06-06-2015, 02:16 PM
Mjolnir scraped the ground behind Mickey as he walked, his one remaining hand gripping the hammer with all the might the mouse had left.
He struggled to breathe as the night-time air wafted in. The mouse’s gargantuan ears flopped a bit in the breeze. He knew the wind brought in the scents of the island, but his little black nose missed them all.
Off in the distance, Mickey’s blurry vision caught streaks of orange painting the forest. They had not been the only ones to taste death this night.
He felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
He couldn’t find it in himself to cry. All of his friends were dead. Erza, Samus, Harry… even Gildarts was nowhere to be found in the battle’s aftermath. Those scary guys had murdered them all, and for what? The mouse didn’t even know—he hadn’t even had a chance to see what the drop was this time. For all he knew, it had been for nothing.
Not for nothing. Mickey would make sure of that. This entire competition, he had been searching for a reason to continue on to the end, when it had been right in front of him the whole time: his friends. Nothing mattered more to the King than the three people who had survived the last three days with him. And if they were dead, he would win this competition for them. Not for anything else. Not for the town of Bree, not for his own pride, not even to get revenge on the jerks that had killed them.
He would do it to make them proud.
The trees around him fumbled in the darkness, twisting and turning like something out of a horror movie. Mickey had never liked anything too scary, so he stopped for a second and shut his eyes, trying to make the images go away.
When his eyes shut, though, their faces stared at him. Far away, in the blackness, he could faintly see the figures of his dead friends smiling at him one last time. To the left, Samus Aran, armor dented and broken but blonde hair flowing down past her shoulders, flashing him one of her rare grins. To the right, Harry Dresden, his fellow wizard, duster a little torn up but one hand on his hip and a sly smirk creeping onto his face.
In the center, Erza Scarlet, who Mickey might call his very first friend in the Omniverse. Perhaps it was fitting that in his mind, she still looked exactly as she did the moment he met her.
He opened his eyes. The trees still looked the same, but Mickey’s purpose had swallowed him whole. He continued to drag Mjolnir along until he reached a little creek tucked in behind most of the forest’s thicker brush. The mouse couldn’t contain a sigh of relief. To his impaired brain, this looked like the bluest water he had ever seen, and so in a matter of seconds, he used his teeth to rip off his only remaining white glove and reached down, cupping as much of it as he could in his hand and drinking it.
It slipped down his throat, and he could only think one thing:
It wasn’t as refreshing as that one drop of Pepsi.
Shivering, he reached into his pocket, but this time his fingers didn’t grasp the picture of Minnie he had conjured up all those days ago. He tugged out a little piece of blue fabric, ripped from Erza’s skirt after the dragons had torn her apart.
It took all his strength to reach up and pull the Master Sword from its sheath. He tied the remnants of his very first friend to the hilt, which in the darkness looked like it might have been the same shade of blue. Tying it with one hand took some effort, but for Erza, he managed it. He placed the hilt to his face, feeling the softness of the little piece of cloth one last time, and then, with just the slightest hesitation, he lowered it into the water.
He sent it off down the stream.
He struggled to breathe as the night-time air wafted in. The mouse’s gargantuan ears flopped a bit in the breeze. He knew the wind brought in the scents of the island, but his little black nose missed them all.
Off in the distance, Mickey’s blurry vision caught streaks of orange painting the forest. They had not been the only ones to taste death this night.
He felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
He couldn’t find it in himself to cry. All of his friends were dead. Erza, Samus, Harry… even Gildarts was nowhere to be found in the battle’s aftermath. Those scary guys had murdered them all, and for what? The mouse didn’t even know—he hadn’t even had a chance to see what the drop was this time. For all he knew, it had been for nothing.
Not for nothing. Mickey would make sure of that. This entire competition, he had been searching for a reason to continue on to the end, when it had been right in front of him the whole time: his friends. Nothing mattered more to the King than the three people who had survived the last three days with him. And if they were dead, he would win this competition for them. Not for anything else. Not for the town of Bree, not for his own pride, not even to get revenge on the jerks that had killed them.
He would do it to make them proud.
The trees around him fumbled in the darkness, twisting and turning like something out of a horror movie. Mickey had never liked anything too scary, so he stopped for a second and shut his eyes, trying to make the images go away.
When his eyes shut, though, their faces stared at him. Far away, in the blackness, he could faintly see the figures of his dead friends smiling at him one last time. To the left, Samus Aran, armor dented and broken but blonde hair flowing down past her shoulders, flashing him one of her rare grins. To the right, Harry Dresden, his fellow wizard, duster a little torn up but one hand on his hip and a sly smirk creeping onto his face.
In the center, Erza Scarlet, who Mickey might call his very first friend in the Omniverse. Perhaps it was fitting that in his mind, she still looked exactly as she did the moment he met her.
He opened his eyes. The trees still looked the same, but Mickey’s purpose had swallowed him whole. He continued to drag Mjolnir along until he reached a little creek tucked in behind most of the forest’s thicker brush. The mouse couldn’t contain a sigh of relief. To his impaired brain, this looked like the bluest water he had ever seen, and so in a matter of seconds, he used his teeth to rip off his only remaining white glove and reached down, cupping as much of it as he could in his hand and drinking it.
It slipped down his throat, and he could only think one thing:
It wasn’t as refreshing as that one drop of Pepsi.
Shivering, he reached into his pocket, but this time his fingers didn’t grasp the picture of Minnie he had conjured up all those days ago. He tugged out a little piece of blue fabric, ripped from Erza’s skirt after the dragons had torn her apart.
It took all his strength to reach up and pull the Master Sword from its sheath. He tied the remnants of his very first friend to the hilt, which in the darkness looked like it might have been the same shade of blue. Tying it with one hand took some effort, but for Erza, he managed it. He placed the hilt to his face, feeling the softness of the little piece of cloth one last time, and then, with just the slightest hesitation, he lowered it into the water.
He sent it off down the stream.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)