A/N: An epilogue, just because there's a little detail I'd like to address so that I won't be hunted down and shot by crazed fangirls...

.:':. .:':. .:':.

Deep in the Wastelands, amidst wickedly sharp spires of rock and deadly rivers of lava, lay the dented remains of a Switchblade Elite.

The Dark Ace trekked angrily towards the wreckage. He cursed the stupid voice in his head that had started this whole problem. Maybe telling someone that it involved would help with the pain. Now, the thought made him scoff. In fact, he wished the thought was actually something someone else had told him, so he could cleave them in half for their idiocy.

When he had fallen through the clouds, battle-glider unresponsive, he had fully expected to die on impact. What he hadn't expected was for that same glider to get caught on an outcropping of rock as he fell, stopping his downward plunge and essentially saving his life. It had taken him all of about ten seconds to unhook himself from the rock and climb on top of the outcrop, completely unharmed from his fall except for maybe one or two light grazes.

No man could have survived that plummet – but the Dark Ace wasn't just a man. He was up on a pedestal. Above the rest.

Better.

He gave the switchblade a few vicious kicks, and miraculously, it roared to life. The engine coughed a few times, emitting a thin stream of black smoke, but still kept going. For now, at least, it would be good enough to get him where he was going. He could get everything that was broken fixed properly later. Mounting the switchblade with a few odd bits of metal and wiring sticking into his legs, the Dark Ace began his long flight back to Cyclonia.

.:':. .:':. .:':.

A/N: Okay, hands up, who thought I'd actually killed off the Dark Ace? GOTCHA! Haha, he's one of my favourite characters, I'd never kill him off like that. *glares at Nerd Corps*