My Mind's Smashed!

by Fenriso

Summary:

Marth, the greatest king of Altea, receives word of a grand exhibition showcasing the best warriors from across space and time.

He had faced unspeakable hardship to become who he is today, but he was never prepared for pastel cloud cuckoo lands, random powerups, lethal sorcerer pets, magic children, overpowered bounty hunters and gross violations of tournament conduct.

His perception of reality is smashed to pieces.

Chapter 1: Prelude to Chaos

Summary:

Disclaimer: Fire Emblem and Super Smash Bros. belong to Nintendo. I do not own any characters in the work.

I had liberated Altea through blood, sweat and tears.

I had survived its invasion as a youngling. Father was slain before my eyes. I became a king through grief, exiled from the soil my bloodline belonged to.

I matured, built a circle of loyal allies, mastered Falchion and exterminated Medeus, the Shadow Dragon who orchestrated the invasion. I believed the suffering would end.

It was not. Medeus was revived and took the soul of my former ally Hardin with him. I was forced to fight again. Only death could wrest Hardin out of evil. Death under my sword.

Yet, none of these stains on my life, supposed to sharpen a king for every next disaster in his life, had prepared me for this.

It all started on a normal day, years after I had killed Medeus for good. Altea had entered an age of prosperity, citizens lived in peace and the house of Lowell was as stable as a mountain.

That day ceased to be normal when my messenger warned of a distressing sight.

An ominous cloud, sporting a huge singular eye like a Cyclops, was hovering over the center of the kingdom. Reports of its piercing gaze and unnerving stillness rang alarm. It reminded me of the tales of demons and ghosts that terrified my childhood. As a concerned king, I deployed my armies and set off to ground zero.

We gathered our strongest warriors, wisest clerics and sharpest weapons. All citizens were ordered to stay in their homes for utmost safety. We charged toward the town square, about to slay a monster before it could wreak havoc on Archanea.

I led the infantries, fixing my gaze at the sky to strike the demon cloud, and commanded the archers to point upward. Caeda and Ogma were ready to counterattack. Falchion and Fire Emblem rested in my hands, polished and sharpened to their best potential.

The cloud floated into our sight, and upon us fell the gaze of… a cherubic eye?

It was an eye as round as a ball, its iris shining like a marble. Caeda stared into its pupil and slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it endearing, Marth?” she said. “It looks more like a baby than an invader.”

As a monarch, I kept my incredulity to myself, but before I could rebuke her-

“Looks can deceive,” Ogma chimed in, crossing his toned arms. His expression was inexplicably neutral, as if the cloud was another lowly soldier. “That eye might shoot beams.”

Building on Ogma’s suggestion, I directed the troops to keep their shields at the ready. Seconds of earth-shaking uncertainty passed. The cauldron of violence simmered, about to boil over at any moment.

No attacks. No lightning. No arrows. Nothing.

The cloud continued its gaze, its iris rocking from side to side, more studious than aggressive. Even I felt a pang of sympathy at its innocence. Caeda must be right.

Then, a parchment fell out of the cloud’s vaporous body. A speck in our eyes, it drifted to the ground like a feather. I discerned a spot of red on its front.

As soon as it dropped the parchment, the cloud vanished into thin air, vapor billowing in all directions as it dissolved into the sky.

It was just a visitor.

What a waste of peril! My subjects’ lives, my men’s routines, my kingdom’s councils, all were disrupted by a false alarm. I pitied the brides and grooms who postponed their weddings, the children driven out of their playgrounds, the clerks who shut their stores… If only whoever first sighted this strange cloud was a little more observant…

As we were about to turn back to the castle, a senior knight stopped us to show the parchment the cloud released. It was Sir Jagen, my former caretaker and most loyal knight. Upon close inspection, the parchment was an envelope, and the red spot was a seal stamped with a cross. A letter.

“Your Majesty, the cloud being has a message for you,” he said, handing over the parchment. “Please read it to us all.”

I glimpsed at the crimson seal when Caeda gave me a suggestion. “Sir Jagen, would not there be a wider audience at the castle?”

“I will read this letter at the next council,” I announced to my men. “Assemble at the court. Renounce the curfew.”

A chorus of agreements followed. Weary and whiplashed, we trudged back to Castle Lowell to resume our interrupted rest and duties until the next council. What does this peculiar cloud want to disclose to Altea? An invitation to its equally peculiar homeland? A powerful spell that chooses me as worthy of its knowledge? Or, as Ogma may suggest, a declaration of war?

---

At the royal court, I rested on my throne in my regalia. Caeda, my ever-supportive Queen and advisor, was in another throne by my side. Surrounded by the murmurs of the nobles around us, we discussed what the cloud’s letter may hold.

A familiar voice roused my attention. “Lord Marth,”

My gaze shifted to the center of the court. Sir Jagen presented the envelope. “I have retrieved the letter of the mysterious visitor. As you had promised, I entrust it to you to unveil its contents.”

I received the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. My eyes widened at the childish, simplistic handwriting, unfitting for a message to a monarch. Anyway, innocent cloud beings might not have the physical capacity for proper handwriting. I read the first words aloud,

“Dear King of Famicom-90 or whatever your planet is,”

I paused, cleared my throat and read the sentence again. Famicom-90? Planet? Was this the proper way to address a kingdom? Caeda and the nobles stared at me, taken aback at what I had just said.

“Please calm down.” Caeda signaled the court with a raise of her hand. “These are the exact words written in the letter.” How concerning of her to solve the audience’s doubts before debates start, isn’t it? She turned to me and said, “Your Majesty, continue with the letter.”

I read the letter's body, “You have been invited to the greatest, grandest, amazingest, most marvelous, Kirby-bashing-est spectacle in the galaxy!”

I winced at the grammatical errors. How did this letter pass proofreading? Did they skip the process already? And what kind of language is ‘Kirby-bashing-est’? My eyes turned to Caeda for her thoughts on the matter.

She was shielding her mouth behind her hand fan, stifling laughter. Laughter.

“Excuse me.” I gestured to the court to douse the impending farce before it could spread its fire. “Please keep a dignified head regardless of its contents.”

My eyes fell on the content again, awaiting the signature with bated breath.

“It’s the Super Smash, where the cream of the crop from worlds all over duke it out! Fire, lightning, swords and explosions are guaranteed to show up Kirby dazzle the entire universe (under my commanding presence, of course). It’s gonna be the greatest festival EVER!!”

Caeda’s stifles became louder and less strained, followed by some of the ministers covering their mouths in amusement.

What was this? Strikethroughs and informal language throughout a formal letter? The content was just as juvenile as the handwriting, if not more. Maybe a young fan procured this letter and entrusted its delivery to the strange one-eyed cloud.

I skipped paragraphs of inane language until the signature, a complete debasement of letter etiquette and an appropriate clincher to this comedy of an invitation.

“Yours Complacently, His Mighty Majesty King Dedede of Dream Land, Greatest Showman in the Galaxy, Planet Popstar.”

Caeda couldn't hold it any more. She let out a hearty, prolonged laugh, not even covering it with her hand fan. I could hear the not-so-faint chortles among the nobles and the ministers gaped at the absurdity I had just read aloud.

”My lord,” questioned Jagen, “is this a real invitation or a child's prank?”

”The seal confirms the letter is legitimate despite its contents,” I replied. “King Dedede may as well be a child who ascended to the throne early. We have a clear example in Archanea: Allan the Fourth, who was crowned at ten years of age.”

”But this letter looks like it was written by someone half his age, I suppose. However, you are right about the seal. No ordinary child on the street can procure it.”

“Thank you for presenting this letter, my lifelong knight,” I bid with a flourish of my scepter.

“It was an entertaining read,” added Caeda, tiring out from her laughter.

"Ci," I whispered under her breath, "this is not a jester's creation. It is a real letter, however amateurish it may be. There are even threats against a person named Kirby scattered throughout."

"They're not threats," she said, "they're the sort of verbal banter children in the playground exchange with each other. Biting, but meant in good fun."

I sighed. This 'Super Smash', according to the letter, will begin six months from today. Considering the mention of dukes, will Dream Land's duchy play a prominent role in it? Judging by the mention of fire and lightning, I presumed it was a festival of lightshows celebrated by the local cloud beings, of which the one that dropped the letter on Altea this morning was a part of.

As I delved deeper into my impressions of the letter, more and more questions demanded unspoken answers. How could I go to another planet for the festival? I couldn't fly freely in space like the cloud people. The festival will happen in six months, but there was no mention of preparations to undergo, venues to attend, or rules to follow. As Sir Jagen theorized, a child monarch may know no better. There was one last question that, despite its triviality, tempted me.

What grudge did the monarch have against this 'Kirby'?

Chapter 2: A Land of Dreams and Nightmares

Summary:

Six months after the strange letter, Marth is unceremoniously summoned to a world that needs... work to adapt to.

Notes:

Sorry, forgot to put ANs at the end of last chapter...

This is a small side project of mine, exploring what Smash looks like from a Smasher's point of view. I chose Marth as the protag because of the sheer dissonance between the (relative) realism of his franchise and a fighting game where plumbers punch pink puffballs and random powerups appear for the heck of it.

Anyway, thanks to those who gave kudos to this little side project; let's get started already!

It has been six months since the mysterious cloud disrupted Altea. No follow-up visits or messages have arrived since then. Archanea remained undisturbed, much to my people’s safety.

My hands clutched the balcony as I gazed at the sky, waiting for the cloud to show up. However dubious the letter may have been, a king cannot ignore a request. To be prepared for any surprise aggressions, Falchion was concealed in the scabbard on my belt. Caeda, Sir Jagen, Ogma and my other greatest allies were behind me to make the customary valediction.

The sky rumbled as a mass of gray vapor descended into our view. The same cloud from Dream Land, gigantic eye and all, returned, its body shimmering with light sparks.

I opened my mouth to greet it, but the cloud did not listen. Instead, it hovered over me.

I had just noticed its shadow cloaking my form when a beam began to shine from above. As I glanced up to see it, a force pushed my feet off the floor. The environment shifted into chaos, my allies fading out of sight, not even allowed a moment to see off my departure!

---

In just a blink, my feet touched ground again. A blistering shade of blue was the first thing to touch, or rather attack my eyes. The cloud drifted away from me, into a sky so bright it belonged more in a fever dream. Rolling hills of glaring green made up the landscape, above which floated spiral clouds. A handful of cottages were visible in the distance, shaped less like actual cottages and more like playset miniatures. Every color in this world radiated with inhuman perfection. Not even a single dull tone was present.

It was Dream Land after all.

I followed the cloud’s trail, the ground under my boots as elastic as a sponge. The air was thick with the scents of sundry fruits. By the time I failed to catch up with Dream Land’s dignitary, I found myself inside what looked like the town square, face to face with its inhabitants.

Short, round beings, tall as individual heads, waddled about the square. Their beige faces consisted of a pair of dot eyes and nothing else, not even noses or mouths. How did they sustain themselves? How did they breathe or feed? I gawked at the complete puzzles of anatomy populating this strange setting of the Super Smash, when a similar, red creature stepped in front of me.

A giant eye on legs.

A Cyclops.

I drew Falchion against its unblinking pupil, my blood running cold.

The Cyclops’ eye gleamed in the sunlight, its unwavering gaze freezing every fiber of my being. What unholy spell could it cast upon me? Petrification? Possession? Damnation?

A number of Dream Land’s small denizens locked their faces onto my defensive stance. I could hear them speaking despite their lack of orifices, exclamations of surprise and shock.

“That big alien’s attacking Waddle Doo!”

“Someone get Kirby here. He’s a bad guy!”

Kirby? This was the same person referred to in detest in King Dedede’s invitation. I turned to the walking bags, as I termed them, and protested my innocence, “Don’t attack me! I’m not a monster!”

The Cyclops continued its unnerving stare, and its accursed eye began to glow.

“I am Marth, King of Altea and Emperor of Archanea!” I convinced the bizarre inhabitants, flailing an arm, but the walking bags just stared at me. Did they lack ears? If they could speak, should they have ears in the first place?

Then, the Cyclops’s eye flashed. It shot a blinding beam, which came hurtling at me!

I ducked under its trajectory, the beam just missing me and boring a large, smoking hole into a nearby tree trunk. The hairs on my skin stood on end. What was this monster with deadly eye beams doing in the middle of Dream Land’s civilization? Why were the locals not batting a proverbial eyelash at it?

“Stop!” I cried in an attempt at pacification. “I am an invitee of the Super Smash! The festival your king is holding!”

The Dream Landers gasped as the air quickly settled. Did they recognize their festival?

The Cyclops’s eye widened and moved a few steps back. It made what I perceived as a squeak of apology before waving its stubby little arm at me.

The crowd parted to make way for a figure clad in green armor walking toward me, short as the rest of the round folk. “We are very sorry for the misunderstanding, Lord Marth,” it apologized in a gruff voice, kneeling as much as its diminutive body could allow.

I breathed a sigh of relief, sheathing Falchion in my scabbard. “For what do you seek me, Sir?” I addressed.

“The King is expecting you,” it replied. “I, Blade Knight, am tasked to be your guide.”

---

I walked side by side with Blade Knight, looking around the surroundings of Cappy Town, as this settlement was called. Simple cottages lined the dirt path we crossed, housed by the strange round inhabitants, apparently called the childish moniker of Waddle Dees. Pink beakless birds flew overhead, short creatures obscured by mushroom caps hopped about and trees grew oversized tomatoes with… natural ‘M’ insignias?

“Blade Knight, I have a pertinent question,” I stated. “What was that red Cyclops doing in the middle of this village?”

“Cyclops?” Blade Knight repeated with a tinge of unfamiliarity.

“It’s a one-eyed monster that shoots beams of death from its eye. Had you not realized how dangerous it is?”

Blade Knight, for some indecipherable reason, chuckled under his helmet. “What monster? That’s just a Waddle Doo. They’re one of our people.”

I gulped. This Cy-, pardon me, Waddle Doo was a citizen?!

“You’ll get used to it,” assured Blade Knight. “Visitors have praised Dream Land for its peace compared to other planets in the galaxy. It’s easy to warm up to it.”

“A-agreed,” I stammered, trying to remain cordial. “I… have another pertinent question.”

“What is it?”

“How do Waddle Dees, as you call them, eat and speak without mouths?”

“See for yourself,” said Blade Knight. I followed him to a roadside cart, where he received a cookie in exchange for a bunch of coins. “Watch closely,” he said as he held the cookie in front of a Waddle Dee.

The Waddle Dee blinked at the cookie, laying their eyes on its chocolate chips. They came closer and their face merged with it, rippling and twisting. The cookie sank into the Waddle Dee’s skin, like a hapless person trapped in quicksand, and disappeared with a wet slosh.

My stomach turned, as if this very sight was about to induce nausea on me.

Man was never meant to see this.

 “What…” I trailed off, stepping back in disgust, “did they just do?”

“They ate,” replied Blade Knight, tilting his head. “Obvious. No crumbs to fuss about.”

I shielded my mouth with a hand as the Waddle Dee ambled away in contentment. To say Dream Land, with its beam-slinging Cyclops and eldritch eating habits, lived up to its name was an utter understatement. It resembled a peaceful dream crumbling into a horrifying nightmare as one sank into the throes of sleep. Come to think of it, could this world, this dimension defying all rules of logic and propriety, really be the most vivid and downright nonsensical dream I ever had, childish invitation and all?

No, the softness of the grass was real. The sugar-laden smell of the air was real. The dull pain in my skull was real. Everything was real, however improbable they looked. Was this what it felt to step onto a world an entire cosmos away from Archanea?

“Come, Lord Marth,” said Blade Knight, none the wiser to my mental annihilation. “The King doesn’t like latecomers.”

---

King Dedede’s self-aggrandizement was not limited to my invitation. His castle sat atop a rugged mountain named after himself or presumably his lineage, Mount Dedede. My journey to the summit was an impromptu trek, gazing at the overabundance of grass from afar. For a whole kingdom of… a handful of beam-shooting citizens, the trees and fields were of impeccable health and beauty; I could take notes for Archanea’s horticulture.

We arrived at the foot of the castle, a whimsical building with windows carved to resemble angry eyes and spires that looked like swirls of frosting. A Waddle Dee raised the metal gates, which resembled a caricatured mouth. Blade Knight ushered me into the castle, this time joined by a blue acquaintance named Sword Knight.

As I was escorted through the grand, palatial halls, I observed the flamboyant tapestries hanging from the ceiling, all depictions of a large-lipped man (duck?) performing a litany of feats: wielding a spiked hammer, lifting a giant star and holding a scepter with a small, circular creature trampled under his foot. Not the giant cloud, air god or Waddle Dee I was expecting, but most probably an artist’s creative interpretation.

We reached the entrance to the throne room, marked by a pair of gigantic metal doors. For some reason, a grinning face was engraved onto their surfaces as if to greet every visitor with pomp and fervor. My ears could discern a strange song from inside:

“Kings and racers, kids and monsters, all puntin’ Kirby…”

The voice was rough and nasal, unfitting for a song, not counting the random lyrics. King Dedede should have thought twice about his bard. Sword Knight pulled a chain and the doors swung open. We stepped into the throne room, and my eyebrows jumped at the scene inside; the song was sung by no bard, but Dedede himself.

The tapestry artists did not exaggerate; he was a portly blue duck with large, childlike eyes wearing a bright red robe trimmed with white fur, how did that pass for regalia? A heavy wooden mallet leaned on the side of his throne. A crown lay tilted on his head like a fashion statement. At the top of his voice, he was belting the song from his beak:

“Smash is brought to you by yours truly! Grand ol’ royal buddy King Dedede!”

Nobody else could have written the ridiculous invitation. And he was far from a child, at least physically.

“Your Majesty?” I said, trying to draw his attention.

Dedede did not heed, continuing his song. “From the skies, a ninja princess falls, spaceships gun down the walls…”

“YOUR MAJESTY!” I yelled, trying to break through this caterwaul of a song.

“…to smack a certain pink puffball!”

Blade Knight went somewhere, then came back lugging a bucket. He flung the bucket forward and a deluge of water splashed into Dedede’s face. The entire situation was a farce to behold, as if I was on the set of a comedy play instead of a throne room.

“Idiot!” the king sputtered, glaring at Blade Knight with the intensity of a child whose toy was stolen. “You dare interrupt my award-winning serenade?”

“Your Majesty, there’s a Smash invitee right in front of you!” said Blade Knight, somehow nonchalant. “He was trying to-”

Dedede adjusted his crown and turned his gaze to me. “Aha, Princess Marth!” he boomed, ignoring Blade Knight and spitting out water. “How’d ya enjoy Kracko’s hitchhike?”

My face flushed. “Excuse me, I’m a king,” I corrected before making a tentative bow. “I… don’t understand your words. What is a hitchhike?”

“Medieval mind, ha!” Dedede brushed off, sinking into his throne. This was how he addressed a king? “That cloud who dragged your royal butt all the way from Planet Al-whatever?” he rambled, foregoing the explanation. “He’s Kracko. You’re just a week away from the greatest tourney in the history of tourneys thanks to him! And I cooked up the idea, of course.”

My head spun at the sheer… audacity of his voluminous monologues. No wonder Cyclops roam undisturbed in Dream Land. “The Super Smash?” I said. “It was mentioned in the letter, but the information was sparse. What does the festival entail?”

Dedede wagged a finger. “Not just a festival, pal, it’s a fightin’ tournament! Twenty four of the galaxy’s biggest heroes and villains land right here in Dream Land to…”

I couldn’t make sense of the filibuster he spouted. “A fighting tournament? My invitation said it was a festival involving dukes and weather phenomena…”

“There are no dukes in Dream Land,” declared Dedede, grasping the arms of his throne, “there’s only one king, and that’s you-know-who!”

I rubbed my temples. He drafted me, a reigning king, into a gladiator game? He did not harbor any intentions of evil like Medeus, but his total disregard for courtesy and self-restraint more than made up for it. Carrying Falchion was a wise choice.

“King Dedede,” I exhaled, “I did not come here to fight. I just thought it would be a… ahem, honor to be a guest to this festival-”

“It’s a tournament, dummy! How many times can I correct your sheltered lil’ brain? You’ve that there sword right at your hip. Kirby would deflate like the balloon he is at it!”

My jaw clenched. This buffoon was grating my nerves more and more with every boast from his beak. What negligent monarch raised him? Why was there not any lèse-majesté raised against this magnet of controversy? I had nothing to do with this ‘Kirby’ he constantly makes verbal jabs about. For now, I just wanted to end this hair-pulling conversation and rest at a peaceful corner without laser eyes or grotesque feeding habits.

“Ahem, thank you for your… comments, your Majesty,” I relented with a sigh. “I’ll participate in your… tournament.”

“There ya go,” Dedede boasted, slamming a throne arm, “another feather in my genius crown! When you get back to your glitzy kingdom and gush over my brilliant Super Smash, don’t forget to thank me for your happy memories, will ya?”

A Waddle Dee entered the throne room, wheeling a tray upon which an enormous cake sat. Dedede nonchalantly tore a slice out and chewed it, crumbs flying everywhere.

“Enjoy your stay in Dream Land!” he said with the morsel in his beak, waving a frosting-soaked hand. “Your subjects will be pleased at how winny, err, innovative I am!”

I sighed as Blade Knight and Sword Knight led me out of the noisy throne room at last. First a cyclopean cloud transported me into this pastel mess without any rhyme or reason, I was almost cauterized by a laser, and now I was thrown into a pointless tournament under an overzealous king. How even the round, jolly Dream Landers took this embarrassment of a monarch in stride, I doubted.

“Blade Knight,” I asked, “what is your honest opinion of King Dedede?”

He snorted. “I feel you, Lord Marth. Dedede does have a few… loose screws. Once, he punished our superior Meta Knight by, believe me, making him take off his mask. On live camera. Then again, he’s dangerous as a dandelion seed. Kirby always takes care of him.”

“Kirby? Why does he talk about him so much? Where is he?”

“You’ll meet him at Butter Building. It’s where the fighters will live for the time being. Mind if I guide you?”

“As you wish.”

At least no deadly Waddle Doos roam about there, I hoped.

Notes:

The first arc (representing Marth's debut game Melee) is set in Dream Land as a reference to HAL Laboratory, the creators of the Smash games. And yes, make as many Dedede-Sakurai jokes as you wish.

The cookie eating scene is based on a real joke in the Kirby anime (https://makeagif.com/gif/waddle-dee-eats-a-cookie-OHrVhE). Just imagine how a real human would have reacted...

Thanks for reading! For those who would like to know my schedule, I update monthly at the latest, due to my other fanfiction projects and IRL duties.

Chapter 3: Who Decided the Roster?!

Notes:

Dear readers, thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! The metrics made my day and I was pleased to see them trickle even in dormancy. I apologize for the long wait due to my busy schedule and mental issues, but now I'm taking another chance at writing with new WIPs in planning (hopefully my new schedule will allow more free time). Feel free to enjoy this chapter for now.

Under the golden walls of Butter Building, I clutched my spinning head.

Blade Knight escorted me here on a carriage drawn by living wheels, and the result was just as terrifying as it looked. They blazed at speeds so ludicrous our finest pegasi were snails in comparison. I was jerked back and forth, coiling my fingers around the rails, the threat of crashing into a wayward Waddle Dee or house under its constant prowl.

Blade Knight held out a glass of juice. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

I gingerly received the glass and downed the drink without a single thought. An explosion of sugars in my mouth worsened my disorientation. “What fruit is this, Blade Knight?” I complained, the saccharine taste irritating my tongue. “Is the drink sweetened?”

“Grapes. They’re directly sourced from Dream Land’s own Grape Garden and 100% natural.”

“Natural?! The juice tasted like a whole sack of sugar!”

“Maybe you humans have a lower threshold for sweetness.”

Just when I had gotten over the rash ride and the sugary juice, I endured another attack on the senses, the overwhelming smell of butter; pleasant in small amounts but grating in excess like an unventilated warehouse of the substance. I brushed a hand against the building’s wall in curiosity and found my fingers caked in grease. Could the tower itself be made of butter? How was it standing in the middle of day without melting?

The stairs squished under my boots as I ascended them, not wanting more than to crash on the bed in my quarters. As I and Blade Knight stepped onto the first floor, a small pink Dream Lander -blob?- waved their stubby arm at us. “Nice to eat you!” they squeaked, their grin curling ear to ear, or was it cheek to cheek? “I’m Kirby!”

I smiled. This little child was no wildcard Cyclops or arrogant figurehead. “I am Marth, King of Altea-”

As I bowed in greeting, a strong gust ruffled my hair. I barely processed it when a violent wind sucked me inward, right into Kirby’s mouth!

I found myself in a pitch-black orifice, unable to see or even feel anything.

Complete shadow.

I tried to punch the insides in distress, but my fist only met a vague cosmos.

Oh, of all the tragedies that could befall me, Altea thrown into darkness by an unceremonious encounter with a man-eating blob-

A force thrust me backward, and I crashed on solid ground. The familiar surroundings of Butter Building were visible again. I breathed a sigh of relief, freed from the terror of death. Thank Naga I was spared…

I looked at Kirby, who now sported a wig… that resembled my hair?

And was that Falchion in his arm?!

“W-what did you just do?” I gasped, my face pale with fright.

Kirby grinned wider, his large eyes sparkling in amusement. “I copied you!” he chimed in. “When I inhale someone, I can do what they can do!” He jabbed the air with Falchion, the legendary blade becoming a mere toy in his arms. “Look!” he continued, trying to grab my attention like an overexcited child.

My eyes darted to my right hand, only to find the real Falchion intact in my glove.

A cold sweat ran down my neck. This Kirby, this object of King Dedede’s scorn was not just a man-eating juvenile. He demonstrated impeccable mimicry, creating a perfect replica of Falchion by just swallowing me. If the sky’s the limit for Dream Land’s diminutive yet eldritch creatures…

Never since Medeus’ death was there the need to be on guard every second.

“Just what is Kirby?” I inquired Blade Knight to get a proper explanation behind… everything he did.

He chuckled. “Don’t fret, he’s Dream Land’s champion. He has taken down an avatar of nightmares, a mad jester and an evil eye that shot red energy from its pupil… or was it a liquid?”

Y-you mean blood?! I thought, keeping mum to preserve the nominal dignity.

Kirby closed his eyes and a star popped out of his skin, his wig and fake Falchion disappearing in turn. “Come with me, Math, meet my friends!” he said, hopping and tugging at my left hand.

“It’s Marth,” I corrected, letting him drag me along. However monstrous his abilities and mimicry were, Kirby was as lively as sunlight. If Blade Knight was to be believed, he already had a streak of good deeds to his name, having slain more familiars of evil than I.

Kirby, Blade Knight and I went to the other side of the floor, where a small yellow rodent nibbled on an apple. It had pointed ears, red cheeks and a tail shaped like a lightning bolt. One of Dream Land’s fauna, perhaps?

“Pika!” the rodent cried, turning to me with wide, inquisitive eyes.

“What is this animal?” I said, looking at its smile.

“Not animal, Pokémon,” replied Blade Knight. “This is Pikachu, a participant of the Super Smash.”

I blinked. “Participant? It’s so small-”

Before I could finish, a pink balloon-like creature floated into our midst. It bore a striking resemblance to Kirby except for its saucer-shaped blue eyes and a tuft of fur on its head. “Jigglypuff!” it said, twirling on its foot.

“And this is?” I gestured to the balloon. “What’s a Jigglypuff?”

Blade Knight shrugged. “Another Pokémon, and before you assume the term is our substitute for animals, Pokémon are creatures with supernatural powers.”

The rodent straightened its posture and its cheeks crackled with energy.

“Pika… CHUUUU!”

The sky flashed.

A trident of lightning struck the floor beside me, the roar of thunder ringing in my ears.

I gripped Falchion’s hilt in instinct, struggling to fathom how this little rodent could put Merric, Linde and my most disciplined mages to shame. “What spell did it just use, Blade Knight?”

“That’s not a spell,” he said; how many more violations of nature could he shrug at? “That’s just his Electric moves in action.”

“Jig!” the balloon creature added, patting the rodent’s back.

My feet numbed. Staying with these seemingly harmless beings with sacrilegious levels of power will not be ideal to my morale.

“Excuse me,” I asked Blade Knight, “If you allow so, may I explore the other floors? I would like to, um, meet the other participants.”

The knight nodded. “Certainly.”

I nodded. Please, let me catch a glimpse of humanity for once.

Kirby and the Pokémon waved their arms at me before I ascended the stairs, the pungent smell of butter refusing to abate. How could visitors tolerate it for whole days? Did Kirby and his brethren lack the sense of smell?

As I approached the top, three familiar silhouettes against the backdrop of the bright sky lifted my spirits.

Humans.

For the first time since my unceremonious warp from Altea, I was finally interacting with people, not bizarre extraterrestrials or horrifying blobs.

As I drew closer, the silhouettes became shorter. High-pitched voices warbled in the air.

My stomach dropped.

They were children. In a fighting tournament.

I had already known of Medeus throwing fragile minors into his armies, but Dedede allowing them to fight against competitors like an all-consuming mimic blob and a rodent with godlike lightning?

Irresponsible at best.

One of them was a boy wearing a striped shirt, a backpack, a pair of shorts and a cap, holding a wooden bat over his shoulder; vibes of an adventurer, though it was clear he was no older than thirteen. The other two, who looked like twins, were bundled up in heavy parkas despite the warm weather, lugging mallets as large as they were. They stood in a loose circle, engaged in an animated conversation.

“You fought with exploding trees?” one twin said.

“Yeah, I ain’t joking,” the boy in the cap replied, scratching the back of his head. “And it didn’t stop there. Mushrooms, coffee cups, zombies, annoying old party men, the gamut.”

The twins gasped in surprise. “Wait, coffee cups?” asked the other twin. “Were they possessed?”

Living fauna? Exorcism? My mind tied itself into knots trying to make sense of whatever these children discussed. Maybe they were cracking jokes. Maybe they were reciting bizarre stories. I hope.

As I watched the children chatter, my instinct to assess public sentiment overtook me. I approached the children and made a bow.

“Greetings,” I said. “I reckon you are part of the Super Smash?”

“Yes,” the boy answered, looking at me with earnest eyes. “Are you a prince?”

“Formerly. I am Marth, King of Altea and Emperor of Archanea. What brings you to this tournament, boy? How do you feel about your youth?”

“No problem, Your Majesty.” The boy shrugged. “I and my friends have killed this big red swirly alien… It’s hard to describe, but I remember it was like walking into a horror movie.” He put his hands to his hips and smiled. “When you’re a kid who saved the world from the scariest thing in the whole universe, age is just a number.”

I screamed in my mind.

“A-and you two…?” I stammered.

“We’re the Ice Climbers!” the twins announced, raising their mallets. “We joined the tournament to pay for Grandpa’s broken roof! Plucking eggplants off Icicle Mountain everyday can’t get us a quick buck.”

Suddenly, the tall tales these children yammered weren’t so far-fetched anymore.

However, I couldn’t help but appreciate their bravery, accomplishing feats most adults could only dream of. “It has been an honor to hear about your experiences,” I thanked, shaking hands with the children. “I wish you utmost safety and fortune.”

“Wait, safety?” the boy muttered as I walked away from their precocious menace as far as possible.

With a sigh, I walked along the circular path, past the butter walls that rotated as if to tease me about further insane situations to come. With every step, my thirst for a peaceful sleep grew.

It was then that a booming voice cut through the air.

“Hey, blue blood!”

My muscles twitched, thrown off by the volume. As I looked forward, a garish figure hogged my attention.

He was a tall man, clad in an indigo bodysuit that pronounced his massive muscles. A scarlet helmet with a golden falcon obscured his face except for a cocky smirk. A silver pauldron lay on his right shoulder and a yellow scarf waved under his square jaw. He was pointing a finger at me, posing like a circus strongman.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shrinking a little at this Babel of a man.

The man smirked. “Fancy you’re a newbie to this galaxy of miracles, ‘cause you’re standing in front of one of ‘em himself!” He jabbed a thumb at his chest, flashing a wide grin under his visor.

He jumped, high as a hare.

I stumbled back, thinking he was about to pounce on me when he landed feet away from me in a flamboyant manner. He stood up and thrust a gloved fist into the sun.

“Captain Falcon!” he bellowed to the skies as if addressing an audience. “Five-time F-Zero Champion! Space-renowned bounty hunter! And…” he finished with a flourish of his arm, “the Super Smash’s first superstar!”

My eyebrows raised. I wanted to question his role as a bounty hunter, but courtesy made me think twice. “W-what’s an F-Zero?”

“You’ll be pleased to know,” he bragged, wagging a finger. “It’s the fastest, wildest and most daredevil race in the galaxy!” He gripped imaginary harnesses in clenched fists, jerking his arms back and forth as though steering. “Hover machines blaze across zero gravity tracks at over five hundred miles per hour! Nothing gets the blood pumping like it!”

Machines? Gravity? What technology was this? My ears begged to be shielded from his blaring voice. “I-is it a horse race?” I said, settling on the closest analogue.

Captain Falcon’s jaw hung open, his eyes somehow visibly drooping behind his visor. “No, no! F-Zero is light years ahead of a simple horse race! You can knock your foes’ cars off the tracks! You can do barrel rolls in the air!”

It’s allowed to outright assault your opponents in the middle of the race?!

I forced a cordial smile. “Ahem, it’s been a pleasure to hear about this F-Zero, Captain Falcon. The galaxy is, um, an interesting place.”

And by interesting, I meant terrifying.

“There you go!” Captain Falcon saluted with the subtlety of a screaming barbarian slathered in warpaint. “Until we cross our paths in the tournament proper, where you bear witness to my burning fists of justice! Your name, prince?”

“King Marth of Altea.” I shook his hands.

“Don’t forget the name, your inquisitive Majesty!” he bid, marching into his assigned quarters beyond the butter-soaked bricks. “Captain Falcon!” He slammed the door with a ringing thud.

I wiped sweat off my brow, my ears freed of his running mouth. As I continued to search for my own quarters, his rambling delusions of a dangerous race pestered my mind. It did not matter that he participated in dubious sports. A certain detail in his proverbial business card lingered at the back of my head.

He was a bounty hunter.

Not trusted mercenaries like Ogma and his subordinates, wandering hired guns who contracted targets for lush sums of money. Anybody could be labeled a bounty, even and especially innocent individuals with grudges against them. Knorda was infested with them, pilfering shops and ransacking streets.

How could Dedede invite a shady and boastful individual to what he deemed a grand tournament?

I thought about raising the matter to the mad monarch when my face collided with solid metal.

Clank.

I stepped away from the wall of orange, about to turn when an intimidating mechanical contralto jolted my spine.

“Watch your step.”

I looked up and shivered.

Before me was a humongous knight in tons of orange armor glowing with green accents of energy. Massive circular pauldrons framed the sides of a red helmet with a shining green visor. My gaze fell to her right arm, or rather, cannon.

She had a cannon in place of a right arm.

My spine tensed, having never seen a suit of armor this advanced and lethal, enough to topple a small army. “M-my apologies for colliding with you, Dame,” I excused with a hand on my chest, the visor’s light pulsing in my eyes.

“It’s fine,” the knight’s voice reverberated.

I observed the armor, intrigued by its precise angles and immaculate finishing. Tactics danced around my mind, much as they used to do in the battle for Altea.

With an arm cannon like this knight’s, Draug can continue to fight from afar without being left behind by his weight. Soldiers who stand whole yards away can be sniped at with high accuracy.

“Your armor is impeccable,” I said, beginning to tolerate the knight’s power. “Who forged it for you? I would like to commission him for my army.”

“This isn’t forged,” the knight replied. “This is a Power Suit. It’s generated by an energy-to-matter mechanism. The circuitry interfaces with my nervous system.”

The words stretched my brain. “I… have never heard of such advanced weaponry before. Are you really a knight, madam?”

“It looks like you are from a less advanced planet,” she commented, placing her left hand on her imposing cannon. “I knew it from the moment you did not recognize me on sight. Allow me to introduce myself.”

“Okay?” I nodded, my heart beating out of my chest.

“I am Samus Aran, the galaxy’s highest-ranked bounty hunter.”

Another bounty hunter?!

“…Like Captain Falcon?”

“Yes.”

My teeth clenched. “Excuse me, I-I have something to attend to.”

Without lending an ear, I ran as far away from Samus as possible.

A bounty hunter in this tournament was one thing, but another bounty hunter, armed to the teeth and the best of her profession? There are children in the same contest, for Naga’s sake!

King Dedede was throwing a mishmash of combatants into the same arena, none of whom were even real, honorable gladiators. Ominous dangers swirled about. What if Kirby swallows everyone as toys to test his mimicry? What if Pikachu summons a thunder dragon? What if the bounty hunters wreak havoc on Dream Land or worse, hunt us all as bounties?

I leaned against the wall, trying to reconcile with the weight of the lunatic aliens around me when I heard the whistle of music.

A gentle song, which I identified as an ocarina, played from nearby. I closed my eyes, relieved by this brief respite of peace and sanity in this tower of chaos.

However, my suspicion, already pushed to its limits along Butter Building, reared its ugly head again. Was there a talking music box next to me? Was the tower itself singing?

I slowly turned my head to the direction of the music, catching my breath in anticipation of another ridiculous Smash participant.

A young man leaned against a pillar playing a blue ocarina, blond bangs framing his face. He wore a green tunic and cap, which, while unusual, was not uncouth.

Finally.

Finally, there was a humble, responsible adult my age, someone who wasn’t an eldritch creature, precocious child or bounty hunter.

I approached the youth and made a bow. “Greetings,” I said.

His lids opened, revealing focused blue eyes. He drew his lips off his ocarina and bowed in response. What a display of courtesy in this lawless tournament!

 “I am Marth, King of Altea,” I introduced, noticing his prominent elfin ears. “What is your name? Are you a bard?”

Without a word, he placed his ocarina on his trinket-laden belt. His left hand moved behind his back.

The screech of a blade made me flinch. A sharp greatsword appeared in front of me, wielded by the man.

“Are you a knight?” I gasped, bothering why he did not open his mouth.

The blond nodded, saying nothing as he slid the sword into the scabbard on his back.

“Do you prefer to speak with actions?”

He nodded again.

I tucked my cape close to my neck. For the first time since I landed in Dream Land, I meet someone who wields a sword just as I do. His wordless language was an enigma, but he carried himself with the chivalry of a retainer. He looked relatable, like he belonged in a world of castles and swords without unsettling magical abilities, inflated egos or eldritch technology.

My glance fell, and my relief mutated into horror.

There was an array of bombs, a heavy chain with a hook at its end, thick spellbooks, a pair of metal boots, a boomerang and Naga knows how many more weapons crammed along his belt.

He could give those accursed bounty hunters a run for their money.

“Why are you carrying so much?” I tried to reach out to him, my eyes bouncing between his face and his arsenal. “Wouldn’t your back ache?”

With a breath, he gave a simple shrug, as if to say, I’m used to it.

“Where do you come from?”

He reached for his back again and showed me an ornate blue shield with an intricate bird design. With his other hand, he pointed to an emblem of three gold triangles in the center of the shield.

“You… live in pyramids?” I assumed, unable to fully grasp his body language.

The man blushed, his eyes wide with dismay. He shook his head like a wet dog. He pointed upward, gesturing to the sky.

“Sorry for the misunderstanding,” I said. “You mean to say… you come from the skies?”

Again, he refuted. He then pointed to each of the three triangles and made cryptic gestures with his free hand, which I at least recognized as a blaze, a breeze and flowing water respectively.

“Oh, your homeland worships the classical elements?” I remarked with politeness, unsure if I was even correct.

He blinked before he made a gentle nod. Technically right, I presumed he thought, observing his expression of… giving in? To my misunderstandings?

“It has been a great pleasure to meet you.” I extended my arm to the only normal person on this planet of madness. “I wish our eyes meet in the tournament proper.”

The youth put back his shield and returned my handshake with a courteous face. We bid each others’ goodbyes and left for our respective cabins.

As I waved a hand against my nose to ward off the stubborn butter smell before I could reach my quarters, I couldn’t help but think about this man, this green glimmer of chivalry in this shambles of frightening creatures, roaming children and loose cannons. Considering where I was, his excessive weaponry posed an alarm. In a world where small creatures could shoot cauterizing beams, express uncanny mimicry and bring down terrible lightning, he too could have nasty surprises under his sleeve.

At least he’s not a bounty hunter.

Chapter 4: A Harsh Introduction

Summary:

In Marth's first round, he grapples with dimensions of otherworldly laws of nature, not just two.

I pushed open the door to my quarters, marked by a sword emblem. At last, I could catch a break from this nonsensical parade of dangerous aliens until the Super Smash begins…

THUNK.

Ow! Wood hit my forehead. As I rubbed it in pain, I saw the ceiling mere inches above my eyes. I was forced to duck inside, a reminder of the Dream Lander’s underestimation of human height.

Before me was a mishmash of bright colors that passed for furniture and décor. The walls gleamed with an eye-searing shade of pink, adorned with rainbow and star patterns, like a child’s nursery painted without restraint. The chairs and couches reached my knees at best; I wondered how they could serve the comfort they intended. A small chest was tucked away in a corner.

Undoing my cape and armor, I set my things inside the chest. My hollow stomach and recoil from all the insanity in this tower drew me to the tiny dining table. For a while, I was tempted by the stubborn butter smell that permeated even this room.

I lifted the lid off the platter that conveniently awaited me, and the ‘hospitality’ refused to stop. Cakes, candies and jelly in sundry colors crowded the plate. Forced to sit on the floor by the table’s shortness, I cut out a small piece of cake and tasted it.

My tongue scrunched at the overwhelming sweetness. I tried every other item on the plate, but they were stuffed with the same excessive sugar. Even the bread felt like distilled sweetener. Not a single vegetable was in sight.

With a gulp of water that had inexplicable traces of honey, I presumed what the other participants would think of the Dream Landers’ sugar-heavy cuisine. Considering their… ludicrous power, their remarks would not be pleasant. At all. That yellow rodent with godlike lightning magic blowing up its room out of discontent became a terrifying plausibility.

Wiping my mouth, I sighed, a bath crossing my mind. A good soak would wash away all the shock and horror I had witnessed in Dream Land.

Except it only worsened my skepticism.  The wooden tub was small and ankle-deep, and the water reeked of a persistent blueberry smell that made my head spin. My knees stuck out as I lay cramped in the tub, my bones heavy with discomfort instead of comfort. Was this the standard of hospitality Dedede set, drowning in sugar, shallow water and garish décor as he gobbled lavish food on his throne?

Of course, the bounty hunters could as well blow up the tower in response to this.

I dried myself off, the towel smelling like marshmallows for no particular reason, and stepped out of the tiny bathroom when a trespasser made me freeze.

And not just any trespasser.

A green-clad youth, the same modest swordsman I had met earlier.

Why was he peeking into my chest?!

“Excuse me,” I alerted him, reaching a hand out.

His head whipped around, a blush of shame glowing on his face. His eyes broadened like a dog caught chewing the carpets.

“Why are you,” I said, looking ridiculous in just a towel, “rifling through my belongings?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Arms gesticulated here and there.

“You’re… in the wrong room?”

He shook his head, tight-lipped.

“Then why are you here?”

He pointed to the door.

“You thought my quarters are free to...” I was careful not to upset him. “…visit?”

The swordsman nodded in admission.

“Oh, I forgot to lock the door, but you should have knocked it, you know?”

Without an answer, he spun on his heel, his weapons clinking as he hasted off.

“Wait-” I said.

Right then, he was gone, slamming the door shut.

“You didn’t tell me your name!” I continued in futility. I looked over the chest in caution; to my luck, my weapons and armor lay intact. He was disciplined enough to let everything be.

Nevertheless, I locked the door, knowing well that anybody else in this lawless Dream Land would have made the predicament worse.

---

Here I was.

My first match.

As I walked through the tunnel with Falchion in my hand, confidence swelled in me; never mind I believed it was even possible in a place like this. The last few days had been the absolute strangest in my life, what with Dream Land, its frivolous monarch and the many loose cannons he had invited to duel. Not a single weapon, however many of unholy power the other Smashers wielded, had been drawn, yet my mind had endured as much war as my body did in the uprising against Medeus.

I stepped onto the floors of the Megaton Stadium, a refreshingly familiar stone coliseum that fit the stature of a galaxy-wide tournament. Dream Land’s circular denizens filled the stands, waving banners and flags with childlike crayon messages. Including, to my horror, the eerie cyclopean beings they called Waddle Doos.

For all its underage wildcards and distrustful bounty hunters, the Super Smash was at least decent in its organization, taking me by pleasant surprise. King Dedede, should I say, had an ounce of courtesy to provide free training grounds for the participants. Opposed to the violent gladiator games I feared they would be, all fights were confirmed to be non-fatal.

The announcer, a caped winged figure of diminutive size, stood on an elevated platform with a golden rod in his nub arms. His eyes glowed through his silver mask as he introduced me to the crowd.

“Dees and Doos, raise your applause for this eager newcomer from across the galaxy!” Amplified by his rod, his baritone was rich and dignified as it echoed in the vast stadium despite his insolent judge of character. “The Hero-King and Lodestar who boasts mind-numbing technique by the tip of his sword, Marth Lowell of Altea!”

To the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers, I raised Falchion in the air, my cape waving in the wind. For the first time in this bizarre world, my blue blood invisible to lands beyond the stars, I felt rightly royal. Perhaps the tournament might offer chance glimmers of the respect I was starved of.

I watched the other end of the arena, waiting for my opponent to show up.

As the seconds passed, they were yet to arrive; I took a guess over who my opponent may be. I hoped it was not Samus, the shady bounty hunter with armor eons past my age, the children, in concern of hurting them, or Kirby, if to avoid the predicament of being swallowed alive again. The only Smasher I was comfortable to fight was the fellow swordsman because at least his weaponry, if excessive, was plausible in my reality.

A minute flew by. The other side was still empty.

No one.

I was patient, assuming the opponent had run into an unfortunate delay, until I saw a shadow creep on the floor.

I stepped forward in curiosity, and my jaw dropped.

There was my opponent.

A dark, alien figure, invisible from the front but clear from the slightest of angles like a sheet of paper. Thin as a strand of hair, their motions alternated only twice, without any smooth transition.

By Naga’s name, how could such a flat living thing even exist?

The spectators did not budge an eye toward the strange black alien, it’s not like Dream Land gave them a high threshold for the occult. The alien brought out a bell as black and paper-thin as themselves and rang it with a tinny sound, speaking in a garbled language of dots and dashes.

I was too vexed and incredulous to hear the announcer, but at least I registered what to call this living drawing at best.

“Mr. Game and Watch of Planet Elcidi!”

How did he fight? What weapons or eldritch abilities did he have up his two-dimensional sleeve? I could do nothing but stand back, strategy denied by the breaking point of natural comprehension, and observe Mr. Game and Watch’s stilted movements.

One moment he stood, and in the next he walked, resembling the pages of a flipbook. I held my shield in front, unsure if even iron was sufficient against someone of such slight structure.

In a series of blink-ins and blink-outs, he crossed the ring. When he approached touching distance, he flung a bucket.

A glob of crude oil flew out, it, and the bucket, as flat and stilted as Mr. Game and Watch himself.

Real crude oil sloshed into my face, the liquid burning like acid. How did the oil transform?!

I wiped off the residue, embarrassed to death by the laughter of the audience, and swung Falchion in counterattack.

Mr. Game and Watch dodged my strike, or rather, vanished from the point of impact and reappeared at a distance. A chef hat, apron and pan materialized on him out of nowhere, and he tossed a sausage at me… which blew up on contact like a grenade!

With oil residue and ash on my unfortunate skin, I ran to the other side of the ring, unable to confound his sheer alchemy of conjuring things out of thin air. What sort of unforeseen druid magic was this? At least the other Smashers were tangible, if excessive, threats. Mr. Game and Watch was a lottery of reality, ringing a harmless bell one second and throwing caustic oil the next while flipping sausages with a chance of explosion, a total incongruence of a first opponent when I needed it most.

He stopped and walked in a small circle, his hands flickering, as best as I could phrase, up and down. Why was he chasing himself and not me standing right at the corner?

If he had a depthless body, could he perceive depth with his eyes?

My eyebrows rose.

I sneaked to his side, avoiding his line of sight, and shoved his flat body. His head flailed left and right as my movement became as choppy as his, pushing him in short spurts along the floor until he slipped beyond the ring.

“K.O!” yelled the announcer. “Marth is through to the next round!” Colorful trails of mist billowed out of the inner edges of the coliseum in celebration. Amid the rapture of the audience, I sighed as I acknowledged the crowd, more freed than victorious from the overstuffed knot of nature that was Mr. Game and Watch.

But before I could escape to the relative unease of my quarters in Butter Building, I ran into a threatening duo in the tunnel.

Monsters.

One was a green, two-legged dragon, innocuous until it revealed a hefty elongated tongue bigger than its teeth. The other was a fox-headed werebeast, clothed in complex gear with a musket-like device in its paw.

Even the security was being laissez-faire.

When I raised Falchion in defense, the werebeast talked, sharp teeth and all.

They weren’t just monsters. They were the incoming combatants.

I bolted past them, the dragon squeaking something like “Yoshi!” in dismay, my brief relief pulverized into wailing pieces.

How foolish I was of this tournament. Of course it was concentrating a disarray of a roster into one surreal world like Dream Land. How did I even think it would restore a faint sense of respect?

No respect was guaranteed when your land was ruled by a self-absorbed glutton king.

Notes:

No, Link, you can't freely look into other people's drawers like back in Hyrule.