Chapter Text
Daytime in Green Greens was always just a little bit noisy.
A Tookey's high-pitched cry rained down from the clear sky, mixing with the sound of the wind stroking the thick grass, and somewhere, someone was laughing about nothing in particular. Through that cheerful bustle, the red-framed Wheelie Bike went cruising along. No particular destination, no particular hurry. For Wheelie, just driving was as natural as breathing.
Right after rounding a gentle curve in the grassy path—
There, in a patch of shadow where the sunlight filtering through the leaves couldn't reach, stood a single, out-of-place figure.
"Ugh, of all the people to run into in broad daylight."
Wheelie muttered, easing off the throttle. A deep navy cape, a silver-white mask. At a glance, no different from that usual knight.
But something was off—the weight of the air was different. The way he carried himself was different. Before Wheelie could put into words exactly what was different, his exhaust pipe was already moving.
"On patrol as usual? So hot for Dream Land, aren't you."
"……"
"Don't just go quiet on me. That crack in your mask, you think it makes you look cool or something?"
"You imbecile. To think you cannot even tell the difference between myself and him."
The voice that dropped low was one Wheelie recognized. But it was clearly different from the knight's usual tone—a thick, cruel resonance that made his audio sensors shudder in discomfort.
"…What are you talking about?"
"There's no helping it—you only have value as a power source. In truth, you made for an exceptionally fine component. I might even thank you for it."
"Ha, so you're not Meta Knight, huh?"
"What?"
"No sense of irony whatsoever. Also, that guy only treated me as a power source that one time, way back."
The shadow shifted, faintly. And then, he takes a step toward Wheelie. The painful crack carved into the mask caught the bright midday light and reflected it back with a cold, leaden glint.
"A mere component could never understand such a thing as a sense of irony."
A sharp metallic click rang out, and the golden sword was quietly raised into a stance. There wasn't a shred of hesitation in that motion. Not the stance of someone preparing to fight—this was mechanical and cold, as though the only thought in his mind from the very beginning had been to take the life of the one standing before him.
"Fufufufu… but what fine prey I've found. I wonder how he'll react, once I've made you suffer before crushing you completely. Worth trying, I'd say."
"You fake Meta Knight, you're the absolute worst. What are you even, some cosplay creep?"
"'Fake' is rather rude. I am the manifestation of his own wicked heart—Dark Meta Knight. Part of him, and yet just as real as he is."
"Huh? That guy ain't that simple. If he were as shamelessly open about it as you, he'd probably have it a whole lot easier."
Wheelie edged his tire backward little by little, sharply studying the horror standing before him. Wearing Meta Knight's shape, while something else entirely, something hideous, lay at its core. His frame sensed that instinctive terror before his mind could, and began to tremble deep within.
"So, a wicked heart, huh? Guess I could hear your honest thoughts on me, then?"
"I find you an irritation. To the point that I would gladly make you disappear this instant."
"Yeah, right. If that were the honest truth, I wouldn't still be here breathing."
"Then allow me to make it the truth, here and now. I have no use for a defective tire. Become rust upon my blade."
"Pass~! I ain't exactly strong, so I'm outta here!!"
With a sharp, violent screech of friction, the tire kicked hard against the ground.
Two shadows tore across the green meadow at a speed too fast for the eye to follow. Wheelie took the lead—laying the frame down to its absolute limit, tires tearing up the green grass, kicking up dry dirt in dramatic sprays as he accelerated. The kind of speed that would've earned him a real Meta Knight's disapproving "reckless driving," back in the day—not that Wheelie cared right now.
And yet, no matter how hard he revved the engine to open up distance, the ominous presence clinging to his back showed no sign of thinning at all. His pursuer, who'd somehow turned pitch black by now, was chasing him down with a matching pair of black wings spread wide—the fact that even the sound of it was so quiet made it all the more unsettling.
"Wait. Do not flee."
"Nobody who's told to wait actually waits! And why the hell are you targeting me anyway, Meta Knight barely gives a damn about me!"
"…That, I suppose you'll understand once I've crushed you. I'll take my time, make it linger, process you thoroughly in your agony… Fufufufu…!"
"Sc-scary! Are you seriously Meta Knight's wicked heart!? Does that guy even have a sadistic streak…"
Desperately leaning his frame, Wheelie's mind raced. Grass, trees, the drifting clouds streaked past the edge of his vision at breakneck speed. Amid the chaos of the chase, a fragment of memory suddenly clicked into
"Ah, I got it!"
"?"
"You're holding a grudge 'cause I mess with him all the time, right? Makes sense! Petty little— locked me up on the Halberd, so I've got every right to mess with him a lit— what the hell is this shockwave!?"
Suddenly, a black blade tore through the air from the side. He reflexively dodged the direct hit, but the tremendous gust of pressure that followed slammed mercilessly into Wheelie's lightweight frame. His tire slipped with a screech, his line badly thrown off course.
"Playtime is over. Crushing you, and deepening his darkness in the process, will make me stronger still."
"Ohh, so you've actually got a proper goal, huh. Guess that tracks—the real deal only thinks about Dream Land, weirdo that he is."
"He has already lost to me once, you know."
"Huh. Bet you won by some cheap trick. Took a hostage from the Meta Knights or something?"
A deep rumble shook the ground, and a massive mirrored blade—Mirror's Edge—suddenly burst up from the earth beneath. The ominous, glowing blade tore the ground into ruin, scattering green grass, erupting up in a continuous straight line.
"Whoa!?"
Wheelie swerved the tire side to side, barely dodging it. But the shockwave still struck the frame, and he could feel himself being ground down, little by little.
"My, you think rather highly of him, don't you? Have you forgiven him? Grown attached, perhaps? Quite the soft tire you are."
"……. Haven't forgiven him, still dislike his guts. But I'll be damned if I let my grudge become your fuel. You've been needling me for no reason this whole time, y'know that, you shady mask?"
"Coming from a mere defective."
A nasty, screeching sound rang out—the tip of the rapidly extending Mirror's Edge grazed sharply across the side of Wheelie's tire.
"Argh!?"
A searing, burning pain shot through the entire frame. Sparks scattered, and his overwhelming acceleration dropped abruptly.
"What makes you think you have any say in the matter? Do you honestly believe I would let you go?"
A low, twisted cackle echoed out, shaking the very air of the meadow. A black, mist-like presence surrounded the two of them, and Wheelie's avenues of escape grew narrower with every passing second.
"A tire, in the end, is all you are. Don't worry, I won't kill you right away…"
"You bastard! Does beating up someone this weak really make you feel that good about yourself!?"
"I do feel good. Tormenting you strengthens me further. Fufufu… Or perhaps, will you throw away your pride and call for help? From the very one who wronged you?"
"Gah…!"
The cold tip of the blade was driven mercilessly into the side of the now-immobilized tire. A dull, gnawing agony spread deep into the frame. From a distance close enough to feel Dark Meta Knight's very breath, a mocking voice dropped down.
"Yeah. Guess I will, then."
Enduring the pain of the wound, Wheelie summoned every last bit of strength he had left. Drawing in a deep, full breath that reached all the way through the frame—
"KIRBYYYY—!!"
A voice loud enough to shatter the silence was hurled toward the far reaches of the clear sky.
A few seconds of silence—then, tearing through the clouds overhead, a glittering star came streaking down like a gust of wind.
"Coming! You're Dark Meta Knight!? I won't forgive you for being mean!!"
With a bright, cheerful sound from the Warp Star, a round, soft-looking pink body planted himself firmly between Dark Meta Knight and Wheelie. His red bandana set, those round, sparkling eyes carried an unusually sharp anger, fixed directly on the black knight.
"Tch. Summoning that irritating fool."
"Heh heh… now that line sounded just like Meta Knight. Serves you right!"
On his back, Wheelie laid down his aching frame, letting out a short, relieved sigh.
A back-and-forth clash shook the meadow. Kirby's movements were fast, parrying Dark Meta Knight's blade while striking back in the same motion. Black shockwaves scorched the grass, the mirrored blade split the earth open. Weaving through the gaps between them, Kirby kept up the offense.
Eventually, a Smash Punch from Kirby cracked the mask, and Dark Meta Knight's movements ground to a halt.
"Do not forget. So long as he lives, I too remain unkillable…!"
Leaving that parting shot behind, the twisted, jet-black shadow dissolved smoothly into the meadow air, and vanished.
The oppressive black presence that had filled the air scattered, and the once-again silent field slowly returned to its usual, peaceful stillness.
"Then I'll just beat you every time you try to be mean!!"
Kirby put his hands on his body, glaring sharply at the empty space where the shadow had vanished. The wind blew through, rustling the green grass. His fight over, Kirby spun around and dashed over to Wheelie, his round eyes turning worriedly toward the wound.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The sky the next day was clear, without a single cloud.
Two shadows stood side by side on the grassy path cutting through Green Greens. Painful traces of scorched earth from yesterday's fierce battle still nderfoot, and every time a warm breeze blew, black ash drifted gently into the air.
Wheelie, favoring his still-aching wound, rolled his tire along with all the usual lightness he could muster.
"…and that's what happened, man. Pretty hilarious, right!?"
"Hey."
Wheelie laughed it off without a shred of shame. Beside him, the masked knight—unmistakably the real Meta Knight this time—let his hard, cold voice drop low and heavy. His displeasure twisted into a glare, its cold weight piercing straight into Wheelie.
"Hm?"
"You were far too slow calling for help. Why did you not call for me?"
"'Cause getting saved by you twice would piss me off! Figured it'd sting more for 'your' wicked heart if it was Kirby who saved me instead!"
"You did save me once yourself, but… never mind. Are you truly willing to throw your life away over some petty mischief, you fool? Had you simply called for help sooner, your wound would n—"
"Wh-what!? Meta Knight, you were really that intent on saving me— do you actually like me that mu—"
A dull, merciless thud cut the conversation short.
Meta Knight's solid boot had driven itself, with pinpoint accuracy, straight into the exact wound Dark Meta Knight had slashed into Wheelie's frame the day before.
"Owowowow don't kick the wound! It's not even healed yet!!"
Right before Wheelie's eyes, as he bounced his frame wildly and writhed in pain, Meta Knight's foot withdrew quietly. The motion of setting his foot back down, as if nothing had happened at all, showed not the faintest trace of hesitation or guilt.
"Do not make light of this. If he says he will crush you, he means it. It is no joke."
"……. 'Cause he's your wicked heart?"
"……"
Meta Knight didn't answer the question, falling silent instead. As if to break the awkward stillness, only the wind sweeping through the meadow passed between the two of them.
"Hey, you don't gotta blame yourself for what he did, y'know. Even if he started as your wicked heart, the moment a personality forms from it, that's a whole separate thing already."
"Hmph. That's none of your concern."
"Anyway, that aside, here's the actual point—I found a big shard of mirror lying where he first showed up, after the fact."
The instant those words left his mouth, Meta Knight's whole bearing jolted, ever so slightly. Faster than words could form, a knight's instincts had already frozen his body stiff.
"!? …Did you touch it?"
"Nah, didn't touch it, but I ended up in the reflection somehow… that bad, huh?"
"……. It may well have reflected your own wicked heart."
That very shard, after all, had already claimed his own loyal subordinates—the Meta Knights—as its prey. The serious injuries dealt to Mace Knight and Axe Knight flashed through Meta Knight's mind.
"Yeah, figured! Anyway, deal with it, would ya!!"
"Come again?"
At those words, dropped as casually as a bolt from the blue with no time to even so much as furrow a brow, Meta Knight fell speechless for an instant, thoroughly taken aback. Behind that white mask, his usually calm, composed yellow eyes wavered with confusion.
"Came here to tell you that, is all."
"You take me for some kind of handyman…?"
"It's for Dream Land! Mister I-love-Dream-Land-so-much-I-even-attempted-a-revoluti— owowow!"
Before he could finish the sentence, Meta Knight's boot drove mercilessly into the still-raw wound once more. Wheelie let out a pathetic shriek, but the eyes behind the mask stayed just as cold as ever.
"Don't think that saying that alone means I'll simply obey your every wish. But I'll deal with the destabilizing factor regardless—since your wicked heart will target me eventually anyway, no doubt."
"Knew you'd get it."
Wheelie paused there for a moment, letting a small beat pass. His own round frame's shadow stretched out over the green grass. The pain driven into him the day before still throbbed, little by little, deep within the frame even now.
"I still haven't forgiven you for the Halberd, y'know."
"……"
"But hey, make sure you handle this properly. And don't even think about trying to take the attacks from my wicked heart—or the pain they cause—upon yourself."
Meta Knight said nothing in reply. The wind swept through with a rush, the grass underfoot swaying widely. The angle of his mask seemed, to Wheelie, to tilt down just slightly—though that might've simply been his imagination.
"You really are damn good at cutting people loose, y'know. So do it with a straight face—put the victim's will first, before some twisted wicked heart, got it?"
"…Understood."
A short reply, squeezed out—and the iron-like weight carried in that single word spread quietly through the wind sweeping the meadow, settling there like sediment.
Wheelie said nothing more after that. Without another word, he slowly began to turn his tire.
Meta Knight, too, turned on his heel. His deep navy cape whipped in the wind as he turned, his hard armored footsteps carving deep into the packed earth. Whatever he was to face—the scars of the past, an unyielding gaze of hatred, or perhaps both at once—the eyes behind his mask stayed sharp and clear, fixed solely on the duty he had yet to fulfill.
The two shadows drew apart, each heading their own way. Only the wind of the meadow remained there a while longer.