It looked like any other ordinary, uneventful day. It was the early stages of autumn, and the sun was beginning to set into the early stages of the afternoon on a clear, lightly clouded blue sky. People were running their daily errands, or finishing up their work, or milling around, or doing whatever they normally did at that time of day. Cars were honking, children were playing, and birds were chirping. Human modern-day society was operating as usual.
The old soldier wound his way through the streets of the town, his sinuous, Eastern dragon familiar following in his footsteps. Everywhere were the signs of a long, hard winter; sodden paths, waterlogged houses and still-white snowdrifts. Here and there, patches of grass, flowers and other growing things struggled to reclaim their world from the grasp of the cold season. The adventurer sniffed. He loved the cold, for some unknown reason it sustained him, and the signs of a coming spring always turned his mood sour.
A rag wearing wretch tumbled across the mist laden floor. He raised his purple topped head to cast a menacing glare from under his brim. A jagged grimace was his only word to his foe.
"Accept it, old timer. You have been bested," contested the foe, a floating being who beamed with light. "For the first time in many a Rumblon, the Legendary Dairy shall not fall to your unworthy hands." It clenched a webbed, clawed, gloved fist to symbolize seizing victory.
The Kirby universe proves to be no Dream Land for this cast of misfit characters. Rejects such as Kine, Jumpin' Dan, Gabon, and Blopper try to prove they can be heroes, too. Do they succeed? Would it be funny if they did?
Join in on the rare-for-RE fan-fiction madness as these lovable losers leave nothing sacred!
Kyle looked out in the distance towards his destination. A coliseum-like structure towered into the air in front of him. It was there that the tournament celebrating the King’s birthday would be held. The simple shepherd closed his eyes in deep thought. Word had already spread around that strong competitors had entered the tournament. It would be no easy feat to beat any of them, even for a chance of winning the whole thing.
Dust swirled up from the ground to join its airborne brethren that clouded the air like early-morning fog in San Francisco as I slowly walked through the slag and rubble. In the absolute silence, each footstep was like a marching army and the rasp of my breath as I attempted separate oxygen from the venerable dirt that passed for air seemed as though it could drown out a war. In truth I was grateful for even these small respites; as anyone who has experienced both can tell you, a complete lack of sound is far more deafening, far more unnerving than the most heinous sounds of battle. It's not fear so much as an unidentifiable disturbance, a feeling that something around you is very, very wrong. Although it was, by my best estimate, mid-afternoon, the little light that filtered its way through to the surface had more of an overcast, late evening quality. Omaha, Nebraska. A thoroughly depressing place on the best of days.
A familiar taste poured over my tongue as I struggled to keep my balance. As the world tumbled around me I noticed an odd sanguine painting being created on the gravel. I might have even remarked on the odd placement of the painting if another fist hadn't exploded into my eye socket. Luckily the gravel caught me, though for some reason it tasted like blood. Despite my vision constricting as my cheek swelled, I looked upon my assailant once more. A cruel unyielding gaze returned from his scarred visage. This was no man, but an anabolically enhanced biological nightmare. Two massive, rippling arms raised me eye to eye with the beastly man, as two more extending from the middle of its chest snared my throat.
In the distant future, after a war which many thought would be the end of all life, humanity survives in isolated cities scattered throughout the world. The largest of these cities is under constant strife by rival factions, vying for power. Falken, a lone biker, has become caught in the struggle...