Heyyo, peeps! I'm back-ish! Here's the first chapter to my LegitElizabethWWEFan's M-Rated Contest entry, which is going to make me really uncomfortable considering what I have planned for this story. Completely out of my comfort zone...there's this line I made for myself, and I'm crossing it with this story. I don't think I'll return to normal...Honestly, I think I have no hope of winning this as I've seen the other entries, and they're great. They're absolutely great. It's going to be Smash King24's Christmas Contest all over again...ANYWAYS, hope you guys enjoy.

I love how so far, everybody's taken a Modern AU approach to this while I'm over with my "Oh, uh...okay...um...I'll go with this little Chinese movies-inspired..." story. I've also noticed how almost all the stories so far include Marth one way or another. Yeah, this one has Marth too, guys. Sorry. Uh...hope you guys enjoy the story!

Warning: Yaoi...

Chapter 1

Icy and void, his Majesty, King Marth gently whirled the tea in his cup to fully mix the spices and sweets. The soldiers on either side of him stood impassively underneath the cover set up to prevent the sun from disrespecting their king. The wind swept to only a light breeze that blew a few particles of dust just below the soldiers' knees. King Marth lifted his cup towards his mouth and took a slight sip. His expression remained constant even with the prisoner before him shouting coarse abuses towards him. The other soldiers attempted to mirror the same deadpan mask of their king. Some, however, were unable to keep the sweat from trickling down the back of their necks.

The prisoner before them used to be one of them. He had led many successful campaigns in King Marth's name. He was also very popular among the army and the servants of the castle. Not only that, there had been rumors that he trained with and actually saved King Marth from imminent death when they were younger. However, the crime he committed required the proper punishment in King Marth's eyes. He first had the traitor flogged before sending him out in the field before his many comrades. The prisoner's tattered, green clothes bore no more signs of his alliance to the king. He had been stripped of everything, his position, his wealth, his family…and today, he would be stripped of his final right: his life.

Sir Ike, one of King Marth's most trusted warlords, walked up to his liege's throne. He bowed deeply before straightening up again. "Your Majesty, everything is ready. At your command," Ike's curt voice reported.

The bluenette ignored the bow and continued to sip at his tea. When his cup was a little halfway done, he finally looked up. His cold eyes did not spare even his old friend the same penetrating look it graced everybody. Although Ike was obviously bigger and stronger than King Marth, there was something in King Marth's air that commanded, forced others into submission. His voice, though soft, cracked like a whip:

"Why…Sir Ike, do I detect a bit of sadness in your voice?"

Ike's Adam's apple bobbed as a sign of his uneasiness. The other soldiers looked to their captain nervously. Ike knew that anything he thought, anything he felt, King Marth already knew. Some way, somehow, the king would know. There was no use trying to hide anything from him. Those who didn't know that learned it the hard way. The warlord bowed, more deeply this time.

"My apologies, Your Majesty…I just find it hard to believe that…Sir Link would betray you."

King Marth lifted an eyebrow in mock curiosity, "Of course. After all, you two have trained with each other since you were very young. It must be extremely difficult for you today to order his execution."

"I'm humbled to know that you understand, Your Majesty."

"In that case…I shall do it for you." Without reacting to Ike's start of shock, King Marth snapped his fingers. "Kill him."

At the king's signal, the five soldiers in charge of the execution whipped the cows. The five cows bellowed in fury and pain. The chains connecting to them to each of Sir Link's limbs and neck stretched taunt, despite his horrific and abusive screams. They overlapped with the animals' groans, creating an unearthly sound spawned from the darkness. The soldiers resisted covering their ears in fear of facing their king's contempt, yet a few had to look away lest they became in danger of throwing up right there on the grass. Several cracks echoed in the area. King Marth finished his tea just as dull thuds fell to the ground. He looked up from his cup to find five cows grazing peacefully on the sweet grass, paying no heed to the disgusting carnage behind them. A malformed body lay in the middle of the scene, blood spurting from all five holes. Two cows dragged dirty arms behind them. Another two ignored the rattle of chains as the disfigured legs followed them. An emotion finally revealed itself on the king's face. His soft smile greatly contrasted the furious head that continued to dirty his pleasant fields with its shameful blood.

He turned his smile to Sir Ike, "If you would indulge me, Sir Ike, bring me that lovely stone over yonder. I would like it mount on a display for at least a day before I tire of looking at it. Then toss it to the dogs. Leave the others to the scavengers." King Marth rose gracefully from his throne and turned towards his carriage. The two soldiers flanked either side, ready to protect him from potential harm. Ike watched his king disappear from view before turning back to stare at the "stone" he mentioned. Even in death, Link managed to curse his former master. The warlord felt tears prickling his eyes, yet he blinked them rapidly to check them from falling. A stab to the heart at his refusal to shed tears for one of his oldest friends amplified his guilt, yet he ignored it. Sir Ike waved a hand to signal his men to clean up the corpse. The warlord himself walked to the lifeless head and picked it up by the hair.

King Marth finally reached his carriage. His coachman made sure his lord was settled before cracking the whip to drive the horses. The king yawned and rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he stared at his world outside. He noted how the peasants working in the fields looked up to see his carriage, only to quickly revert their eyes upon discovering the owner of said vessel. King Marth smirked at their submission. He relished that taste of power that belonged to him ever since he was crowned King at the age of thirteen. His father had died of unknown causes, forcing young Prince Marth to take the throne. He refused the help of his father's old advisors and ruled with an iron fist in order to prove his worth of the throne. King Marth conquered new lands, vanquished his enemies, and brought a sense of prosperity to his people.

And yet…

King Marth knew that his people were not happy. That sense of prosperity seemed forced and abnormal, as if it was gained through malevolent means. Rumors circulated about His Majesty, how he ignored many of his people's needs and severely punished those who displeased him. It was whispered that King Marth would actually pick out suitable specimens to conduct various experiments and torturous methods. It would certainly explain why various men and women disappeared, never to be heard from again. Mothers often used the threat of selling their children to King Marth for money to silence the little ones. Due to King Marth's almost divine appearance, many people surmised that he did in fact buy children from starving families in order to drink their blood for the simple purpose of youth and beauty. The people continued to live in deep fear of their own king despite the peaceful state they found themselves in. No one was certain when they would be dragged to the castle for some deathly reason.

Having past the town just outside the castle's moat, the carriage slowed as it loped uphill. It finally came to a stop once the coachman reached the top and drove across the bridge through the entrance of the castle. The soldiers riding on the back quickly dismounted to open the door for their lord. King Marth daintily stepped from his vessel. His dead expression changed naught as the two lines of servants parted in the courtyard bowed deeply in order to welcome back their king. His cape fluttering behind him, his footsteps slashed through the tense silence that surrounded his castle. The servants barely moved from their positions. Only until King Marth entered his anteroom did they disperse according to their various functions.

His castle was already grand when his father still ruled. However, after his father's death, King Marth demanded the castle to be expanded. He sent thousands of commoners to mine fabled, indestructible ores and thousands more to further construct a castle fit for a deity. All the towers of his castle were fortified further and built even taller, spiraling upward with pennants and flags. Archways bridged the gaps between several towers. In the middle of the courtyard stood a single, large keep that overlooked the whole castle. Behind it was the Great Hall and, even further, the main building where King Marth stayed. Despite the castle's cold walls, during the day it gave the impression of a strong, yet beautiful home with its carefully tended garden and trees.

King Marth strolled down his halls, unmindful of the servants who scurried past him. His two soldiers continued to flank his sides until he stopped. The king looked at them with the same mask he gave Sir Ike. "Leave," he ordered. The two soldiers raised a fist to their chest, bowed, and hurried away. Now alone, King Marth continued down the halls. His home paid no attention to the cruel rumors surrounding its master. It displayed the more graceful side of King Marth with its long, red carpets and velvet curtains. Pots of rare plants offered a sense of life to those who appreciated them. The archways dressed in artists' paints and skills, adding vibrant colors through stained-glass windows to the castle's interior. Yet after spending the majority of his life here, King Marth found the halls to be a bit…boring.

He left the bright rooms to enter a poorly lit one. He closed the door behind him. The king had no intention of locking the door as none dared to enter this room. It barely classified as a room. Stairs led an occupant downward and away from the light. Rank odor engulfed the place, yet the only sign of King Marth's displeasure was a slight twitch of the nose and a crease in his forehead. He stepped lightly down the stone stairs without the need of a light source. Farther and farther down he went in a circle until a single, large flame lit the way to hell. King Marth blinked a bit to adjust his eyes. There were other torches to light his way through the dark dungeon. He ignored the inhuman groans all around him. The bluenette walked briskly forward. Skeleton hands reached out for mercy, only to be stepped on heartlessly by King Marth. The owners cried out in pain but were unable to find any strength to retract their mangled parts. A few refused to let the king get the better of them as they shouted abuse and vows of vengeance. Yet, they only clutched the bars of their cells and refused to stretch out their hands like the other mindless captives. These, King Marth also ignored. There was only one true reason why he would waste his precious time here.

And there it was. Chained to the wall enclosed in a room all to itself. King Marth savored how the prisoner's head hung in shame, his black hair all messy and unkempt. He wore only tattered, cotton pants and those lovely fetters. The shackles held up the young man's scarred hands and arms to display them to their master. Large, scarlet welts covered his whole naked body, some in meaningless patterns, others in well-thought messages. The welts encircled the brand on the prisoner's chest. King Marth licked his lips at the memory of his prisoner shrieking as the hot branding iron kissed his skin. It left the king's emblem, a sword with a blade of fire, to mark his property. Iron chains locked the prisoner's torn feet apart, denying him the comfort of sitting on the dirty dungeon floor. But the most magnificent part of this scenery was the blood-caked, black wings spread out and nailed to the stone wall the angel Faire was chained to.

Bowser, a huge AlBaest of the Koopa fraction, chuckled loudly as he cracked a whip against the floor. When he heard footsteps approaching, he turned with an apprehensive look. The moment he saw who it was, however, he dropped his whip. Bowser fell to his knees in a deep bow, "Your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you to come back so soon."

King Marth raised an eyebrow, "Indeed. I should have known from a stupid AlBaest." He turned away from his expert torturer. "How is he?"

Bowser leapt to his feet and rubbed his grubby hands together. "His voice might be a little hoarse after all that screaming, but I know that a Faire can take a little salt on the wound," he laughed. King Marth smiled coldly.

"Good. I would be sorely disappointed if he died so soon."

The AlBaest backed away nervously. Although his king was smiling, Bowser could see the clear message in his eyes. King Marth would have his head if he failed to do things as he wanted. Bowser knew what a master torturer his employer was. The king was more skilled in torturing than the AlBaest was, and the AlBaest spent almost his whole life studying on ways to make his enemies suffer. It was not, as everybody knew, a good idea to displease King Marth. Bowser bowed once more, "Dismissed, Your Majesty?"

King Marth waved a languid hand, "Yes, you are dismissed." Bowser nodded in reply and left the room. King Marth waited until the AlBaest closed the door tightly before walking up to his prisoner. The young Faire barely reacted to the sound. His sore muscles refused to move against pain that still stung his whole body. King Marth lowered himself, careful not to touch anything in the filthy cell. He lifted the Faire's chin, smiling softly at the black cloth blindfolding his eyes and the wet, white gag. The king pulled on the blindfold and let it fall to the ground. Hateful, crimson eyes glared through blurry tears. The Faire held in his voice against his own will. He waited until his captor untied his gag. Before he could spit on the king's face, King Marth crashed his lips onto his. Muffled protests did not stop the king from violating his mouth, tongue exploring the warm cavern once more. The blurry tears trickled down his cheeks as the Faire closed his eyes. He hated, oh how he hated his weakness and lack of strength. Unwillingly but unconsciously, he turned his head to deepen the kiss. He felt King Marth smirk against his lips. The chains gripping his wrists rattled and held when he tried to move his arms.

The king leaned back and broke the kiss, yet a string of saliva still connected them together. The Faire's face was flushed in both anger and embarrassment. A bit of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. King Marth smirked at the scene. He stroked his prisoner's cheeks, crooning, "Oh…my sweet little Dark Pit…how lovely you look right now…"

Dark Pit exhaled violently. His whole body shivered in anticipation, no matter how much he wished it didn't. However, the Faire finally found the courage to spit in the king's face. As King Marth frowned and wiped the saliva from his cheek, Dark Pit glared at him. He tried his hardest, but he simply did not look at all threatening with his rasping breath, flushed cheeks, and sweaty body:

"Fuck…you…"

King Marth smirked at his prisoner. He stroked Dark Pit's cheeks once more. He suddenly dug his nails into the soft flesh, earning a surprised cry of pain. He laughed softly in delight. "Oh, Dark Pit…if only you could do it to me…wouldn't you like that? But I'm the dominant one here…it's your responsibility to submit to me…and only me…" King Marth's eyes flared, his smirk dropping into that stone-cold mask. He stood up quickly and walked over to the side. Dark Pit weakly turned his head to see where the king was going. The bluenette grabbed a freshly-filled bucket with both hands. Walking back over to his prisoner, King Marth flung the aromatic contents of the bucket right at him. Lemon juice washed over the Faire, seeping into the red open cuts. The stinging became almost unbearable in a flash. Dark Pit screamed loudly, the gag no longer preventing him from voicing his agony. The smile returning to his face, King Marth looked on as his prisoner shrieked. He simply enjoyed the way the Faire's back arched in suffering, how he screwed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the sting. The chains holding down the angel rang with the symphony of cruelty, jingling with sadistic joy. His wings stretched outward with him. Dark Pit wasn't only screeching from the pain of the citrus. He could feel fresh blood crawling down his caked wings, forming new striped patterns.

Dark Pit gasped loudly, his whole body heaving and twitching from exertion. Tears streamed down his face. His eyes were still shut against the pain when he felt the king's hand lift up his face. He refused to open his eyes to his tormenter. Dark Pit's breath hitched as he felt something soft and wet touch his neck. The Faire slowly opened one eye to see soft blue hair. King Marth licked some of the citrus off of Dark Pit's red neck, eliciting a moan from him. His tongue was hot but felt strangely comforting. The king chuckled softly at his pet's reactions. He straightened up. The absence of the tongue from his neck caused the Faire to whimper. Dark Pit looked at King Marth with hazy eyes, cloudy from pain and desire. The king caressed Dark Pit's cheeks one last time before turning to leave.

"I shall be back tomorrow, sweet, little Dark Pit…" King Marth walked towards the door. Upon hearing his master's footsteps nearing the exit, Bowser quickly opened the door. The king briskly walked through, "Shut the door. Leave him until tomorrow. And make sure you have fresh lemon ready."

The AlBaest bowed deeply, "It shall be as you commanded, Your Majesty."

King Marth graced the torturer with a soft smile, "Good." Bowser slammed the cell door shut, leaving Dark Pit alone with only the flickering torch of his prison. All the emotions the Faire bottled inside in an effort to remain strong suddenly rushed out. His head hanging, Dark Pit sobbed in shame, grief, and anger.

Uh...yeah! Again, hope you guys enjoy. Want to say good luck to everybody in the contest, if you guys are reading this. You know, checking out the competition, stuff like that ;D.

Side-note, I have most of the Smashers and possibly Assist Trophies (not really sure yet) grouped into three sections: Humans, Faires, and AlBaests. Humans are obviously the humans; some may have special abilities like magic (i.e. Marth, Robin, Villager). Faires look like humans but have some sort of quality that separates them more so from a Human (i.e. Dark Pit, Samus, Link). AlBaests are the unexplained beasts and whatnot (i.e. Bowser, Pikachu, Yoshi). Faires and AlBaests have their own fractions (i.e. Angel, Koopa, Pokémon) so the characters are still close their original species. Just wanted to enlighten you guys on the system I'm using.