failure. But I do. This forest has reappeared so many times for a reason… The plumber’s beloved shop disappearing today was no coincidence either. There are forces at work here, boy, that hold a power beyond your feeble imagination.” “What are you talking about?” Sephiroth advanced slightly on the robot, one hand gradually unsheathing the sword at his back. But as Mega Man stepped back, he drew his hand back to his side, smiling. It had simply been a show of force, one of the many mind games that Sephiroth was always so fond of. “I would not hurt you now. It is, of course, contrary to the rules drawn up by whatever higher power dwells in this place… And it is not even worth my trouble. You are meaningless, and even if you get past the serpent, you stand no chance against me. And your scared little mind seems to know it, too.” There was no retort to that. Mega Man simply stood, scowling more than ever. Sephiroth just smiled back. “This dimension we live in is a complicated one, boy. To understand the Porta Dei… For that is what this place is truly named… is to understand the very fabric of time and space. So it is hardly a surprise that I am the only one that knows its secrets. The Porta Dei is, inherently, a place of stability. Everything returns to a norm after every day, whether it is a battered and blackened arena floor, a forest burned to the ground, or just a simple room, destroyed by the foolishness of one of the many idiots among us. Everyday, I have watched these “resets”, felt their power, and worked towards how to master them. For that is why we are here, isn’t it? Because we are masters of wherever we come from… It is only fitting that one of us should master this place of mystery. But as usual… I have the head start.” Sephiroth gestured to the forest behind him once, and then walked back the way he had come, under the shadows the whole way. But he still talked, and Mega Man continued to watch and learn. “The Porta Dei is now returning to how it once was. This village was not all here when we began our time in this world. If you will remember… We had started with a lawn, and chairs upon chairs for us to sit down, and we just talked to one another. Perhaps that is truly a part of the world we have made our own… Perhaps it is just another fantasy. All I know is that not everything that lies in this place is truly native to this strange artificial dimension. And as we near journey’s end, and less and less of us remain to inhabit all the places that the Porta Dei has provided for us… Eventually, there is no need for those artificial buildings anymore. Do you understand, boy?” Mega Man gave a slight nod… But not one without its share of distrust. No one could completely trust any information entirely gathered from one like Sephiroth. “Then you are on your first step towards knowledge. It will be interesting to see in the next few days which places here truly belong to the Porta Dei, and which are simple illusion. That is… If you still remain.” And as quickly as he had arrived, Sephiroth was gone, vanishing into the darkness that was his home. Mega Man was alone once more, left with himself, and with thoughts that grew more complicated by the day. What is this place…? Next Back |