It wasn't anything personal for Meta Knight to be hating life—well, actually, that was a lie. There were many reasons for him to be dismal, ranging from others' ignorance to his own annoyance. He had little against the denizens of Dreamland, but perhaps the most important reason was the surprising change in scenery.

All his life, from the mechanical planet that Nightmare called his base, to the gleaming metal corridors of the Hatchet, he had lived in a place reminiscent of cities—he had lived in an urban community for much of his life. The rural setting was surprising, and, shockingly, he found he was more adept to it than the metal and chatter. Meta Knight inhaled the clean, fresh air, reveling in the quiet peace that he so rarely felt. Even the warm air was soothing; the nice, pleasant breeze that brought the warmth from the forest nearby made him shudder in contentment. He closed his eyes and meditated, listening to the sounds, the sweet layers of sounds that he so quickly grew used to.

And yet, despite his odd familiarity with the wilderness, he felt out of place, like he didn't really belong.

Meta Knight opened his eyes at the odd sound of something different, something unknown and didn't quite fit in with the wild. What was it? He listened closer, attempting to identify it… and yet, somehow, he couldn't. He simply couldn't place what that sound could possibly be, a slow, monotonous, annoying buzz, a hum persistent in his ears. Maybe it was his mind, remembering how his ears rang at the end of the day in Nightmare's base. Maybe it was memory…

The black wolf frowned.

His muzzle was contorted in a scowl, his pointed, white teeth reflecting the setting sun with voracious glee. His burning blue eyes leered in the shadows he lived, feeling the poison run throughout his body as it so often did. He shuffled his claws in anticipation. The imagery of feeling one's flesh rip beneath them elected a shudder to pass through his spine. Oh, the smoothness when his claws glided through a being's blood, the metallic taste of blood blossoming on his tongue, the way his victims screamed in pain as he tortured them by not allowing them the sweet passage of death….

The mere thought was exhilarating, and he crouched.

His black fur bristled, his mane felt prickly and sharp. How tempting it was, to rush into the village that very moment, drawing in his shadows and firing the blackness at the buildings, perhaps igniting a spark that would cause the whole town to erupt into pitch-black flames! How tempting it was to devour a body right then, especially those of a child's, playing with a soccer ball in a meadow at the base of a hill, where a half-sphere stone house was cradled in the shade of an oak tree. No, his task was instead to observe. How boring—would it really hurt them so much to taste some flesh?

In annoyance, he raked his claws against the stone.

There was nothing happening—just the annoying boredom that caused his thin tendrils of shadows to writhe in frustration—just the disheartening squeals that they gave off; so eager for something to happen were they! No; just watch the children. Watch the village. Report any major and minor changes if needed.

Watch the castle.

Watch the king… eat the king, his mind breathed, and he couldn't help but lick his lips, a satisfied growl puncturing his throat. At least one of his orders was satisfactory toward him, 'Eat the king should he cause dissatisfactory results'. Spare him no mercy. And oh, how he would torment him. How he would let him see the sweet grace of Death, only to draw him back into reality; how he would crunch on his bones, and how beautifully divine his call would be.

The ball was suddenly kicked in his direction, and he withdrew, watching uncertainly as it came to a halt right at his silk-furred paws. One of the children dashed forward, proclaiming to the others, "I got it!" as he advanced. He was a spritely child, with a fedora hat and a blue shirt. He watched with gleaming, weary blue eyes as he paused right before him, knelt down to pick up the black-and-white ball, froze when cold breath hit the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he looked up.

His blank black eyes met those of sharp, strong blue. The beast reared on his haunches, attempting to appear taller, and growled, allowing his fangs to glint rapturously in the dying light of the sun. The boy stepped backwards and nearly stumbled, the ball loose in his hands, shaking heavily. A ball of shadows formed in the beast's jowls, and he fired right before the boy, startling him into turning, stumbling to his feet, and fleeing, a scream forged in the air. The children in the clearing stopped chatting instantaneously, and they looked at their friend with worry and fear.

"Demon beast!" he called, panicked. "There's a demon beast in the forest!"

How right he was, describing him as a demon beast. How utterly correct he was to flee in fear, to warn his friends, to look behind him in terror at the idea of the creature pursuing him. But how insulting; as hungry as the beast was, he had his orders.

His piercing blue eyes fell upon the ball, and with a low growl, he picked it up in his jaws loosely, threw it in the air with a flash of his white teeth, and struck it sharply with his furry black tail as he turned and left. The ball was sent bouncing back toward the group of children, and they froze, tense, probably wondering bemused whether it were booby-trapped or if the demon were simply waiting for them to touch it so he could jump on them and destroy them utterly.

Fools, he thought with a sigh. He couldn't risk it; his Commander would murder him.

Sighing again, he retreated into the forest, thoughts of blood and torn flesh flashing still in his mind's eye.

Despite the lack of schools in Dreamland and a complete need for some kind of educational system, Fumu was still eager to obtain an education of her own, even if it meant engrossing herself in books all day, every day. It wasn't exactly an issue; the castle library was plentiful despite being relatively unused, and the book store often had a decent selection to chose from, as well. Although she was considered odd among the other children—and yes, even several of the adults—all she could muster up for them was a strange sense of pity. They could never understand her need for learning.

But despite her best efforts, she found she couldn't persuade anyone else to actually learn. No one seemed to have any interest in her ideas at starting up a school—or anything else, really. And because of this, no one was able to have a legible conversation with her unless she was willing to explain in depth the details to them, and even then, they were unable to comprehend. It was annoying, and the only one she could freely talk to was Escargoon—although, he was also somewhat difficult, so she opted to avoid him as often as possible.

Then Meta Knight came to Dreamland.

At first, she couldn't stand him, nor could she scarcely bear to glance at him for fear of snapping. But over time, she came to realize that he was kindly at heart, and that he hid beneath his cold exterior for fear of inciting doom upon those he grew close to. She thought of Gabon, and then she thought back to her brother; they had both, in their own way, become close and dear to his heart, and both had nearly come to meet their end. Was that why Meta Knight was always so very distant?

Either way, since the incident, he seemed a little more open to her and her brother, perhaps realizing that there was no way to deny the inevitable. Like death, all he could do was watch, and wait, and hope—so why not prompt it on himself? He was eternally thoughtful, she decided, reckless at times but altogether lost in his mind. He was intelligent, and Fumu herself was relieved to be the one to occasionally ask what he was referring to and to have it patiently explained for a change; and, even though he refused at first, he eventually surrendered to her endless requests for him to tutor her.

He was a tough teacher, too.

But that will come later.

It was all he could do not to shout at Nightmare. It was all he could do to refrain from threatening his creator with words so foul and decrypt that Death himself would back away from him. But he had to keep calm. The rabbit had to keep calm.

Alec had never been one to keep calm.

He could if it was needed, but frankly, it was only then. He had a good sense of patience, and he could force himself to remain in stasis, but that was all. He was a genius when it came to mathematics and the creation of life forms. Had he not proven as much?

But still Nightmare was disgruntled, and he yearned for more powerful demon beasts.

And so Alec scarcely managed to restrain himself when Nightmare called him to his chess chamber, his war room, his Throne of Games. He barely managed to hold his tongue as his creator lectured him and scolded him, as if he were the one who caused this dreaded war, as if he were the one who had done something wrong. Perhaps years ago, but that was all done, he thought! Perhaps years and years ago, he could have accepted it without any trouble or worry or anger. That time, however, had passed.

And anyways, who was Nightmare to say who was right and who was wrong?

Who was he to debate the light and the dark?

—So thought he, as he trudged recklessly down the hallway, his fur on edge, his ears twitching, his paws rubbing together. Alec's black eyes were glaring at the ground in irritation through the white mask that covered both of his eyes like a raccoon's. "Despicable," he muttered occasionally—and he turned his head toward several demons and exclaimed, "What? What are you staring at? Get back to work already!"

His behavior didn't change even after he returned home. In fact, when he found it painted rainbow, scorched, wet, and fried, he snapped.

"Flame! Agua! Strike! Blob!"

The floating fireball stopped chasing the hovering drop of water. The large, mechanical cat ceased to claw at the floor, looking for the mouse it was chasing and, in its excitement, electrocuted several pieces of furniture. The disfigured paint, drifting aimlessly in the air, said, wearily, "Did you have a bad day, too? How sad."

"Clean this entire place up, and Blob, stay in the bathroom tub."

"Yes, sir," mused Blob, sighing as he glided away, emitting an aura of depression and dreary grey blackness as he left.

"Bunny!" exclaimed the fireball, hurrying toward the scientist. "Tell me, what's up? You look down!"

His counterpart—and the only female—followed, slowly. "Did it have something to do with Nightmare, sir?"

"Yes, in fact, it does, and unless you want me to punish you all, I think you'd best do what I suggest!"

"Yessir."

"Fine."

After Flame and Agua completed their assignments—so tired were they that they didn't complain about sleeping next to each other—the rabbit sat down on his office chair, cracked his knuckles, and immersed himself in work in an attempt to calm him down. In vain. The mechanical cat demon was curled in a content ball, watching carefully, tail waving in steady tempo. With an annoyed sigh, he stood roughly to his feet.

No sooner had he done so than he heard a knock-knock at his door. Grunting, Alec stalked toward the door, his ears folded back slightly, stifling a yawn. How he hated that the warmth given off of machines made him want to sleep so badly… he cracked the door open and peered out.

All that was there was a package.

Carefully glancing around at the bustling metropolis, he stepped out gingerly, curiosity finally quenching his anger. He knelt down and picked up the parcel, retreating back into his home and nudging the door closed with his foot.

In Response to Anonymous (aka Guest) LadyWink's Review:

So NOW you decide to say that one of my stories is good. I would have thought that someone who disliked—no, actually FLAMED—my story Entrance (now Heart Beat) wouldn't respond to any of my other stories positively. Oh, I have some things I'd like to say to you. Unfortunately, as it doesn't have anything to do with this one story, I will have to refrain from doing so, which is unfortunate. I still have not forgiven you for saying that the pairing MK x Fumu is pedophilia; it's offensive to people who, like me, appreciate the pairing either as close friends or with the occasional kiss on the cheek.

Also…

I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED AND I'M SO SORRY THAT THERE IS NOTHING PRODUCTIVE IN THIS CHAPTER REALLY I AM I WILL TRY HARDER YOU DON'T HAVE TO CUT MY HEAD OFF AND STICK IT ON A PIKE AND BURN MY BODY TO SUMMON A SPIRIT PLEASE I REALLY AM SORRY CAN YOU SEE THAT PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.