Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. This work of fanfiction is NOT endorsed by the original creators and is NOT in any way meant to insult the original work. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

Warning: Later chapters contain yaoi/yuri (aka male and female homosexual relationships). Not your thing? That's cool. Back button is up there.

A/N: Story to include multiple chapters, many characters, and an interpretation of Smash "canon" that can be considered unorthodox. Its theme is also a little too serious for a Smash Bros. story, but it's all I got. Utilizing an idea borrowed from Kei Toume's Kuro Gane, with atmosphere provided by memories of Wong Kar Wai's Ashes of Time, the author brings you this monstrosity. Enjoy, or weep bitter tears, whatever. Comments appreciated.

Chase the Sun

Battery: start

(0)

Marth had made a mistake in not killing him.

They both should have been laid to rest years ago.

In the back of his throat, Roy tasted bitter copper. A drop of water had fallen from the edge of the roof, and the feel of it treading down his face brought back a memory, a hazy dream of chasing after a blue cape through a downpour.

Another place, another time.

There had been a desperate grab, a grip of wet fabric in his hand—and a fist that caught him off guard when it hit him in the face. The world spun and cut the inside of his cheek against his teeth. He fell back, stars in his vision, as the cloth slipped through his fingers.

Since then, rain on his skin would always invoke the taste of blood.

Roy left it there, the droplet rolling down toward his jaw. He wanted that memory. Every mule needed a carrot dangled in front of it—a reason, an excuse—to trudge on and on, no matter what load was sagging heavy on its back. He was no different.

It didn't matter that his reason was a poisoned apple. So what? If you don't chase death, it chases you. What was wrong with reversing the roles?

Nothing—not if you deserved it, anyway. And if he deserved anything, Roy figured it had to be that.

He took a drink from the wine gourd at his side. Wished that droplet had trailed closer to his mouth.

Desert rains were the sweetest, he had been told.

The door next to him opened.

"We're ready for you now."

Polite, as if they hadn't left him sitting outside like a dog. He secured the gourd onto his belt and stood up to follow the official's assistant into the building. One hand steadied the sheathed sword at his hip.

The town leadership's main office looked like it had once served as a small schoolhouse. Legitimacy showed only in its well-swept floor and partially curtained windows. Money had been short, Roy guessed. The representative speaking for the council met him over a lopsided table. She did not offer the swordsman a seat, but when she spoke, her tone was not unfriendly.

"We are in need of someone like you."

The unnecessary details followed. Regime change at the central government, and corruption at the local level, had stopped the funding needed to maintain their defenses.

"Our militia was disbanded for political reasons…"

The last mayor had replaced what he felt was an uncontrollable unit of dissidents with a smaller police force that was loyal to him. But this new unit had been too inexperienced, too few in number as well, to handle armed aggression from the outside.

"…He is no longer with us."

The Red Canyon bandits were incredibly well-organized. They had operated out of the neighboring desert region since a time shortly after the town was established. They were confident enough now to view the desert as theirs, and powerful enough to make that claim. Their means to this end had often been brutal in the past. She emphasized that last point.

"We're training a new militia and trying to re-hire the members of the old one, but it's going to take time. Most of them had to leave to find work elsewhere."

She looked Roy up and down with sharp, brown eyes. She could not hide her skepticism. A foreigner couldn't possibly understand what he was up against. Certainly not this red-haired teenaged boy in a dusty crimson cape, even if the sheath at his side was weather-worn and the hilt of his weapon was tarnished with use.

But they needed fools like this one. No one else would accept such a dangerous post in an isolated town like theirs. Not for the kind of pay they were offering.

"We need someone to watch them and keep us updated on their activities. You will be responsible for alerting us in the event of a raid or anything else that would raise serious concern. Do you think you can do that?"

Roy nodded once.

She remained unconvinced. But still, very desperate.

"It's better to walk away if you have any doubts." She looked down and opened a desk drawer. "I'd rather you not end up like the last one."

A dirty metal headband dropped onto the tabletop.

"He disappeared two days ago."

Roy's eyes fixed on the jewel set into the gold band. Then on the dried blood that covered it in streaks, like dull paint.

"So, your timing really couldn't have been better."

Her voice was tired. Roy met those eyes once more. Her brown face looked young, but there were a few strands of grey in her neatly tied black hair.

The swordsman's voice cracked when he spoke, as if from disuse. "Where can I find them?"

"By Red Canyon itself, northeast of here. My assistant will provide you with a map and coordinates and anything else you might need."

Roy found himself reaching for the headband on the table between them.

"It's yours," she told him.

He glanced at her. It wasn't like he had planned on letting them keep it in the first place.

"We are no longer in contact with the capitol," she explained. "This is all we can offer you for now. You'll get the rest of your fee later. If you leave it with my assistant, he can have it cleaned and appraised for you."

"No."

She looked at him strangely. It must have been something in his voice. But Roy wasn't about to explain.

The representative stood up when he made to leave.

"Just buy us some time," she said. "That's all I ask."

Already on his way to the door, he paused to turn and deliver a hasty bow. When she answered in kind, he was halfway out and gone.

Her assistant had a care package prepared. First aid supplies, rations, a map, water, tools.

"There's a room for you at the inn."

"I'm heading out now."

He blinked at the young swordsman. "It'll be night in a few hours."

"Good. Do I have transportation?"

"Yes. Follow me please."

When the man turned away, Roy lifted the headband to his mouth, and, very quickly, licked it where a drop of blood had fallen.

It didn't taste like Marth.

Things were looking up already.