What This World Has to Offer- Story

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 59. Fractionate

 

It was clear to tell that Tyler hated every second of being on Tiger Lily's back. The boy had curled into himself as if trying to avoid being splashed, which of course was something he had no hope in succeeding in. Wilbur's fur was absolutely caked in salt already, and he was certain that Tyler was having it just as bad.

Unlike Tyler, though, Wilbur was more than used to the ocean. Salt in his fur was just another day, and the sounds of the waves beneath them was like a lullaby. Tiger was good at keeping them from being submerged, but she still had to weave and dodge the larger waves. Every one of Tyler's claws was buried deep in her fur, eye wide with vestiges of fear.

Wilbur, on the other hand, was drifting off. He was quite confident of his position on Tiger's back and knew quite well that neither of them were in danger of being thrown off. He let his tail trail in the water, occasionally feeling the gentle brush of the Sea Demon as it searched for food.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Wilbur asked, eyes half-closed as he struggled to keep from nodding off. “She's not gonna drop you, you know. Like I said, she's pretty good with not chucking children into the ocean.”

“I don't have a good history with Giants,” Tyler mumbled. “I'm trying really hard not to hurt her.”

“She'll be fine. Your claws are honestly the cutest things I have ever seen, you're not gonna break skin.”

“Kitten claws like tiny stings,” Tiger added, ears flicking back and sending a few thin drops of water towards Tyler. He let out a small noise of disapproval as they landed on him.

“What's wrong with your history with Giants?” Wilbur said curiously. “Did one kill your whole family or something? What kind of Giants live on the mainland anyway?”

Tyler looked innately uncomfortable, as if this was a subject he was not fond of. He didn't speak for a long moment, and just as Wilbur was giving up the idea of getting a response at all, he finally spoke. “We were... fooled. Into... hunting them. Trying to get home. It was our only hope really.” His voice was sad, but not devastatingly depressed as it so often was. “Honestly... looking back now, it really was a fool's errand. They were, for the most part, innocent.” He twitched, baring a single fang for a moment before settling into a neutral expression. “We killed three of them. I... killed three of them.”

“You- You killed a Giant? Three?” Wilbur couldn't help but be impressed. The Giants were famously the strongest creatures the land had to offer. Tiger was just one of them, but Wilbur's previous experience with the likes of the Sealnado or Quacken had left him with the knowledge of their intense individual strengths. Killing just one was considered impossible, and killing three sounded like the stuff of legends.

Tyler didn't look proud of this fact though. He simply stared hard at Tiger's fur, one finger raised to brush against the coconut tucked against his chest.

“The Moose, the Bearger, and the Dragonfly,” he said softly. “The Moose... it didn't do anything. It was just trying to protect its babies. The Dragonfly... we provoked it. It nearly killed us. The Bearger was the only one that I didn't directly kill, and it was the only one that actually wanted to hurt us. The others two, though...”

“If you don't mind me asking, how in my name did you kill them? Actually, better question, why?” Sure, the Giants were terrifying and incredibly powerful, but for the most part, they tended to stay out of your way unless you actively bothered them. Not only did hunting them sound impossible, it just sounded stupid.

He shrugged loosely. “We were lied to. Wilson, WX and I. We were told it would help us get home. Now... I don't know what we're going to do.” Tyler looked up, eye wide and watery. “There really never was a home for me to get back to; I was doing it for them. And the fighting... it felt good. But now, I don't know. I can't just... not have some sort of goal. If my only reason to keep fighting is to keep living, then what's the point? There's no joy in that. No glory. Just aimless wandering.”

“Then why are you going back? Make a home here. I promise the Archipelago is not as brutal as the Mainland. Sure, we have the Volcano and the occasional magma rain and hurricanes and stuff, but They tend to stay out of our way most of the time. They've got their eyes on the Mainland, not here.”

“Duty, I guess,” Tyler sighed. “The Young Heir can't spend the rest of his life lounging on a island, right? Maybe that's what my goal can be. To fulfill that.” He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “What do I have to do? What... what job do I have to do in order to take that position? To take the Throne?”

“Hmm.” Wilbur tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Honestly, I don't know. The other titles just kind of fit us. Yours is just... eh. A lot of pressure on a kid, huh? But you've got the others, I guess. Maybe you could learn to rely on them a bit more. You've opened up a lot to me, and I have a feeling you have trouble doing that with them. Tell them about what you like, what you dislike, what scares you, stuff like that. Maybe they can help.”

It seemed, once again, that Tyler was not going to response. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his eye was closed tightly. It wasn't until he let out a small hiccup, fur dampening on his upper cheek, that Wilbur realized the boy was crying. With both of his hands pressed against Tiger, he wasn't able to wipe them away, but it seemed like even if he had tried it would have been for naught. Soon, his entire body was trembling with heavy sobs, fangs bared slightly as he clenched his jaw and chin buried in his chest fur.

“Tyler, aw jeez, come on, don't do that.” Wilbur tucked his tail against his side again and shuffled closer to his companion, lightly brushing their shoulders together. Tyler took it as an invitation, immediately collapsing sideways and pressing himself into Wilbur. Wilbur stiffened in response, totally unprepared for this reaction. A moment later, though, he sighed, using his claws to gently tease Tyler's weaker hand away from Tiger Lily's fur. As soon as his arm was free, Tyler transferred his death grip to Wilbur's back and sobbed into the ape's fur. “Um, there there? I don't really do this often. Come on, buddy, why are you crying?”

“I don't wanna go back,” Tyler whimpered. His voice was hoarse and broken. “I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back. Don't wanna go.”

“Then why are you? No one is forcing you.”

“Because I have to. No, I don't. I don't know.” He groaned, claws like pinpricks in Wilbur's shoulders. “My thoughts- don't make sense. I don't know.” His voice cracked, and he appeared to give up trying to explain.

“Okay, hold on, let's get this sorted out. Tiger, mind letting us off at the nearest island for the rest of the day? I think we've got some stuff we need to talk about.”

She did as requested, resting in the shallows of a small beach as Wilbur pulled his companion out of earshot. The boy's sobs had quieted, but he was still sniffling and furiously wiping tears from his cheek.

“What's going on, Tyler?”

Tyler blinked a big, watery eye at him, his face painted with guilt. “I don't know,” he whispered, rubbing his wrist into his eye. “It's like... every day I'm thinking something completely different. One day I want to go back so bad that it hurts, and the next I'm terrified to. I thought- I thought his influence had lessened, but now I'm scared that it's worse than ever. I can't- I can't separate our thoughts.” He turned his face down, one hand drawing lines in the sand and the other gently rubbing against one of his seashells. “I'm scared.”

“Whose influence? Nightmare's?”

If Tyler was surprised by Wilbur's knowledge of the creature, he didn't say anything. He shook his head, whiskers drooping. “I... I guess I have a lot to tell you. About myself.”

“Sure, I do love a good trauma dump.”

And the boy dumped. He spoke softly, hesitantly, as if nervous about sharing this information with Wilbur. His whiskers twitched and claws worked furiously as if he couldn't bear to keep still. He was clearly still upset, but Wilbur couldn't help but feel astonished waves of realization as he explained his situation.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You have a weird duel personality going on, and ever since that weird breakdown you had the other day, it's been... uh, acting really weird?”

“Pretty much,” he said, eye cast away. “I think... one of us wants to go back, and the other doesn't. It's just... really hard to understand what's happening. I don't even know who wants what.”

“Do your other companions know about all of this?”

“Kind of?” Tyler shrugged helplessly. “I mean, they know about the personality thing, I think. I'm pretty sure I've told them before. But I don't think they know how... invasive it is. I try not to... burden them.”

Wilbur let out a heavy sigh, pinching his forehead between two fingers. “Okay, okay. You bottle everything up and then act surprised when it all comes to a head.”

Tyler puffed his cheeks , looking very much like he wanted to say something about that sentiment, but Wilbur cut him off before he could.

“Let me explain this to you.” He looked around until he caught sight of a nearby berry bush. He motioned to Tyler to stay still, collected a handful of the berries from it, and returned. He held one up for the boy to see. “It seems to me that you bottling things up is a defensive mechanism of sort. I definitely noticed that when you first came here. But you opened up rather quickly to me. You didn't try to hide your emotions, and you felt a lot better for a bit, right?” Tyler gave a small nod, and Wilbur sliced the berry in half with a claw, exposing the insides. “Clean. You share, and it makes us both happier.” He handed Tyler one half of the berry, and the boy popped it in his mouth at the same time Wilbur did. “But then you start bottling things up again, and you don't want to tell. The pressure of your emotions, and this other half of yourself, hurts you.” This time, Wilbur pressed a berry between his fingers with force, causing trickles of juice to run down his wrist. “It's messy. Your thoughts get messy. It gets harder to distinguish one from the other. Until.” He smashed the fruit entirely, and red pulp covered the fur on his hands. “You are crushed under it.”

Tyler winced.

“It's dangerous for you to hide this kind of stuff. Especially from the people who might be able to help you. I also think that's why you don't want to go back. You feel seen here, don't you? I call you out when you try to hide stuff and you feel like it means I'm the only one who cares enough to see. Listen, I know all of this because I went through it. I... may have hid things for too long, and when I snapped, a lot of people got hurt. I had to accept parts of myself that I didn't want to for so long in order to find any sort of peace again. Even now, to this day, I'm still struggling a bit to not let any of that happen again. You grow used to it. It's a survival technique, isn't it?”

Tyler shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You need to let them know what's happening to you. How you feel. What you're scared of. You need to accept that part of yourself and stop trying to split it into two separate thoughts.”

“It's not just a part of myself, though!” Tyler blurted. He pulled his arms around himself. “We are two separate people. And we have to keep them apart. There's no telling what would happen if we let them join together.”

Wilbur thought for a long moment. The boy in front of him was clearly scared, his body trembling very slightly and claws digging into his own fur.

“Can I try something?”

“What?”

“You're two separate people, and it sounds to me like you both kind of want to remain two separate people. Right now, right at this very second, who am I speaking to?”

Tyler suddenly became very still, trembling ceasing entirely. “W-what?”

“Am I speaking to a spider, or a human?”

He took in a sharp breath, eye darting around Wilbur's face as if trying to see something in him. He blinked several times, then rubbed his eye with his fist again.

“A human,” he said, very quietly. “I... I think, at least.”

“Then let me speak to the spider.” Wilbur swished his tail, scattering sand. “I want to know what he thinks about this.”

Tyler swallowed heavily, and he chewed on his bottom lip. He nodded slowly and took several deep breaths. “Okay... okay okay, let me try.”

And then, he fell silent. His shoulders slumped for a moment before stiffening once more.

To be honest, Wilbur was seriously debating if this was a good idea. Tyler had explained quite a bit about the spider, but he wasn't sure if the creature could even speak through him like that. They were two separate entities, apparently, but Wilbur had never interacted with the other one. At least... he was fairly sure he hadn't.

But what about when Tyler had started laughing out of nowhere that one time? When he had nearly crumbled to the ground as his entire body quivered with glee. The cruel glint in his eyes, the furious twitch of his whiskers? Had that been the other one in his head?

But they needed to get to the bottom of this issue. Tyler could easily choose to go back, but he didn't want the boy to do something he would regret in the future. If he didn't trust his companions, which it really seemed he didn't, then he didn't want Tyler to suffer because he felt it was his duty. At the same time, though, he didn't want him to feel trapped on the Archipelago when his heart begged to be elsewhere. It would be simply wrong to clip his wings like that.

When Tyler let out a sharp breath, Wilbur snapped his head back up to look at him. His face was twisted now, looking almost in pain, but when he opened his eye, there was a kind of calmness that Tyler rarely showed. His hands opened and closed experimentally, and his breaths were jerky and unnatural.

Still, he rested his gaze on Wilbur, and he somehow managed to look even more disgusted.

“You,” he hissed. Immediately, Wilbur could tell that is voice was harsher, rougher. More like his throat had been rubbed raw by smoke. The faint accent the boy normally had was almost entirely gone.

“Me,” Wilbur agreed. “Are you him?”

Tyler bristled, lip twitching to bare a fang. “He couldn't even tell you my name.”

“I'm assuming it's not Tyler.”

“Honestly, it's been so long since I heard my name used to refer to me rather than him. Please, call me Webber.”

“Webber,” Wilbur repeated, noticing how the spider seemed to relax at it. “So, Tyler told me his story. Why don't you have a turn trauma dumping?”

“There is nothing to share,” Webber growled. “What makes you think you can play therapist, monkey? It won't work. Tyler and I's war goes back further than you might think. Fancy words and 'talking things out' is off the table.”

“Fine, fine. Let's cut to the chase, then.” Wilbur leaned back, carefully watching Webber's claws. He had no idea how violent he might be, and whether or not he might attack. “Tyler said that you are both completely separate, but he's beginning to have trouble distinguishing between the two. Is that true for you as well?”

He scowled. “What does it matter to you?”

“For Pete's sake- is there anything you can give me to work with?”

A grin suddenly grew on his face. He leaned forward, planting his hands in the sand as he shortened the distance between them. “Wilbur, right? They used to talk about you sometimes. Said that you used to be one of Their best servants. What happened? Why did you defect? Were you a little too upset at having blood on your hands?”

Wilbur raised his brow. Now it was getting interesting. “You work with Them? Why, though? Some animals help Them, but most don't. Certainly not spiders. Why are you different?”

“When you watch the world through mirrors for an extended amount of time, you start to get lonely,” Webber jeered. “You took these islands for the King once, didn't you? What happened to that dedication?”

“I learned there were more important things in life,” Wilbur said. “I'm assuming you've never experienced it, especially if you are still working with Them.”

“Tch. You're just as sappy as he is. I'm not here to debate love and loss, monkey. All I want is freedom. To feel the wind in my fur and taste fresh meat on my tongue again. Even now, sensation is... dull. Tyler despises me because he believes I will hurt someone he cares about. But I'm the only reason he's alive. I believe he is the one that wants to go back. He feels connected to his companions, even after everything they've done to him. I want to stay. Perhaps we could try to start a new group. One that can be trusted.”

“You don't trust the others?”

Webber spit. “Tyler is so desperate for attention, he clings to anyone who gives it to him. His robot is dead and he can never trust the scientist ever again. Not after he tortured us and cut our eye out. He will get us killed if he goes back to them.” He winced, one hand rising to his face.

“Are you not wanting to go back because he's destined to overthrow your master?”

“Listen, I'd love to chat more, monkey, but I'm getting quite the headache. He is fighting me quite viciously, and unfortunately, he proves stronger yet again. Maybe next time, we can discuss our shared experiences, mm?”

“Wait-”

Something seemed to drain from Tyler's shoulders, and he slumped forward. He hunched over himself, breathing heavily and cringing as he touched his temple. “Ow, ow, ow,” he mumbled, and Wilbur could tell that it was his friend speaking again. “What does he do to my head ow-”

“Tyler?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's me. Ouch. Seriously, what in the world was he doing in there?” He furiously rubbed a forefinger into his temple, eye squinted into a grimace. “What was the point of that? Did you even get anything useful from him, or was he annoying and cryptic again?”

“Well... I know that he's working with Them,” Wilbur offered. “Other than that... yeah no, annoying and cryptic. He does want to stay here though. He hates your companions.”

“Yeah, I know he does. He's not very secretive about it.”

“And I would jump to 'hey, if he doesn't want to go that means you want to go which means we should', but, he did say something really concerning. I was right about the eye, wasn't I?”

“Obviously,” Tyler snapped. “You said it yourself, it was a knife. I hope he didn't decide to share everything else with you.”

“Tyler... is it even safe for you there? Are you... in danger?”

Tyler stiffened, then forcefully turned his head away, crossing his arms. “No,” he said hotly. “It was... well, there's someone out there who wants me dead really bad, and he tried to get Wilson to do it. But it's not like that anymore.”

There was something very concerning there, but Wilbur knew when he wasn't going to be able to get anything else out of Tyler. Instead of Webber's moment of consciousness relaxing the tension in his shoulders, he now seemed like a string pulled taught and about to snap. That was something that they could come back to later.

Wilbur sighed, finally landing on an idea that might give some insight to the situation. “Listen. I know you've had some trouble figuring out what you want to do and what would be... best. Would you like me to try to get a second opinion?”

Tyler twitched, but a curious glint appeared in his eye. “What do you mean?”

“I have an old... um, friend. She knows a lot about this world and tends to know what is best. I might be able to get through to her, but it's been an awfully long time and I don't know if it'll work. But I can try, if that would make you feel better. How does that sound?”

Tyler seemed to brighten at that idea, but he still seemed cautious. “If... if you can? You've been around long enough, you probably have... people.”

“I do.” Wilbur nodded. “Alright, well, goodnight then.”

“Wha- it's still daytime!”

“Yeah, but my friend will only talk to me when I'm asleep, so if I'm going to even try, I need to take a nice nap.” He stretched, letting the sun soak into his limbs. “This might take awhile. Go have fun or bury yourself in the sand or whatever you feel like doing right now. Maybe talk a bit to your other half and see if you two can agree on literally anything.”

Tyler seemed displeased, but Wilbur chose against saying anything else to him. After all, he had an old friend to try to contact.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 60. The Prime Ape and the Robot

 

 

To be honest, even as Wilbur was falling asleep, he had a feeling something like this would happen. He had angered Nightmare, and the demon's control over Charlie meant that it was almost impossible to talk to one without the other. Wilbur had already guessed that Nightmare would step in to try to prevent him from making contact.

Still, when he dropped into sleep, the last thing he expected was to open his eyes to see a pale-furred, beautiful, painfully familiar prime ape standing above him. Her big blue eyes were wide in amusement, and she had one claw extended as if to poke him awake. “Wakey wakey, sleepyhead,” she purred, nudging her extended claw against his cheek. “You awake, or should I poke you more?” Without even waiting for a response, she poked him again, this time against the forehead. “I could do this all day.”

It took him several minutes to find his voice, but even though he swallowed heavily to rid his mouth of spit, he still choked on the name. “R-Roselyn?”

“Oh good, you're not brain damaged,” she teased. “Honestly, it's easy to get worried about things like that. Considering... you know.” She motioned vaguely towards him, wearing a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

He stared at her for several more moments, mouth uselessly opening and closing, before finally remembering what was happening. “N-no, wait, I need to talk to Charlie.” He pushed his palm against his forehead, chastising himself. Roselyn is dead, Wilbur. You watched her die. This is just a dream.

“Oh what, am I not good enough?” Roselyn wrapped her long tail around her feet and touched Wilbur's nose with the tip of it. “I'm not sure how I feel about you talking to other girls.” She was still grinning, leaning forward until their faces were only a few inches apart. “Why do you need to talk to Charlie?”

For a second, Wilbur almost apologized to the vision. It wasn't until he heard the smallest growl in the name 'Charlie' that he realized that this wasn't just a dream.

Nightmare is purposely stopping me.

“Nightmare, you had a perfect opportunity to show off your namesake, but you went with the 'dream that you don't want to leave' trope?” Wilbur grumbled. “What I want with Charlie is none of your business.” He turned, showing his back towards the fake Roselyn. “If you want to fight me, then fight me. Drop the theatrics!”

“This isn't about that boy again, isn't it, Wilbur?” Came Roselyn's voice from behind. “Have you forgotten about your real child? I can't believe you would have fallen so hard to choose a random kid off the street over your own daughter!”

“Elizabeth is an adult now! She can handle herself!” Wilbur sniped back. “Don't even try that on me!”

He started to march away, but was quickly interrupted by a tiny figure bounding into view. Her fur was darker than Roselyn's, but not by much, and she had deep brown eyes that caught the sunlight. Wilbur immediately stopped, every muscle in his body suddenly freezing as emotions washed over him. The young prime ape lost whatever it was she was chasing into the sand and growled at it, before catching sight of Wilbur staring at her.

“Pa?”

He nearly choked on air. She was as small as the day he last saw her, no longer the muscled adult Nightmare had shown him before. Her tail was still short and stubby, sticking straight up in the air.

Wilbur took a shaky step back. He had to force himself to breathe, but even with forceful attempt he was struggling to get the right amount of air into his lungs. He hadn't chosen anyone over anyone. Elizabeth was an adult. She didn't need his protection anymore. Tyler was still a child, not even old enough to be away from his parents. He chose what he thought was right. But staring into the questioning eyes of this fake version of his daughter, Wilbur suddenly caught himself questioning everything he had done up until this point. Why had he betrayed Maxwell and Nightmare? If he had never stopped helping Them, then Roselyn never would have been killed, and Elizabeth never would have been taken away from him.

But it's not my fault.

He hadn't killed Roselyn. Nightmare had. He had sliced her open from chin to tail and forced him to watch, just out of reach, as she bled to death. He couldn't touch her or hold her as blood pooled around her body, staining her pale fur red, or as her ocean blue eyes desperately sought out saving, as her voice disappeared into harsh gurgling sounds as she choked on blood, as she reached out for him with the last of her energy, begging him to help, as he did nothing-

Commotion snapped him out of the spiral he was collapsing into. Elizabeth saw something over his shoulder and shrieked, scrabbling to run away as a shadow fell over them.

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU NEED ASSISTANCE.”

Wilbur snapped his head to look at the newcomer, decidedly not recognizing the voice like he had expected. He had anticipated to see Nightmare, cackling at his panic or watching calmly as Wilbur spiraled into rage and helplessness. Instead, the person before him was different, a distinctive aura of other coming from him that Wilbur recognized coming from Them. Or death. It was hard to tell.

Wilbur bet on death. He had the clear appearance of a Survivor, one who had quite terribly failed if the hole carved out of his chest meant anything. Still, he had seen many Survivors in his time, and none of them had been robots.

“Who... are you?” He asked hesitantly. “Definitely a Survivor at some point. I don't think I've ever known a Survivor to be able to dream hop, though. Even after death.”

The newcomer was silent for a long moment. The fake Roselyn was gone, as was Elizabeth, leaving Wilbur alone with the stranger. Finally, he answered: “I BELIEVE YOU WOULD KNOW ME BEST AS THE MARTYR.”

“Tyler's friend?” Wilbur said quickly, eyes widening in surprise.

The Martyr shook his head. “PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME HE GOES BY THAT AWFUL NAME NOW.”

“Ouch. Rude friend.”

“YOU CAN SEE WHY WE WERE FRIENDS.”

Fair enough.

“What are you doing here, then? And, um, how are you here? Like I said, it's not exactly a power most people have to still exist in dreams after death.”

“I CANNOT ON MY OWN. CHARLIE SENT ME.”

“Whoa, you're in cahoots with Charlie?”

“WE DO NOT HAVE TIME TO ANSWER EVERY QUESTION YOU MIGHT HAVE,” The Martyr grumbled. “CHARLIE IS CURRENTLY OCCUPIED. IT IS DIFFICULT TO PREVENT NIGHTMARE FROM INFLUENCING WHATEVER IT WISHES, SO MAKE IT SNAPPY, MONKEY.”

“Right. Snappy. Um. Okay so listen. Tyler can't decide if he wants to go back to the Mainland or stay on the Archipelago. I tried to talk to both parts of him- really creepy by the way, don't recommend it- and it appears Webber wants to stay. But Tyler also feels like it's his... job? To go back. I'm worried because he's clearly been hurt before by his companions so I wanted to ask Charlie what the best option was. Charlie can see vague glimpses of splitting timelines so I was hoping she could help us figure it out...?”

The Martyr appeared to think for a moment. “I HAVE HEARD THEM SPEAKING,” he said thoughtfully. “WHEN HE BELIEVES THEY ARE NOT LISTENING. CHARLIE AND I HAVE HEARD SOME OF THESE DISCUSSIONS BETWEEN YOU AND WEBBER, AND SHE HAS SHARED WITH ME THAT HE MUST GO BACK. HOWEVER... YOUR CONCERN IS WARRANTED. THAT IS WHY YOU MUST GO WITH HIM.”

“What? To the Mainland?? You want me to just leave my home of thousands of years for this?”

“I TRUST YOU,” he said simply. “YOU HAVE KEPT HIM SAFE IN MY ABSENCE. I BELIEVE YOU WOULD DEFEND HIM WELL IN THE FUTURE AS WELL. YOU ARE THE ONE TRUE HEIR. UNFORTUNATELY, WE ALL HAVE JOBS THAT MUST BE FULFILLED. YOU BOTH MUST RETURN.”

“Charlie has told you this?” Wilbur demanded. “I get that you were his old friend, but you are still just a Survivor. You don't know what she knows.”

“SHE HAS TOLD ME EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW,” The Martyr snapped. “THE HOST WAS POSESSED. THE SISTER WILL MAKE CONTACT WITH CHARLIE. THE MARTYR WAS KILLED. THE ONE TRUE HEIR AND THE YOUNG HEIR MUST RETURN.”

“And what happens if we don't?” Wilbur challenged. “What happens if we stay?”

The Martyr stared incredulously at him. Almost like Wilbur had offended him deeply in some way and couldn't believe anyone would dare to say those things. “THE WORLD WILL NOT RESET.”

“What??”

“THAT IS ALL I KNOW. THEY TALK ABOUT THE FUTURE. I HAVE HEARD OF SOMETHING THEY CALL A CYCLE. ONE THAT CHARLIE INSISTS MUST BE COMPLETED ONE LAST TIME. UNFORTUNATELY, THOUGH THEIR TONGUES ARE LOOSE IN MY PRESENCE, THEY DO NOT SHARE EVERYTHING.”

“So, once again, we're being told that 'destiny' is forcing us to do something. What if he doesn't want to go back? You're more than happy to just force him to do that? Don't you care at all about his happiness?”

“OF COURSE I DO. I TOLD YOU WHAT I WAS TOLD TO TELL YOU. YOU WANTED ADVICE FROM CHARLIE, AND THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I GAVE YOU.” The Martyr crossed his arms and an annoyed look came over his face. “DO WITH IT WHAT YOU WILL.” He turned as if to walk away, but Wilbur took a hasty step forward.

“Wait.”

The Martyr paused.

“Is... there anything you want me to tell Tyler? Anything you wish you could tell him?”

The Martyr smiled faintly as he turned his head just enough for Wilbur to see his face. “TELL HIM THAT THE THOUGHT IS SWEET, BUT I HAVE NO USE FOR THEM. TELL HIM TO SAVE THEM FOR SOMEONE ELSE.”

Then, Wilbur was waking up.

The sky was darkening, likely just hitting dusk, and Tyler was sitting beside him, poking at a crackling fire with a stick. He must have made some noise to alert him, because Tyler turned to look, eyes glimmering with cautious hope. “Did you talk to them?” He asked, a bit too excitedly.

Wilbur mumbled incoherently as he tried to wake himself up. He felt surprisingly groggy, which was strange considering his visited dreams usually left him wide awake and alert.

“I didn't get to talk to her,” Wilbur finally said, slowly dragging himself into a sitting position. “You got anything to eat? I'm starving.”

“I thought you might be. I just got the fire up, though, so it'll be a bit before there'll be anything cooked. I haven't started, but if you want to go fancy on another dish, by all means go for it.”

“Honestly, a plain cooked crabbit sounds perfect right now.”

Tyler nodded, turning his attention back to the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was soft with disappointment. “So... you didn't get to talk to her?”

“No, but I did talk to someone affiliated with her.”

Tyler perked up at that. “Really? What did they say?”

Wilbur felt the smallest of smiles appear on his face. He waited until Tyler looked back over at him to speak. “He told me to tell you... that the thought was sweet. But... to give them to someone else. Because he couldn't do anything with them.”

Wilbur could sense the boy's piercing gaze flicking across his face as if waiting for the ape to continue. When he didn't, Tyler raised a hand to his mouth, eyes widening and glittering with a suspicious wetness.

“We both have to go to the Mainland. At least, that's what he insisted, and he said that it came from Charlie herself. But if you don't... if you don't want to, or feel able to go back, nobody can force you...”

“He... he still exists?” Tyler asked softly, totally ignoring Wilbur's words. “But... how? He doesn't have a soul. But...” He gasped. “But...! The Ancient Guardian... 'where he was finally gifted his humanity and soul'. He still exists... Webber wasn't lying. I can save him.”

“...Tyler?”

“That decides it,” Tyler said, louder. “If I take the Throne, I can make things right. For my sister, for my family, and for WX. I can... I can fix my mistakes.”

“Tyler-”

“Wilbur, take me as soon as the sun rises.” Tyler's face had grown very serious, very intense. “I'm ready to go back to the Mainland.”

[Pokemaniac5000]

Enjoy some silly doodles I did at work for this story :3

[minespatch]

It's been a while since I've seen your art. You've improved.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 61. A Purpose Unknown

---'s POV

I needed answers.

Dread pooled in my stomach as I marched through the empty halls I was forever cursed to walk through. My footsteps were silent, but I had grown used to that fact by now. It made the entire situation feel so much more ethereal.

With my silent footsteps, the only sounds to be heard for miles were distant wind, battering invisible walls and slipping through paper-thin cracks, and the impossibly faint but ever-present sound of music. There were legends about the echoes of the music. I had heard whispered rumors of the music driving people insane, of its presence meaning certain death. If you heard the ragtime tune, your end was only around the corner.

I snorted in amusement at that thought. Perhaps already being dead meant you were immune to the music's curse. To me, it was just a nuisance nagging at the back of my mind.

If I followed the grinding notes, I would eventually find myself at Maxwell's feet. I had found myself there too many times already. Listening, always listening. Absorbing what information I could. While dream-stepping was not something I had the power to do myself, perhaps the next time Charlie's presence was requested I would have something important to share with them. Something that could turn the tides.

The thought of the woman sent a twinge of annoyance through my chest, and I marched faster along. I tried to ignore Them watching me from all sides. Eyes blinked lazily, watching my path, certainly preparing to report any suspicious activities to Nightmare. Luckily, even though I had only been here for about two weeks, Charlie had already shown me the one place They never dared tread. It was where I figured she would be now.

I called it the Prison. It was hidden in the shadows, impossible to see unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. With my prior knowledge, I immediately found the entrance and stepped inside, leaving Their prying eyes behind a door that was far too heavy for its size.

Distant whimpering came to my attention, but I tried to brush it off. They stayed far away from this place, but that didn't make it any more welcoming. The lighting was dim, and it only illuminated the areas around the walkway, leaving the path itself completely dark. It was as if each of the cages lining the hall had its own little spotlight, just bright enough to cast shadows and reveal their shapes, but not enough to provide proper vision.

Whispers crowded around me, tones ranging anyway from curious to furious.

“Who is that?”

“Look at that wound. He's a Survivor.”

“Why isn't he trapped as well?”

“Hey buddy, wanna let me out, myeh? I promise I'll make it worth your while~”

“Let me out let me out lET ME OUT!”

I hated it in here, almost as much as I hated being under Their watch, but this was where Charlie was much of the time when not dragged into dirty deeds by her other half.

Surely enough, I found the woman crouched in front of one of the cages, inside of which held the source of the whimpering. A small shape was curled in the center of the cage, hands clasped over the sides of its head as it cried out in pain and misery.

“Please, please, friends are hurting. Let me help! Please, I hurt too. Friends hurting hurt me. Please please please-”

“CHARLIE,” I called sharply before she could respond to the figure. The woman glanced at me, face creasing in concern, before shaking her head at me quickly and turning her attention back to the creature.

“I know, I know. I promise, those things aren't happening anymore, Wormwood. You're okay, it's not real, it's not happening right now.”

The creature uncurled just enough for clawed hands to grab at its chest, where it looked like a massive crater had been torn into its green skin. If my own experience applied here, that had been the wound to kill it.

“Friends, can save friends. Wortox! Wilba! Let me help-”

“WX, you shouldn't be here,” Charlie said softly, hand still between the bars of the cage and resting on the creatures head. When she gently stroked its forehead, it leaned into her touch like a cat, choking on sobs and pleas. “I promise, I'll be out in a bit. Wormwood is having some... troubles again, today.”

“YOU ARE NOT MY SUPERIOR,” I huffed. “I SHALL GO WHERE I WANT.”

“Well, actually, yes I am. And fine, if you want to be in the most miserable place in existence, then be my guest. Just don't blame me if they start getting violent.”

I glanced back down the corridor, noticing dozens of eyes watching me. The cages were made with thin golden bars and suspended a few feet off of the ground. There was no ceiling that could be seen, so they appeared to float in mid air. Each cage held a prisoner, each sporting brutal wounds or trophies of harsh climates. A young woman clutched her abdomen, where a massive wound sliced her nearly in half but ceased to bleed. An imp, the one who had tried to bribe me to let him out, was trying to pick the lock to his cage, but was having tremendous trouble with a broken hand and missing eye.

I turned back to her, trying to block their stares from my mind. “I WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU.”

“Let me guess, about Wilbur?” Charlie sighed. “Unfortunately, WX, that's really not something we can discuss here.”

“IS IT SAFE FOR THEM AT ALL ON THE MAINLAND?” I demanded, ignoring her attempt to delay the conversation. “I WILL NOT SENTENCE HIM TO DEATH.”

“It's necessary,” Charlie responded coolly. Wormwood appeared to be calming down now, drifting off almost under her gentle scratches, and she stood to her full height in preparation to leave. “Trust me when I say we should discuss this outside. The people here are good, but they deeply envy your freedom. I don't want anything bad to happen here. Plus... this is nothing They don't know already.”

I nodded once, allowing her to lead me out. Harsh whispers followed me, some commenting on the freedom I had that they were denied, others commenting about the hole in my chest. A couple tried to talk to me, almost like starting an actual conversation, but I responded to none of them. They were Survivors once, just like me, but Charlie was right in saying they envied my position.

Why am I free? Why are they trapped after death and I am simply allowed to roam with Charlie?

As soon as the room was behind us, Charlie let out a heavy sigh. Her shoulders drooped, as if carrying the weight of the world, which she likely was. “This is how things have to be. He won't die on the Mainland, I promise.”

“WHAT IF THEY DON'T GO?” I argued. “WHY DOES THE WORLD HAVE TO RESET?”

Around us, They shifted. The eyes in the darkness sharpened, and anger rippled through Them.

“We live in a neverending cycle, WX-78,” Charlie said. “Again and again and again, these things have to happen. Around and around the timeline goes. There is no 'what if's. It will happen.”

“DOES FREE WILL MEAN NOTHING?”

“Free will means nothing in the grand scheme of things. You had free will. You had a choice, and you chose to give your life for Webber. Nobody forced you to do that. It just happens that that was exactly what the timeline needed to happen.”

I bristled.

“There's no reason to ponder about different decisions. They simply would not have happened. Maybe if they had, the timeline would have broken. I assure you, WX-78, this is the best timeline.”

“WHAT AWAITS THEM ON THE MAINLAND?”

“I don't know.”

“HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?” I protested. “IF THIS SERIES OF EVENTS HAS ALREADY PLAYED OUT, THEN WHY CAN YOU NOT JUST TELL US HOW THIS ENDS?”

“Because I don't know. I can't see events that have yet to happen in this timeline.” Charlie pressed her hand against her forehead as if trying to stave off a headache.

“WHY IS WEBBER THE ONE THAT HAS TO TAKE THE NIGHTMARE THRONE? IT COULD BE ANYONE ELSE. WHY HIM?”

“He's something more than the others. You should know that.”

“HE'S A CHILD,” I snapped. “WHY COULD IT NOT BE WILSON? OR WINONA? OR EVEN WILBUR?”

“That's not a question I can answer,” Charlie said. “I don't know, WX.”

“THEN WHO CAN ANSWER IT? WHO ARE YOU TO SAY THAT HE HAS TO TAKE THE THRONE?”

“I was not the one who spoke of your destiny.” Charlie seemed to be getting annoyed now. Yet, I had a feeling it wasn't me she was getting annoyed with. Perhaps she was just as angry about the future as I was. “If you really want to know the answers to that, the Ancient Guardian is who you would need to speak to.”

That gave me pause. Flashes of that final battle appeared in my mind. The crystal clear decision to take that hit, and the blurry memories that followed directly after. The Ancient Guardian was the one to speak of our titles, wasn't he? I shivered at the thought of going back there, of facing the creature that had killed me in the first place.

“I can take you there, if you wish.”

“DO IT,” I said before I could hesitate. I was not afraid of the Ancient Guardian. Killing me had done nothing but given me a new type of life. I did not hold a grudge for that.

“The Ancient Guardian is the only one who will be able to see you,” Charlie warned.

“GOOD.” I didn't want to be interacting with anyone else. I had an opportunity to get answers, and I had every intention of getting those answers.

…

It had only been a couple of weeks, but being on the Mainland felt completely foreign to me. I glanced down, noting my transparent skin and the way the grass refused to bend under my weight. I was in the middle of a forest, the canopy above my head so thick that sunlight struggled to puncture it. It would be a bit of a journey to get down to the caves. Why had Charlie dropped me here instead of closer to the Ancient Guardian? I had to shrug the question off- I likely wouldn't be getting a good answer to that.

I moved forward, hoping to find some sort of landmark that I could identify. If I could just figure out where I was, then I could find my way down. I moved my hands to make the motions of pushing bushes and undergrowth out of the way, but I simply passed right through all of it. Things refused to move under my touch.

When I finally broke free of the forest, I immediately recognized the hills in front of me. Holes dotted the landscape, and I remembered a time when my weight had been enough to cause me to fall through the ground here. I found myself snorting in amusement at the memory. Luckily, though, that meant I was closer to the labyrinth than I had first thought.

I made the journey in silence. I could hear distant wind far above my head and water dripping somewhere nearby. All around me, creatures thriving in the darkness scuttled across the floor, from hissing spiders to grumbling moleworms.

When I found myself at the labyrinth again, I hesitated. Before, Webber had led us through the maze, eye closed and whiskers trembling furiously. Would I even be able to find my way through the twisting corridors? I brushed my hand against the wall, shivering at the lack of feeling as my hand passed through it-

I nearly facepalmed.

Duh.

I was incorporeal. The walls meant nothing to me.

I pushed my way deeper into the labyrinth, passing through walls as if they didn't even exist. I noticed as the ground grew darker, the streaks of red passing through turning brighter, the static-y feeling of something permeating the air.

I passed through a final wall and found myself in an achingly familiar chamber.

Lit by the glow of hundreds of white flowers stood the Ancient Guardian.

He was missing an eye now, I noticed immediately, a scar gained from our battle. In the moments before he noticed me, I was able to take in his appearance, so different from the last time I laid 'eyes' on him. His fur was no longer gray, and was instead a sandy tan shade. He had pupils, or, a pupil rather, constricted against the light of the flowers. His horn was a polished silver, and his fur seemed to glimmer in the lights. No longer was this a creature consumed by darkness, this was a creature who had been completely purified. A creature once soaked in shadows that now thrived in the light.

“Greetings, Martyr.”

The Ancient Guardian did not look at me. Did not even seem to outwardly acknowledge my presence. Yet his voice rang clear and true, echoing in the stony cave.

“I did not expect to see you again.”

“I DID NOT EXPECT TO BE HERE AGAIN.”

As I spoke, he turned to face me. He had a certain youthful appearance, something that I wouldn't expect for someone quite literally called 'Ancient'.

“You have questions that you believe only I can answer. And... perhaps I can.”

I straightened my shoulders, even though I instinctively wanted to shrink away from his gaze. It was hard to be under its scrutiny without remembering the last time we stood face-to-face. “WHAT IS OUR PURPOSE?”

“Your purpose?” He sounded amused. “Is that truly the question you want to ask?”

“YES.”

“Your purpose,” he said after a long moment. “Is to bring this world to its end.”

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

“To fulfill the destinies laid out for you at the beginning of time.”

“ARE YOU ONLY CAPABLE OF SPEAKING IN CRYPTIC PROPHECIES?” I snapped, quickly growing annoyed. “WHY DOES THAT FALL ONTO US? WHY WOULD 'DESTINY' DEMAND A CHILD TO TAKE THE NIGHTMARE THRONE?”

“That is the root of your anger, is it not?” The Ancient Guardian chuckled. “Your anger lies not with me. Not with your destiny. You do not even feel anger about your own fate. Why are you so determined to save the Young Heir?” He shook his head and continued before I could interrupt. “Your purpose has already been fulfilled. Your sacrifice was just the next step in the final journey. It was never your duty to protect the Young Heir. So why, robot, are you so determined to do so?”

I clenched my fists. I struggled to keep my arms from shaking as I replied. “I CARE FOR HIM. HE WAS... MY FRIEND. HE CALLED ME HIS FAMILY.”

“You are just a robot,” he pointed out. He still sounded sharply amused. “You were not built to have friends or family. You were built to die, Martyr.”

“YOU ARE WRONG... BUT I WILL NOT ARGUE WITH YOU. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAS TO HAPPEN TO STOP THIS. I DO NOT WANT WEBBER ON THE NIGHTMARE THRONE.”

“Then prepare to be disappointed.”

I glared daggers at the Ancient Guardian, daring him to continue. Charlie had insisted that it was impossible to stop this, and now even the Ancient Guardian was implying that. A small, nagging feeling of doubt chewed at the back of my mind.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe that's simply the way this has to end.

I closed my 'eyes' for a long moment, then turned on my heel to leave. I had no further business with the Ancient Guardian, then, if that was how this conversation was to pan out.

“Martyr, wait.”

I paused, but did not turn to face him.

“The future is hazy. Uncertain. Perhaps it can be changed, if the Young Heir's determination ends up stronger than fate itself. If you must depart, at least accept an apology from me.”

That was enough to catch my attention once more. The Ancient Guardian had produced an amulet, which laid at its feet. His gaze was steady on me, and he used the tip of his horn to push it closer to me. I took it by the chain, dangling the bright stone in front of my 'eyes' to get a better look. It was red, but not the kind of red that makes you think of passion and love. It was a deep red, the red of blood and infected wounds. The kind of red that stains a grisly battlefield, or drips out of a slit throat and takes all life along with it. Simply holding the amulet made me think of violence and bloodshed.

And yet, it pulsed with a sort of hope. The run rising after a night of terror. An ecosystem that survived off of the corpse of a dead animal.

Immediately, I was reminded of the amulet that Webber now wore, in the way that this was its complete opposite.

“A life-giving amulet,” The Ancient Guardian explained softly. “Raw life force... and an infinitely powerful tool. One of the only known ways of cheating death.”

I clutched the chain harder, and my hand shook under the pressure.

“It will not work on you,” he continued as if noticing my reaction. “You have no life to give. Yet... perhaps, it will aid you in the future nonetheless.”

I took a step forward, the necklace still dangling from my hand. Flowers sprouted all around me.

“I truly believe, Martyr, that if anyone can change the tides, it is your group.”

Another step. Another explosion of flowers. They stretched beyond my peripheral vision, bursting from the ground triumphantly and quickly consuming the white light that previously bathed the chamber.

“After all.”

I plucked one of the flowers, holding it gingerly between two fingers. It was blue and glowed softly. Its petals drooped dramatically, forming shapes that resembled raindrops falling to the ground. I pulled it closer towards myself. The simple act of holding it seemed to form so many emotions within my chest, as if the flower itself was a wellspring of bittersweet loss.

“The fate of the world lies in your hands.”

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 62. Living On

 

Webber's POV

Wilbur was unnaturally quiet during the trip. I glanced at him more than once, waiting for him to say something, but he never even met my gaze. He stared intensely down at Tiger Lily's fur beneath his claws.

His uncharacteristic silence left me with my thoughts. I leaned forward until I was lying on my stomach on Tiger's back and closed my eyes for a long moment. Something in my chest ached, but it wasn't the same kind of crystal-sharp pain I was familiar with. It was more muted than that, like a wound that healed badly and would never quite be the same.

For too long, I had believed that WX had been permanently erased from existence. Wilson had come back, sure, but Wilson was also human. He had a soul, something that represented him even when his body was dead. I had believed that wasn't true for WX. The title that had been gifted to him from the start, “The Soulless Automaton”, had reflected that belief.

And yet, Wilbur had spoken to him.

Wilbur had spoken to him, and I knew that he had because he mentioned the seashells, which I hadn't said a word of to Wilbur himself. My claws brushed against the surface of the coconut in the crook of my elbow, holding the sizable collection.

Give them to someone else, because he couldn't do anything with them.

Not that I was going to listen to that, simply because it would break my trend of not listening to what he told me to do.

Across from me, Wilbur seemed to be almost drifting off. His tail dragged slightly in the water, the only ripples to be seen with how smoothly Tiger glided through the calm ocean. I rested my cheek against her fur and closed my eyes.

“Tyler?” Wilbur started. His voice was lazy, as if he was on the verge of sleep and trying to fight it off.

“Mmm?”

“You know how I told you that...they wanted me to go with you?”

I blinked up at him. It was difficult to make out his shape against the bright sky. WX had told him that we both needed to go to the Mainland. The thought of it brought a sort of light joy to my chest, but I also knew that Wilbur was not fond of the idea. And honestly, I couldn't blame him.

I waved him off. “Don't worry about it, Wilbur. I understand. This is your home. I promise, I'll be safe on the Mainland by myself-”

“Oh no, I'm totally wanting to go with you,” he interrupted. “I just... well, I thought maybe I should tell you some things before I do. Just... so that I'm not hiding anything from you.”

That woke me up. “Hiding anything? What do you mean?”

“I just... I want you to know everything about me. So you can decide if you trust me enough to go to the Mainland.”

“I...” I frowned. “Why wouldn't I trust you? You've done nothing but help me, Wilbur! You don't have to tell me anything.”

“I do,” Wilbur argued. “Because my last group didn't just die from natural causes. I killed them.”

…

It was impossible to tell if the electricity in the air came from the storm that was brewing above, or the intensity of what was happening on the ground below. Every inch of Wilbur's body was shaking with violent tremors as he backed away from his mate, dead on the ground beside him. His fur was entirely soaked in her blood, the fatal wound given to her by Nightmare transferring into real life. So much blood, so much blood, it was all he could smell. “R-Roselyn?” He croaked. Her eyes were wide open but glazed over, frozen into a final expression of terror.

“Wilbur? Wilbur, what's going on?” Walani was the one to speak. She pushed herself into a sitting position, face creased into a scowl. It seemed to take her a moment to figure out what was happening, but he saw the moment it clicked in her head. She scrambled back, jostling Warly from his sleep, and pointed an accusatory finger at Wilbur. “Wh-What did you do to her? What's going on?”

Wilbur's trembling turned into something different. Twitches. Little electrical impulses that jerked his limbs slightly, pins and needles exploding wherever they touched. Did Walani think that he had killed Roselyn? The thought should have made him angry, but instead, inexplicable laughter bubbled up in his chest. He had grown so comfortable with this life. Waking up every day curled around his daughter, his mate wrapped around her other side. Watching arguments break out between his companions, only to be solved minutes later as one or both parties dissolved into giggles. This wasn't somewhere you were supposed to be happy living.

By the time Warly was coming to his own senses from having just woken up, Wilbur's giggles had dissolved into a full-on laughing fit.

“This,” he managed to squeeze out in between breaths. “This is exactly why you should never get comfortable here. You never know who you're traveling with.” He dug his claws into the ground. His vision was dotting with black now with how hard it was for him to breathe between laughter. “Did you never think about how strange it was that Woodlegs was supposedly killed by something that left me entirely unscathed? That worthless waste of space must really be living it up in the volcano right now, assuming he's still alive, which I'm sure he isn't.”

He took a step forward, paws splashing in Roselyn's blood. Somehow, that made the situation even more hysterical. Wilbur clutched his stomach, his knees failing him as the fit renewed. He felt separated from his body, yet all-too-present at the same time.

“Roselyn?” Warly whispered, horrified. “But-but- you- you loved her-”

“More than anything!” Wilbur agreed enthusiastically. “I didn't lay a claw on her! But here she is, dead all the same! All because I'm such a fool. A fool, a fool~” His voice pitched into a singsong tune as his laughter finally started to fizzle out. “I got so comfortable, I couldn't even see what was happening until it's too late.”

“Wilbur,” Walani said cautiously. Her anger seemed to have turned into cautious terror, and she was holding a hand out as if to placate him. “Wilbur, tell us what is going on, now.”

“Oh, it's really simple. Nightmare told me to kill all of you, and I didn't! Wasn't that just stupid of me? Oh goodness, it's all my fault isn't it! Woe is me, to the Monkey King! Now now, what to do next?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then bounced closer to the terrified duo. He jumped onto Warly's shoulders, ignoring the chef's scream as he did so. Wilbur drew one claw gently over Warly's neck, not nearly hard enough to break skin but enough to get the point across. “Death really seems to be on the menu tonight! How have you always wished to die, 'Wally', hmm? Go out in a blaze of glory? Or peacefully in your sleep? I promise I can make it your dream ending.”

Pain blossomed across Wilbur's face as something hit him, launching him from Warly's shoulders. Walani grabbed Warly's arm and pulled him backwards, given that Warly definitely did not seem capable of making the movement himself. He was completely frozen save for the violent tremors overtaking his limbs.

“Die fighting, Walani?” Wilbur guessed, smile growing unnaturally large. “Why, what a good choice.”

…

Nausea rolled in my chest as Wilbur fell silent. He wasn't meeting my eyes, but rather staring decisively down at his claws. They were clean now, but I could almost see the blood that had once soaked them. When Wilbur did finally look up at me, he still didn't meet my gaze. Rather, he seemed to have fixed his eyes on my left cheek. Telling the story seemed to have taken a lot out of him, for he slumped hard against Tiger Lily's back.

“Wilbur...”

“Isn't that just a nightmare, Tyler?” Wilbur said softly. “I know I still have nightmares about it. That... insanity. I just...” He sighed. “They're dead because of me, Tyler. I killed them. And I... it was awful. I just wanted you to understand why it might not be... best... for me to be part of a group again.”

The story would have terrified me. It should have terrified me. And yet, I felt nothing but a sick sense of understanding. I clenched my claws and chewed on the inside of me cheek, struggling to find words for my response. Wilbur seemed to take this as some sort of rejection, because he turned his head away and sighed.

“I'll still take you to the Seaworthy. Say some final goodbyes, you know?”

“What happened then?”

Wilbur froze. I saw his ears twitch as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “What?”

I took a deep breath and carefully examined the angles of his face. Perhaps I would have been more scared, if it didn't sound far too much like something I felt like could happen to me. I had looked terror and grief in the eye, and in many of those moments, I now realized, I could have easily snapped like Wilbur.

Oh stars... I had snapped like Wilbur.

I knew what it was like to collapse into total bloodlust. I knew it all too well. The battles against the giants, yes, but those had been fits brought on by Webber's influence. Not my own. When I had lost someone, though. Someone who meant so much to me, someone who I trusted more than anything else...

The desperate, haggard scream as I tore into the Ancient Guardian. I wanted blood. I needed blood. I craved nothing more than to see the great beast fall at my hands, and then some. I wanted to destroy it, to turn it into something unrecognizable. My body was numb, but that didn't stop me from moving. Fighting. Wanting to kill, kill, kill, KILL-

“When... WX died,” I started shakily. I had to swallow hard to keep myself from choking, but that didn't stop my voice from cracking. I breathed in and out slowly, then tried again. “When WX died, I... I felt that too. I just wanted to see blood spilled by me. A life that I chose to destroy, rather than having a life taken away from me. So I... I understand, Wilbur. I've been so lost since then, so I... want to know. What happened then?”

Wilbur fully turned to look at me, eyes wide and concerned. A moment later, his expression melted into something closer to guilt and misery. “Well... I honestly... I don't remember, Tyler. It was a blur for so long.” He raised a hand, threading his claws through his fur. “I tried to find my daughter, but... I don't remember if I ever succeeded. It's just a daze, Tyler. I felt like I had been stripped of everything that made me me. I had nothing anymore, and so much of it I had lost at my own hand. I made a deal with Them, and I broke it, and I paid the price. So I lost Roselyn. And it was my own fault. I lost Elizabeth, and I felt like I deserved it. Since I couldn't look my enemy in the face, and since I was useless against Nightmare, I destroyed everyone around me just to... well, like you said. I wanted to choose who lived or died. I wanted to destroy lives, just like I felt mine had been destroyed.

“But,” he continued, face curling into the softest of smiles. “Then, I met you.”

“Me?” I repeated, mystified. “But... what do I have to do with your story?”

“You're a special kid, Tyler,” Wilbur purred, and I couldn't stop the warmth blossoming in my chest. “You're so young, and yet, you command the world around you. Perhaps not literally, but you get my point. The Young Heir isn't just fancy words, Tyler, and that power, that energy, it flows off of you. To me, you represent something special.” Wilbur's smile grew, his eyes growing more determined by the moment. “You represent the end of this. You don't bow to your destiny; you make your destiny bow to you. You represent the future. You represent everything this world needs and more. And... I couldn't be more proud to say that you have been my friend. You've helped me more than you could ever imagine. I just hope that... I've helped you in the same way.”

“W-Wilbur-” I choked, but found that my throat couldn't produce words. I raised my weak hand to my throat, then to furiously rub at my eyes. Unfortunately, that wasn't nearly enough to stop the sudden flood of tears as Wilbur's words warmed me to the core. I had never thought of my title in such a positive light. I had never thought of myself in such a positive light. “Wilbur, we're both awful people,” I managed to choke out in between alternating sobs and giggles, smile so wide my cheeks hurt.

“On the contrary, I'm beginning to believe that bloodlust is a reasonable reaction to grief,” Wilbur replied, waving his hand as if it was a trivial matter.

“It is not,” Tiger Lily helpfully supplied, causing Wilbur to jump a solid foot in the air and scrabble to gain steady ground again.

“You were LISTENING!?” He shouted. The ape buried his face in his hands, groaning as his cheeks turned red from embarrassment. “Great, now nobody will respect me! Tell them that I murdered this kid, please Tiger? For my reputation?”

When my tears didn't seem like they were going to come to a stop, I bit into my dead hand in hopes of at least quieting the wholly unimpressive sobs erupting from my chest. Wilbur noticed this and rolled his eyes, still with that grin plastered on his face, and scooted closer to me. “Oh come on, you know you want to.” He opened his arms to me, brows raising. I didn't hesitate. I immediately threw myself against him and buried my face into his shoulder.

“You've- You've done so much for me!” I cried. I knew that words couldn't properly express my gratitude, but I tried my best. “I didn't know what to do with myself, Wilbur! I- I thought I was gonna die just because I couldn't take care of myself. You saved me, Wilbur,” I added softly.

“That makes both of us then.” He hugged me back and rested one hand on the back of my head.

We stayed like that for probably a bit too long, yet I couldn't bring myself to let go. To think, the very first thoughts I had about the One True Heir had been nothing but negative. The thoughts against him could have been fueled by rage, but looking back, I knew they were fueled by terror. I was scared, terrified, of anyone else. I wanted to be alone. I felt like I deserved to be alone.

Would I even still be here if I had remained alone, though?

Would I have simply allowed myself to waste away?

No use thinking about that, I told myself harshly. Especially because when I shifted a little bit, and Wilbur in turn repositioned himself to be more comfortable, the ape's soft words reassured me more than anything else.

“I will not lose another child.”

And so, I was Wilbur's.

In the past, I had crawled towards the idea of family. I craved the parental guidance I had lost when I had been consumed. I wished for sibling rivalry or companionship so much that my chest cramped at the mere thought of love. I had grasped for straws, forcing myself to see love wherever there was caring or consideration. I clung to adults, praying for nothing more than to be noticed and cared for. My desperation had led me to positives, yes, but negatives more than anything else. My trust in Wilson had been shattered, so soon after convincing myself that he was the guidance I needed to be whole.

I knew now that Wilson didn't love me. He cared about me, yes, in the way an adult cares about a child they have to take care of. He trusted me, perhaps, as a companion and a fellow survivor. But at the end of the day, he never saw anything in me. He never saw me as anything more than a companion, that also happened to be a child.

It was so clear now, so obvious that I felt stupid not seeing it before. Because Wilbur, this ridiculous monkey, who murdered and lied and performed who knows what other kind of terrible crimes, who spoke to Webber and knew both sides of me, who knew that I held dark secrets that he couldn't even begin to imagine, loved me.

“I love you, Wilbur,” I whispered, digging my claws into his short fur. I felt him stiffen beneath me, but only a short second later he softened.

“I love you too, kid.”

…

The sand felt soft beneath my feet, and I couldn't help but immediately collapse onto it. “Oh thank the heavens solid ground.” I laughed lightly, even thought the sentiment wasn't entirely false. Sand wasn't exactly 'solid', but it was better than shifting waves.

“I guess this is goodbye then, Tiger Lily,” Wilbur said to his old rival. There was a sort of nostalgic smile on his face as he spoke to the Giant, who purred in response.

“Good riddance,” she chuckled. “Silly Wilbur finally gone. The island shall prosper.”

He blew a raspberry at her. “You're gonna miss me, you know. What, no begging for me to reconsider? 'No, Wilbur, we'll miss you so much! You can't leave forever!'”

“Cannot wait for Wilbur to leave,” Tiger said instead. Wilbur scoffed in faux indignation.

I watched their interaction with a soft smile. I was scared to leave the archipelago behind; not because of what I had missed, but rather, what the future held. Going back to the Mainland meant facing my destiny as the King of the Nightmare Throne. It meant leaving behind any last opportunities to turn tail and flee. To forget about everything that had ever happened there and spend the rest of my life far away from those old problems.

Yet, it also meant something better could be coming. Once I took the Throne, I could do so much for the world. I could fix so many things, bring families back together, do everything I wished I had been able to do when I was younger. And this time, I wasn't at it alone. Wilbur stood by my side, having finally said his final goodbyes to Tiger Lily and leaving the Giant to swim away. He shot me a giddy smile, then bounced forward. “This way.”

The Seaworthy, the thing that was my one ticket back to the Mainland, was underwhelming. It had the appearance of an old, broken-down carnival ride, with cheap wooden waves lining the sides of a poorly built boat on a machine. Assuming it worked like the ride it was based on, it would likely be designed to bounce and move, as if sailing on turbulent waves. I swallowed hard, facing down this decision and the knowledge that this was one-way. The freedom that the archipelago offered me would be gone forever.

“Are you ready?” Wilbur asked, climbing onto the padded seat of the silly ride.

I took one final glance behind me. Coming here, I had been miserable and in the throes of grief. I had wanted nothing more than to lie down and never wake up again. To forget about the world and all of the terrible things in it. But I recognized now that the world wasn't all terrible, and it was my job to make it the best it could be. I smiled softly, then turned back to him and took the hand he offered me to help me up.

Immediately, I was hit with an undeniable exhaustion. It rang through my bones, making gravity feel like it suddenly became ten times stronger.

“Let it take you,” Wilbur advised, clearly giving into the sleepiness as well. “When you wake up, you'll be home.”

Home.

What a simple word, that seemed so out of reach.

I closed my eyes, and let the Seaworthy take me.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 63. For the Future

 

 

Webber's POV

My whole body itched. It was the first thing I noticed. For a moment, I found myself fluttering on the edge of consciousness, but my grasp on it was shaky. I chose not to fight it, giving my body the rest it was desperately craving.

My palm burned like fire as blood dripped from the self-inflicted wound. I shook the injured hand furiously, attempting to shoo away the sting that had settled, but rather found myself scattering droplets of ruby red blood as I did so. I dropped the rock that, up until then, had been clutched in the opposite hand, and forced my attention forward.

I couldn't help the burst of pride that glowed in my chest as I examined my handiwork. It was certainly not something I could have created on my own, but with the Shadowed Man's- Maxwell, as he had introduced himself to me- hand guiding me, I had completed the machine he had requested of me.

It was taller than myself, and when I teased at my recent memory to figure out how I had managed to get to the highest reaches of it, I found only blankness. Not that it was something I wasn't accustomed to. It was easy for me to block out things I didn't want to remember. At discovering the empty spot, I immediately let it go, knowing that prying only made things worse.

I heard clapping from behind me. Slow, but almost proud in its beat. Glowing, I turned to face the direction of the sound, only to find that there was an actual figure where there once was none. Up until this point, I had never actually seen Maxwell. Rather, I had sensed him, heard him, felt his hand brush on my shoulder or head more than once as if attempting to pet me, or maybe ruffle my hair. Now, though, I saw a distinct shape, a figure were the shadows converged into the silhouette of a tall man. I couldn't see his eyes, or really any of his facial features, but I honestly didn't care. I was far too excited.

“What a show!” Maxwell praised, still clapping slowly. “And what an achievement, pal. I do believe you are the youngest to had ever succeeded in completing my door! How old are you now, boy?”

“Seven.”

“Seven years old! Your spirit truly shines through.” Maxwell stepped closer, one shadowed hand raising to touch the surface of the door.

“You said that... that this would help me be with my family again?” I asked hopefully.

He paused, his opposite hand raising to cradle his chin. “Hmm, well, perhaps not your family, but I don't think the specifics count, right?”

I bristled. “You said that you would bring me back to my family if I did this for you! I did it- now let me go home!”

“Unfortunately, pal, that ship has sailed.” Maxwell turned his face in my direction, and I couldn't help but feel as if he was grinning at me. “They've moved on. They grieved, they recovered, they moved on. They don't want you anymore. You've changed so much since the last time they saw you anyway- you're not the boy they once knew. Even if you went back, and they accepted you for your... appearance... do you think they would take you as you are?”

I bared my fangs at him, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

“I'm not heartless, though,” Maxwell continued as if I hadn't reacted. “You want to be with people again. Fine then. I will give you to people who... might accept you.”

“You lied,” I snarled.

“Tough,” Maxwell snapped back. “This is the deal you are being dealt now. If you want to start again, try to work your way up far away from here, then pull that lever. If you want to spend the rest of your life suffering, within reach of your family but well aware they would destroy you if they ever saw you, destined to slowly starve to death until you succumb to the wilderness before you reach age ten... well, walk away.”

“And what if I come back? What if I leave and decide that I would rather die here than survive elsewhere?” I demanded. My voice was tight with rage, my breaths deep and hot with anger.

Maxwell waved a single hand as if brushing off the issue. “Doors go both ways, you know. You might have to look a little bit, but it'll be there somewhere. I assume.”

I stared hard at the machine, claws trembling at my side.

“Well?”

I raised one hand, resting it on the lever.

“Pal?”

And I pulled it down.

The itching was back, but now it was accompanied by a burning sensation on the back of my neck. I let out a short hiss of frustration, lifting my hand enough to rub the offended spot only to notice that it wasn't burning from heat. Rather, it was burning from an intense chill. As I pondered the peculiar realization, something wet and freezing pressed into the same spot, letting out a long, high-pitched whimper.

I cracked my eye open, intending to shoo off whatever creature was bothering my sleep, only to catch sight of a familiarly icy coat, and the furiously wagging tail of an ice hound.

“...Popsicle?” I murmured questioningly, pushing myself onto my elbows. As soon as I noticeably woke up, the hound yipped and cried, feet tapping happily as he circled me and licked my face. A giggle bubbled up in my throat as he pushed me back until I was sitting properly and he was able to climb into my lap. His front paws pressed into my chest, still tapping up and down and his tail was wagging so hard that his entire body shook with its force. My giggles erupted into laughter as he nuzzled into my neck, cold nose burying into warm black fur.

“Your hound has a weird accent,” a voice piped up from somewhere nearby. I instinctively flinched, but quickly caught sight of Wilbur sitting nearby. He looked equally as exhausted as I felt, eyes still drooping and tail only twitching slightly at the end. “But you were right in saying that he absolutely adores you.”

I tipped my head at the ape, considering his words. “Accent?” I echoed.

“Did you forget I can speak hound?” Wilbur teased faintly, flicking one hand. When Popsicle yipped again, Wilbur chuckled. “In case you were curious, his name for you is Snap. Snappy. I don't know, one of those.”

I felt my face grow warm at the name, gazing down at the excited little hound in my lap. “You have a name for me?” I asked, mystified.

“This is a sweet moment, really, but you should probably pay some attention to the time of day and where we are.” Wilbur took a moment to stretch each of his limbs as he yawned. “It's probably not best to be in the middle of nowhere when night hits. Especially when we've come all this way, it would just be a waste.”

“Right!” I jumped to my feet, pulling Popsicle up in my arms with me. For a moment, I swayed on my feet as blood rushed to my head, but Wilbur steadied me.

“Shatter probably knows where your companions are, unless you need a moment to, ah, prepare?”

“Shatter?”

“The hound.”

I stared incredulously down at Popsicle again, the puppy's tongue now lolling out of his mouth as he started to tire himself out. “His name is Shatter??”

“Listen, I can translate a nice conversation between you two later, okay? We're here.” Wilbur opened his arms, beckoning to the area around him. The familiarity of the Mainland was a comfort I hadn't even realized I missed until now. The ground beneath my feet was solid, and while the grass wasn't as thick or plush, there also wasn't nearly as many rocks buried in the soil. The trees all around us were tall, yes, but not the massive, thick trees that had populated Wilbur's archipelago. A faint smile grew on my face as I scented the air, calmed by the recognizable smell of decaying leaves. “What's the next step, Young Heir?” He said teasingly.

“The next step?” I echoed. I turned my gaze downwards, searching the ground that Wilbur and I had woken from. Sure enough, about ten feet away, my seashell collection lay scattered across the ground. I smiled. “The next step is moving on.”

…

“Tyler, this place is awful,” Wilbur whined as he nearly tripped over yet another rock. His tail lashed out to keep his balance, but his face displayed the entire spectrum of frustration that must have been running through his head. Popsicle, keeping pace almost right on top of my ankles, whined in agreement.

I chose to ignore their complaints, instead keeping an ear out for the tell-tale hiss of spiders. Sure enough, I heard skittering feet somewhere far above our heads, coupled with stifled snarls and hisses. Wilbur nervously looked above his head.

Then, the ape yelped as a trio of cave spiders landed on his head, silk already spinning to capture him.

Popsicle barked at the spiders and immediately hid behind me. I moved quickly, batting the attacking spiders away with sheathed claws and stepping between them and Wilbur to protect him. The smaller one of the three, a spitter with disheveled fur, shot forward to snap at me before freezing abruptly.

“Morons!” Came an irritated voice from above. “That is clearly not a splumonkey. And he's traveling with Erika's brother, who mind you, is supposed to be the one we're looking for.”

“I was trying to defend him Slinger. It's not my fault this guy looks like a splumonkey!” The smaller spider snapped at the disembodied voice.

Every time they mentioned splumonkeys, Wilbur seemed to grow more and more irritated. The very moment one of the other spiders, a cave spider, started musing over the similarities between Wilbur and splumonkeys, the ape shot forward and pinned the arachnid down, claws out. He spoke calmly, but his voice was so clipped I could tell he was furious. “I swear to myself, if you call me a god-forsaken splumonkey one more time, I will dissect you, and cook you.”

I was... confused. Did he know what splumonkeys were?

“Alright, alright, settle down you two.” A snow-white dangling depths dweller fell from the ceiling, then extracted his companion from Wilbur's death grip with surgical precision. “I'm assuming you are traveling with Webber and not hunting him, considering he defended you.”

Wilbur shot me a look from the corner of his eye. 'Later,' I mouthed, hoping he would get the message.

“Er, yes, I'm traveling with Ty... Um... Webber,” he said slowly, tail twitching. “We're looking for his sister.”

“Convenient,” Slinger said thoughtfully. “Considering she's been looking for him too.” He motioned vaguely, and I heard what sounded like a spider skittering away in the equivalent of a run.

“She has?” I questioned. “But... why?”

“She's been in kind of a panicked frenzy since we heard you were missing,” Slinger explained. “Your friend asked us if we had seen you. She seemed really desperate.”

“She? Winona was looking for me? What about Wilson?”

Slinger shrugged. I heard Wilbur immediately let out a string of soft barks and growls, which were answered by Popsicle, in a seemingly intense conversation.

“Wilbur?” I asked after a moment. The ape shook his head.

“It sounds like... he hasn't been looking for you,” Wilbur said slowly.

I could almost hear my heart break at the information. I grasped the fur on my chest and let out a heavy breath between my fangs. “...I see.”

A commotion broke out from above, announcing what was likely Erika's arrival. Wilbur smiled faintly. “But it looks like she has.”

“Webber!” The pink-eyed dangling depth dweller shouted as she launched herself from the ceiling and onto me. I let out a surprised shout at the force of her jump and immediately wrapped my arms around her. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, you're alive! I knew it! I knew you were alive!” Then, it seemed as if she couldn't get any more words out, for she broke out in a loud purr and gave up trying to say anything else.

“I've... uh, actually been going by Tyler for a bit now,” I informed her, unable to hide my smile as her purrs seemingly grew more intense. “But yeah, um... surprise! I'm not dead!”

“Where were you!?” Erika demanded once she was finally able to speak. Her purrs sputtered out, replaced by something desperate. “When Winona came down here asking about you, I freaked out! I was just so scared that- after what happened- I didn't want-”

“Hey, hey.” I rested on my knees, gently prying the spider away from my shoulders. “Look. I'm here right now. I'm not dead. I'm completely and utterly alive. Not dead.”

“Tyler,” Erika choked out. “Tyler, she thought you killed yourself.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” I said lamely. “Um. Well. I didn't. So.”

“Obviously.”

Wilbur nudged me meaningfully, nodding at the darkness that surrounded us.

“Right, right.” I murmured. Louder, I asked: “Hey, uh, do you think you could take us to the Labyrinth?”

“The Labyrinth?” Erika's pinkish eyes widened, and she tapped one of her front legs. “I don't think that's a good idea. Especially since...”

I sighed and shook my head. I understood her hesitation, but I needed this. This one last thing. “Please, Erika. I promise, after this, I don't want to go near that place for the rest of time. I just need some... closure.”

Erika frowned deeply, clearly thinking hard. I knew that I could probably find my own way if I really needed to, but Erika was the leader of all the spiders in the caves. If she wanted to stop me, she could easily do just that. Even if Wilbur and Popsicle were with me, the three of us couldn't handle thousands of spiders.

“Fine. Just this once, though. After this, I'm doing everything in my power to make sure you don't go back.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Um... so, we're not gonna get brutally murdered if we go there, will we?” Wilbur asked nervously. “Because I would greatly appreciate us... not... being torn to pieces?”

“The Ancient Guardian will not attack you,” Slinger said from the sidelines. The dangling depths dweller rubbed his front legs together, something that looked almost like uncomfortable fidgeting. “We can't explain it, but the Ancient Guardian has been...”

“Purified,” Erika finished. “He won't harm you.”

Purified. I had known that something had happened at the end of our battle. Something that had brought the Ancient Guardian back to its senses, if just for a little while. To hear that the mighty creature had been purified of the darkness entirely was... news. I wasn't sure how I felt. Then again, I would have time to ponder that later. I nodded at Erika to lead the way, and with an uncomfortable glance back at me, she did.

Popsicle, once again keeping pace with me, whined low in his throat. Wilbur hummed thoughtfully, shot me a nervous look, then replied to the hound. Slinger joined in their conversation, low growls mimicking the hound's language. I forgot about that. Erika had said that he could speak hound when we first met.

“Should I be concerned?” I asked Wilbur softly. He held his hand up in a so-so gesture.

“Not too concerned. They said it they took care of it.”

“Took care of... what exactly?”

Wilbur was silent for a moment, staring at the ground as he walked. He seemed conflicted of whether to respond to me, and when he finally did, I understood his hesitance. “Um... any... bodies. That might have... triggered... something.”

Something twisted, deep in my chest. Of course... I hadn't even thought about that. Nausea churned in my stomach at the thought, and I pressed my lame fist into my abdomen to calm it. “Great,” I croaked.

After that, any conversation shared between Wilbur, Popsicle, and/or Slinger I chose not to press about. I could only imagine they were talking about me, but even if they weren't, I really didn't want to know.

All conversation died anyway once we reached the labyrinth. Erika hung back for a moment, looking distinctly uncomfortable, but I pushed forward, once again leading the way.

The last time we had been here, the very walls had rejected all light. Absorbing all of it the second light touched it. Now, though, even they had changed. By the light of my torch, I could see gelatinous black fluid dripping from the wall and gathering into puddles on the floor. In places were the strange liquid had left the golden thulecite underneath exposed, intricate patterns could be seen woven into the wall. The light flocked to these openings, causing speckled light to reflect onto the ground. In places were the fluid had gathered, however, something so dark hovered over it that the puddles almost appeared to glow in reverse, shunning the light that its neighbors bathed in. The once bright-red cracks that had broken up the floor were now glowing silver instead. It was true: something really had happened to this place. And, given that the Giants had controlled the intensity of their respective seasons, it was likely the Ancient Guardian's power was behind this.

Even with the labyrinth looking so different, though, I had no trouble finding my way through it. The pulsing wrong feeling was gone, but I could still feel the vestiges of it, and the puddles of black fluid grew only more and more plentiful the deeper we got.

“Okay, I know I said I hated the other place,” Wilbur started. “But this is decidedly worse.” He flicked black gel off of his foot. “The place is leaking Nightmare Fuel everywhere.”

“Is that what the black stuff is?”

“Blech, yes. Basically, wherever Nightmare has power, you'll either find this stuff coating the outside of it or, if its living, running through its blood. It's horrible. Although, by the looks of things... this place is actually clearing up. Nightmare must have lost a lot of power here.”

“Well, the Ancient Guardian did say that the beast had lost one of its heads,” I mused.

A veil of silence fell over us again. I toyed with something in my hands, struggling to get my lame claws to work with me on tiny details.

“Tyler,” Erika said, stopping abruptly at the final turn. She looked carefully at me. “Are you sure you can handle this? If this is going to hurt you-”

“It won't. Thank you, Erika. You have no idea how much I appreciate you letting me come here... I really do.”

She let out a long sigh. “You're lucky you're my brother. If anything happens, we'll all be right here.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm not letting him go in there alone,” Wilbur exclaimed incredulously. “The only homicidal maniac Tyler's allowed to be around alone is me!”

Although Popsicle likely didn't understand us, he yipped in agreement.

“Then Slinger and I will stay back here. Just be careful and don't do anything...” She grimaced. “Stupid.”

Stupid, ha, as if.

We pushed forward into the cavern.

The last time I had been here, the cavern had been completely dark except for the present of the field of light flowers in its very center, which had cast the Ancient Guardian in a ghastly glow. Now, the entire cave was lit in bold silvers and glimmering blues. Silver tendrils of light snaked across the rock and through the walls, petering out once they reached the ceiling. In turn, the ceiling was still mostly in shadows save for the occasional drop of glowing silver liquid that dripped from the stalactites. While the field of light flowers was still present, greatly overshadowing their glow was hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny blue blossoms. These new blossoms blanketed the entire floor, leaving the ground underneath almost entirely hidden. Bright blue petals drifted in a nonexistent breeze, birthing new shadows and highlights as they fluttered. Each petal, I noticed, had one end that was fat and rounded, and another that ended in a point; a design that made them look like raindrops falling from the sky.

And yes, the Ancient Guardian was there. While I had vaguely noticed some changes to its appearance at the end of our battle, it looked much... healthier now. Younger, almost. Its skin, once with the texture of rough rock, was now softer and pale tan. Its fur was now peach in color, almost bleached in the silver and blue lighting. The flowers studded its fur as well, settling lightly on its back and horn as they drifted.

It seemed to notice our presence, even though we had been completely silent. It turned, a sort of peaceful look on its face as its gaze settled on the trio that had intruded on its chambers.

“The Young Heir and the One True Heir, together at last,” the Guardian purred. “Truth be told, I did not expect to see you again.”

“I did not expect to be here again,” I replied solemnly. I took a deep breath, clutching shells so hard that they imprinted in my palm. “Me being here... it's not forgiveness. I don't think I can ever forgive you. But I...” I looked up, tracing silver veins through the walls. “I needed closure.”

“Yes,” it agreed. “To move onto the next phase of your journey, you must let go of the old.”

“I won't let go,” I retorted. “But I can take it with me. In... healthier ways.” I glanced at Popsicle and Wilbur. The Before and the After. “Everything was so hectic after that battle, I never got to truly say goodbye. Not with a clear head.” I stepped closer to the Ancient Guardian, presenting the object in my hand to the beast. “I know he still exists out there, in some form. I'm going to take the Throne, and I'm going to bring him back.” I raised my chin. “That is my destiny. And, whether it means anything or not, that is my promise, too.”

It examined the offered object for a long moment. “A seashell necklace?”

“I want him to know that I'm okay now. I can continue forward with a clear head. And, even though he wasn't at the Archipelago, I want him to still have a piece of it. So he knows that I'm back now.” I inhaled softly. “And when I'm on the Throne, I'm going to fix everything. I'm going to fix my mistakes. I'm going to bring my entire family together. My old, and my new.”

“Bold words, Young Heir,” the Guardian murmured.

“It's... it's Tyler.”

“Tyler,” it mused. The name sounded strange in its heavily accented tongue. “Then, Tyler, I shall ensure this gets to where it is supposed to. Your gift, and your words.”

“Thank you, Guardian.”

“Metheus. If names are to be shared, then call me Metheus.”

“Metheus,” I repeated.

“I will not ask for, nor expect your forgiveness. But at least receive my well wishes for the future. This will likely be the last time we are to see each other, Tyler, before the next act begins. Be warned, it will be dangerous. The five were destined to be brought together, but destined to fall as well. Survival is not guaranteed.”

“I understand.”

“Go forth, into your future Young Heir. It is quite eagerly waiting for you.”

With the Guardian's words spent, I turned back to my companions. Wilbur was clearly antsy, eyes darting back and forth between me and the giant rhino he seemed convinced was going to kill him. Popsicle was shaking now, eyes wide with fear. “Are you ready?”

“To get out of this creepy place? Yes.” Wilbur rubbed his hands together as if trying to bring warmth to them.

“Good.” I took the lead, leaving the glowing chambers and the mysterious Ancient behind. “Because I believe I know what the next part of our journey is.”

[Pokemaniac7000]

Some Webber progression art!

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 64. Homecoming

 

Webber's POV

I was struggling a bit to get a handle on my emotions. Namely, I couldn't quite decide what I should be feeling. Bits of fear, excitement, nervousness, and wariness wove into my thoughts, all vying for presentation. Outwardly, though, I kept myself carefully neutral. Wilbur was too good at catching on to my thoughts, and I hated for him to think I was doubting my decisions yet again.

“He says he likes that name a lot,” Wilbur said to me, a few paces behind as he translated Popsicle's speech. “But that he'll probably stick to Shatter. You can call him that, as long as he can keep calling you Snappy.”

I let out a light giggle, throwing off the negative emotions that were threatening to swallow me. “I've gone by a few different names, and I have to say that, without a doubt, Snappy is the best one.”

Wilbur translated, and Popsicle bounced and yipped cheerfully. I tipped my head slightly at the blue hound, leading the way. Knowing that he was sentient enough to have an entire language that could be translated made me feel almost guilty for simply treating him like a pet. And yet, when I had brought it up earlier, Wilbur had only laughed and responded with: “Yup, and he's been thinking you were a pet too. You're even.”

“Now, a question from me and not from Shatter, but uh, I would like some elaboration on the,” Wilbur vaguely motioned with his hands. “Name... front. Webber's the spider's name, isn't it?”

A twinge in the back of my head. I promptly smacked it back. “Yeah. But... my mind was a bit scrambled when I first woke up here. I didn't remember my own name. So,” I shrugged. “I just went by Webber.”

“They all call you that here?”
“Mhm.”

“The other Survivors, your buddies, they know you as Webber?”

“Yup.”

“And Webber is... okay with that?”

I thought for a moment, almost anticipating the sniped response to appear in the back of my head. Instead, something other than words burned behind my eyes, and I furiously rubbed at them to dispel the feeling. “So-so. He gets mad either way. I wish you could have heard him after I had you call me Tyler. You're the first person in years to know me by that name.”

“And is that...” He looked frustrated, almost, as if he couldn't quite figure out how to express his thoughts. “Like, the name you want to go by? I dunno, your 'preferred name' or whatever?”

“Either is fine, really,” I said with a shrug. “Tyler feels more 'me', but Webber makes him really mad and that fact gives me life.” Before Wilbur could continue speaking, though, I thrust an arm out to stop him, suddenly glowing internally. “I know where we are! We're almost at camp!”

Popsicle stopped in front of me at my voice, spinning in slow circles as he waited for me to continue following him. Instead, I broke into a run, outpacing the young hound as I swerved through the trees. It had been awhile since I had to use my whiskers to navigate this much, but my partial blindness really took hold in such cramped spaces when I was running. Before long, they felt bruised and battered, once again unused to being brushed against trees and limbs.

Heat rose in my chest as I ran, body tilted slightly forward to enable my whiskers to guide the rest of my body. It felt good. Between struggling to leave camp at all and being on a sandy island, it had been far too long since I had the ability to simply sprint through the trees and relish in my natural speed. My feet instinctively moved over and around exposed roots, dodging slanted ground and bounding from rocks as if I had never been out of practice. When I breathed, cool, crisp air met me. I didn't realize how long it had been since I felt like I had genuinely taken a full breath, and now that I had, I was gasping for it, taking great gulps of air just to satisfy the burning in my lungs.

Or, that was just my body being terribly out of shape and struggling to keep up.

It was when that thought crossed my mind that I finally slowed, calves already cramping from the sprint and chest heaving for air that I wasn't quite getting enough of. At the sound of cracking twigs behind me, I swung around to face any possible assailant only to see Wilbur struggling to keep up. Popsicle less so, seeming as if he could keep running beside me for miles, but Wilbur looked on the verge of passing out. When he saw that I stopped, he immediately let himself dramatically fall to the ground, chastising me between gulps of oxygen.

Popsicle slowed to a trot, nudging his nose against my legs as if eager to get me to move again. I bent down, rubbing the hound's head. “Let's give him a second to breathe, shall we?” I said, aiming a teasing tone towards the breathless ape.

“I'm not... as young... as you are!” Wilbur protested. “I'm an old man! Not built... for this... running...”

I rolled my eyes playfully, but settled onto my heels in order to be face-to-face with Popsicle. I scratched around his ears and ran my claws through the fur on his snout, a purr rising in my throat. Popsicle raised his nose to press into my neck, causing the purr to stutter slightly.

“Oh my goodness, look at that. Two best friends,” Wilbur teased, finally pulling himself into a standing position. “Absolutely adorable. Now, I hate to ruin the party, but I am absolutely starving and would love for the opportunity to eat something.”

“I know, I know, all you ever think about is food.” I stood up and brushed myself off, noting the light blue furs that stuck to me like static.

It wasn't much further of a walk. I kept my gaze traced on the leaf litter below me as if trying to save the sight of my companions for very last. I inhaled deeply before rounding the last few trees, glancing back at Wilbur and Popsicle for strength, then pushed ahead.

Camp was quiet and... empty. Neither Wilson nor Winona were there, but a quick glance at the fire pit showed embers still burning. Likely out hunting, or gathering supplies. A smile rose on my face to see that we were still alone, and I settled with my back against one of the trees on the outskirts of the clearing.

“It's, uh, kinda empty here, huh?” Wilbur commented. As he sat beside me, Popsicle bounded forward towards a familiar glowing glob. Pyrite, the tiny dragonfly lavae, rose up in her protective bubble as if to greet the ice hound. Popsicle barked at her, and she buzzed at him, and they settled beside each other, with Popsicle keeping his eyes set steadily on me. “They didn't ditch, did they?”

“There's still embers on the fire,” I responded. “They're still here. Don't worry.”

“Worried?” Wilbur scoffed. “I'm not worried. Yeah, chilling around, waiting for the guy with the known nasty reputation to reappear? Sounds not at all threatening.”

“It wasn't his fault,” I protested, but I said it so softly that Wilbur didn't hear, or at least, didn't react.

Wilbur's nervous energy was starting to affect me, though. Even though he stayed mostly quiet, I could sense the way he was unable to sit still, staying on his feet and pacing around, shooting looks everywhere as if an attacker was going to appear at any second.

While I couldn't quite tell him to calm down, knowing full well that I was the source of his anxiety, I did get back up and start on rebuilding the fire that was still smoldering. Well-practiced claws got the flames back up in only a matter of seconds, providing the warmth that I craved at the moment, and the light that often stood between life or death in this land.

I closed my eyes and leaned back, gently brushed the palms of my hands against the grass beneath me.

Despite me being quite used to having the sharpest senses of the group, it was actually Wilbur who reacted to sound first. He shifted a little, tail brushing slightly against my wrist as he glared out into the trees. I reached out and tapped him in between his shoulder blades, earning a very irritated glance back.

“Don't you know better than to make yourself seem like a threat? Or else they're gonna think that you're holding me captive, just like the spiders did.”

He grumbled at that, but he could clearly tell I was making a good point, for he settled down beside me instead, forcing his fur flat and muscles relaxed. Honestly, if it weren't for the expression on his face, he would have made himself appear completely calm and nonthreatening.

It was Winona I saw first. Her face was creased in an unhappy expression as she said something to Wilson, just a few paces behind her. I noticed immediately that she looked... tired. Exhausted. Wilson seemed to be doing better than her, the only thing noticeably off being that his fingers kept twitching, as if something was bothering him.

I think it was the fire that alerted her first. She looked up, breaking off mid-sentence to let her mouth hang open. Wilson froze completely in his spot, eyes boring into me as if he thought I was about to disappear. Beside me, Wilbur let out a soft grumble, and I noticed that his claws came out.

“Webber...?” Winona started softly. She took a hesitant step forward, one hand reaching out. Could she possibly confuse me for someone else? Maybe she thought I was a ghost, or a shadow cast by the fire light.

I found myself choked up for words, too. I couldn't quite figure out what to say first. Who Wilbur was? Where I had been for the past... week or so? (Week and a half?) How I had gotten back? With so many different options in my head, it was a wonder I was able to speak at all. I rose one hand and gave a little wave. “Hi.”

“Holy crap,” Wilson whispered under his breath, just as he and Winona both shot forward to greet me.

Winona reached me first. She immediately crouched down to my height and pressed her hands against my cheeks, as if testing to see if I was solid. An awkward laugh bubbled up in my chest as she did so, and I lazily swatted her away. She was undeterred, although she did release me to quickly look over my body. “Where have you been!? Oh my God, are you hurt? What happened? You're not sick, are you?” She immediately went to press a hand against my forehead, but this time I actually leaned away.

“I'm fine, I'm fine!” I protested, flapping my hands at her. “Stop with the touching.”

A look of confusion dawned on her face, and Wilbur tapped my arm. “Ahem, Webber, language barrier.”

“Oh.” I hadn't even realized my mistake. “I'm good,” I repeated in English. “Alive. Safe. Healthy. In one piece. Not a ghost.”

“Webber, ah, not to dampen this, but... who's that?” Wilson questioned, pointing a finger towards Wilbur.

I glanced at the ape, deciding on how to introduce him properly. After a moment, I answered: “My emotional support monkey.”

“And don't you forget it!” Wilbur snapped in a spider's hiss.

“Emotional support... you know, it's better that I don't ask, right?” Wilson said with a soft smile. He took a step closer, close enough to touch me, and I twitched slightly in the opposite direction. He drew back at that, eyes darting towards the ground. “Er- s-sorry. I'm just... I'm really happy you're okay. You've been missing for days, and we found your knife but not you and we assumed...”

“Erika told me what you assumed,” I sighed.

Something uncomfortable wavered in Wilson's eyes, and he turned to Winona. “He's probably starving. Can you get him something to eat? I would, but...”

Wilbur nudged me. “Sharing emotions, remember? Open yourself up a bit.”

I forced my shoulders to drop, unaware that they have even hiked up as high as they had. I let out a long breath, and forced myself to try to meet Wilson's eyes. “Thank you,” I said earnestly. “I... I don't really trust you with my food.” I twirled my claws together. Wilson said nothing, but there was a silent invitation on his face to continue. “I'm... I'm still really scared of you, Wilson. Erika... Erika said you weren't even looking for me. Do you even want me here? Or am I just a reminder of...?” I didn't finish the sentence, but I saw the way his gaze flickered to my missing eye.

“You're not just a reminder of anything,” Wilson said sharply, tearing his eyes away from the ugly scar. “I'm glad you're back. We were terrified for you. When you went missing- God, Webber- I felt like such a failure. I really failed you. I knew you were in a hard spot, but I didn't realize how terrible your mental state was. It's true that I didn't look for you much... definitely not as much as Winona did. But it's not because I didn't want to find you. I was terrified that we would find you, and it would already be... too late.”

My whiskers twitched at the confession. When I didn't immediately respond, Wilson backed away a few paces, dropping his gaze once more. “Here, I'll-”

“Wait.”

Wilson froze. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing hard.

“I was in a terrible place. And I know that you guys wanted to give me space, to process it myself...” I inhaled deeply, encouraged by Wilbur's gentle nudging of my arm. “But that wasn't what I needed. I... I needed you guys to act like you cared. I needed someone to stop looking at me at face value and try to understand me. To see more than I showed you. And...” My voice got small. “And you never tried.”

Wilson appeared thoroughly chastised. His head hung low and his shoulders slumped. “I didn't... I thought that we were seeing your true self. Under the anger and defensiveness. I thought that was you.”

“You thought that was really me?” I repeated. “You thought that I was really showing all my emotions. Then tell me, Wilson, why did I almost never cry?”

This time, Wilson winced as if he had been physically hit. He looked panicked, as if trying to come up with an explanation that he didn't have. Some easy answer, some simple reasoning, that would give him a genuine answer to that question that didn't involve proving my point. “I-I thought... not everybody cries... I thought that you...”

“Wilson.”

His rambling stopped mid-word.

“I'm a child.”

He shrunk.

“You thought that a child- an actual child, never wanted to cry?” Anger bubbled up in my throat, and I drew myself into a standing position. He followed suit, immediately dwarfing me, but that didn't even cross my mind as I shouted. “You thought that I didn't want to cry myself to sleep at night? You thought that I just 'wasn't someone who cried', when that's all I wanted to do most of the time I was here! I've been terrified and absorbed in grief for so long, and nobody ever tried to understand that!” Silence immediately fell over the entire area. Birds had stopped chirping, Winona had gone completely still near the fire, and even Popsicle and Pyrite were staring at me as if disturbed. Wilson took another step back, eyes squeezing closed as if blocking something out. His fingers twitched. I reached my hands up to my face, rubbing them harshly against the fur on my cheeks. “Wilbur knew me for a day and... and started to break down my walls. He saw through that mask and he... he helped me understand that it was just a mask. I... I want to start over with you guys.” At that, he opened his eyes again, and I blinked up at him. “Without masks. Without pretending. Just real me, and real you.”

Wilson nodded slowly. “Then... what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we start at the beginning,” I responded with a soft smile. I offered my good hand out to him, and he took it hesitantly. “Nice to meetcha, Wilson. My name is Tyler.”

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 65. A Storm Worth Weathering

 

Wilson's POV

I couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that I wasn't tired- I was rather exhausted, actually, but something in the back of my mind just wouldn't shut off. Instead, I simply found myself tossing and turning, trying desperately to get comfortable and failing miserably.

The moon was still high in the sky when I finally gave up. I pushed myself into a sitting position, eyes squinted against the fire light, only to see Winona a few paces away, poking idly at the fire with a stick.

“You too, huh?” I mused. The woman startled, as if she hadn't realized I was awake, then quickly shushed me, dipping her head towards the other side of the fire and the pile of fur the flames illuminated.

And really, it was a pile. Blue, brown, and black fur all mixed together as Webber, Popsicle, and the monkey all had collapsed into each other and passed out like that. Winona smiled faintly at the group, before turning her attention back to me.

“You okay, Wilson?” She asked. “What's keeping ya' up?”

“Dunno.” I shrugged, leaning back and propping myself up on my hands. “My stomach feels weird.”

“You're not getting sick, are you?” Winona said, a faint questioning tilt to her eyebrows.

“No, not like that,” I assured her. “Just nerves, I think. There's been... a lot to take in recently, you know? A lot of conflicting emotions and all that. I think it's finally getting to me.” I laughed harshly, running a hand through my hair. “Do you suppose I'm going insane? Say Winona, do I look like an insane man to you?”

Winona chuffed a laugh. “I can't say I'm well-versed in the appearance of insanity, Wilson. I'll need a bit more context than that.”

“Ah, you'll know insanity when you see it. I promise.” I leaned by head back, gazing at the dark sky.

A long moment of silence fell over us, broken only by the crackling of flames. Winona sighed softly and tossed a handful of sticks into the fire, her eyes focused on the dark wood as it was consumed by the ravenous flames.

“Wilson?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I'll ever find Charlie?” Winona's voice was small, something I was unfamiliar with. The woman was often so bold and strong that hearing her sound so defeated shot pain into my chest. “If... if the Ancient Guardian wasn't lying about her. If she really is- or was- here, do you think she's even still alive? Or was this all just... another trick?”

I thought on it for a moment, then let out a long, low breath. “Well... this world is rather good at using smoke and mirrors to get what it wants. Although, I can't even begin to imagine what the world could gain from lying about that. So... I'm going to say that yes, I believe she's still alive. Whether or not she's able to recognize you is... a different matter.” Winona winced at that, and I added: “Didn't it call her a beast?”

“That's... true,” Winona replied hesitantly, visibly sinking into herself. “I just... I don't know, I just really hope this wasn't all for nothing. Do you... think that maybe she's the last one the Ancient Guardian talked about? The One True Heir?”

“Pretty sure he said it was an animal,” I pointed out. The second the words left my mouth, I whipped my head around to look at the monkey again. “No way.”

“You think he's the One True Heir?” Winona sounded confused, maybe a little sarcastic, as if the idea was silly. “I'm pretty sure he's just a monkey, Wilson.”

At that, the monkey's face scrunched up as if disgusted. He let out a low, mumbling hiss, something oddly similar to a spider's speech, before drifting off again.

“I think we just got told off,” I explained to Winona, who chuckled.

“Kind of sounded like it, didn't it?” We let the last of our humor die out, before changing the topic once more. “Do you still think that we should stay here?” She asked me after a moment. “Do you think that there's... no way home?”

“At the moment, we really don't have any leads on how to get home. All the Ancient Guardian said was 'doors go both ways', and I have literally no idea what that means. Like, yes, that is, in fact, how a door works. You can go in, you can go out. It's quite amazing, really.” A sarcastic tint appeared in my words towards the end. “It's almost like that's exactly what a door does.”

“Maybe it's not a literal door,” Winona said thoughtfully. “Maybe it's a... metaphorical... door?” When I didn't immediately respond, she shrugged. “I dunno, I'm throwing out ideas here. You gotta give me that, at least.”

“A metaphorical door. I'll keep that in mind.”

Winona rolled her eyes and threw a pebble at me. It struck me in the shoulder with a tiny pinprick of pain. When she spoke, though, she sounded more amused than annoyed. “Moron. I meant the portal.”

“The portal?”

“You know.” She waved her hands. “The portal. The one that brought us all here. The reason we're in this entire mess in the first place. That portal?”

“Maxwell's Door,” came a mumbled voice from a few paces away. I turned my head to see Webber- Tyler? He had said it didn't matter but I wasn't entirely sure- blinking tiredly up at us. He didn't move from his position in the pile, and honestly, he looked as though he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

“What?” Winona prompted.

“That portal. It's called Maxwell's Door,” he repeated. He let out a heavy sigh, settling further into the fur of his companions. “Door. Both ways. Maxwell's Door. Yeah.”

“How... do you know that?” I asked, bewildered. Webber simply shrugged. Fantastic.

“I'm a fan of obscure knowledge,” Winona said with a hum. “And our resident angry spider boy's obscure knowledge has yet to be wrong, right?”

I expected the comment to irritate aforementioned angry spider boy, but he huffed a laugh instead and broke into a faint smile. “I'm famous at being right about things.”

I smiled at that as well, but waved my hand vaguely at him to brush him off. “Go back to sleep. You look half-dead.”

“Oh no, I'm completely awake now. Very... very awake.” Webber's words were punctuated with a yawn.

“Yeah, right. Sorry we woke you. We can discuss this more in the morning,” Winona said, tossing one last handful of kindling into the fire before pulling away enough to mitigate the risk of being burned in her sleep. “Good night, Wilson. Good night, Webber. I'm glad you're back.”

“Glad to be back...” The boy murmured, already drifting off again.

I sighed softly to myself, but didn't try to pursue any further conversation. I also didn't try to go back to sleep. Instead, I simply stared at the fire, watching the flames struggle to climb higher into the air, and let my mind drift off.

As if it was an invitation, a soft purr echoed in the back of my head. “My my, an impressive conclusion for you to have come to.”

I gritted my teeth as pain followed the words. “Go away,” I hissed. “I thought you finally realized you're not going to get through to me.”

“I am not trying to. It was simply an observation. This defensiveness would have served you use much earlier on, but alas...”

I really wish this stupid creature had a face that I could punch.

I wasn't stupid; I recognized the unnatural lilt of Nightmare's voice, but I found there was little I could do about it. It had simply lain dormant until the day or so after Webber's disappearance. Now, though, I could feel its presence as it probed my head, gently searching for weak spots. I steeled my expression, knowing full well that it wasn't going to find any. “Even though your current defenses are impressive, the fact that I have rooted so far into your mind proves that there are still weaknesses to exploit. It's only a matter of time.”

“Just try to possess me again,” I snapped.

“I am insulted that you think of me as a... what do you call it? A one-trick pony? I am smarter than that, Host. I can acknowledge when a plan has failed and work towards a new strategy. I have my sights set on bigger targets now. Ones that will serve me better than you and the monkey.”

A wave of cold washed over me, and I felt Nightmare's interest in the reaction. Its probing continued. “What... what do you mean?”

“We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, now would we?” Nightmare purred. “Now, go back to sleep, little scientist. And keep hiding my presence from your companions. It's sure to turn out well in the end.”

Even when it was done talking, it wasn't gone. It never truly went away, a presence that I now knew had woven into my brain the moment I had been brought back by its magic. I tugged at the collar of my shirt, suddenly feeling too hot and too cold at once. Webber had a right to be terrified of me, even now. If he knew that the same creature who had tried to murder him and had succeeded in maiming him was now trying to poison my own head from the inside, I didn't doubt either he would vanish in an instant, or he would make me vanish in an instant.

Winona hadn't been there for the incident. Thank the Heavens that she wasn't. I wasn't sure she would trust me half as much as she did if she knew what exactly had transpired.

The fact was, Nightmare wasn't done with us. From the sound of it- not that I believed one tainted word out of that demon's mouth- it had a new mark. One that it would make sure wouldn't fail in its plans.

What its plans were, though... I wasn't sure. It had wanted me to kill Webber, or at least weaken him enough to kill him in the long run, but I had a feeling that wasn't its entire plan. Was it in defense of Maxwell, given the boy's title?

I forced myself to lie down, back facing the fire. I wished more than anything I could thwart whatever plans the demon had in store as easily as I could wrap a wound, but the fact of the matter was, I was stuck.

Why did Nightmare want Webber dead?

It was as I started drifting off, finally giving into my deep-set exhaustion, that the answer presented itself with a flash.

So that it can control him too.

…

The next day, as soon as Webber and the monkey woke up, they teamed up to cook breakfast. I found myself baffled at the monkey's... well, sentience, as he ordered the boy around with hisses and snaps. Hisses and snaps that I recognized only after a solid fifteen minutes as the spider's language.

So Webber could talk to the monkey. And, given the monkey's occasional bouncing to barks and growls as he turned to Popsicle, he could talk to the hound as well.

An extremely interesting development.

Food prepared by an overly intelligent monkey was not something I had ever planned on trying, but I was shocked even more to realize it was delicious. More filling and flavorful than I had eaten since the moment I woke up here. After that, the four of us gathered in a rough circle to finally get the story of what exactly happened.

The monkey, Webber introduced as Wilbur. Wilbur straightened a golden crown perched on his head and said something that I expected to be some sort of greeting, but whether or not it was, I had no idea. The face that Webber made and the fact that he shoved Wilbur immediately after told me that no, it probably wasn't.

He could speak spider and hound, for science's sake, but he couldn't speak English. And yet, he could understand us speaking English. When prompted about it, Webber translated his response roughly to “a prime ape's mouth is not compatible with English”, which was an absolute lie if Wilbur's snarky grin had anything to say about it. Whatever the reason, he wasn't talking to us.

“So wait,” Winona suddenly broke in during Webber's drawn out story. “You're telling me that Wilbur is The One True Heir? But he's...” She motioned vaguely with her hands, trying to get her point across without words to explain it.

“Over four thousand years old and a native who's been around longing than Maxwell, who remembers when our titles were first spoken and is, in fact, the first one?” Webber finished for her, clearly unimpressed with her doubt. Then, he glanced at me. “Or because he's a prime ape and not a human? Because if that's the case then boy do I have information about the identities of your own group.”

Wilbur nodded approvingly at Webber's chastising, twitching his tail to lightly brush against the boy's arm as if reminding Webber of his presence.

“It's just... not what we were expecting, is all,” I quickly jumped in as I noticed Winona struggling to come up with a good response. “In case you haven't realized, I'm fully aware that the humans are outnumbered in our five.”

“I should also probably mention,” Webber added casually, directed at me. “That Wilbur absolutely despises you and that you should absolutely not try to tick him off.”

“What?” I blinked in surprise, glancing back at Wilbur and seeing the murderous glint of his eyes. I shivered. I had heard plenty about situations where monkeys went berserk on humans for any number of reasons, and it typically ended with a monkey being shot and a human missing a face. “Um... I... appreciate the warning. Please don't rip my face off.”

Wilbur grinned as if pleased, hissing something and waving one hand around as if to say 'no promises'.

I really hope that wasn't what he said. I quite liked having a face.

Webber continued his story, translating for Wilbur whenever the monkey added something. At one point, he hesitated, scratching around his facial scar as he typically did when nervous. Wilbur nudged him and Webber sighed. He looked up at us, suddenly appearing very much the child he was. “I... um... may have been hiding some stuff from you guys. About the... um... the spider.” His nervous scratching intensified, although now it was around his whiskers- the legs of the spider, I reminded myself.

“The one that ate you?” I blurted stupidly. Winona elbowed me even as I immediately realized how dumb of a question it was. Of course the one that ate him, what other spider could he possibly be talking about?

Thankfully, Webber ignored the question. “When we first met, I told you that we... thought together, right? As one?”

Winona and I both nodded. We both had heard that from him.

“Something's been... happening. I don't know how to explain it. There's a... separation? I guess? Of our minds. I don't know how long it's been happening but it... it took a turn for the worse when I was there...” He was getting upset, actually upset, in a way that I normally only saw him at the worst of times. Before Wilbur even had the opportunity to draw closer to the boy, Popsicle flopped himself over Webber's lap. “He's been breaking free. Gaining strength.” He shrunk into himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft that I could barely hear it. “I'm... I'm scared.”

My heart broke even as I saw Winona melt beside me. It was such a vulnerable emotion on Webber, and he was showing every inch of it.

“Are you scared that he's going to take control?” Winona asked gently. Webber said nothing, his eye darting to his hands as he started to wring them together. After a moment though, he nodded slowly.

“I don't want that to happen,” he blurted, as if we could doubt his conviction. “I don't want it too. I don't want to disappear!”

And then, he was crying.

He was crying.

Webber. Crying.

I was so startled that I had no idea how to respond. If I only saw him upset in the way earlier in the worst of occasions, than I only saw him cry when something unspeakably terrible was happening. Now, though, he seemed to let the tears run free, slight tremors causing his whiskers to tremble.

Wilbur inched closer to him and nudged him with his shoulder. Immediately, Webber took the apparent offer and collapsed against the monkey, expressing his sorrows in the way that a normal child would.

And things really snapped into place for me.

“You're scared about the spider taking control,” I said slowly. He didn't look at me, but I saw him twitch slightly in my direction. “But all I'm seeing right now is the human. You. I've never seen you so far from the spider.”

“B-but-” Webber stuttered, but he was promptly interrupted by Winona.

“Wilson's right,” she said. “You're not in the wrong for being afraid, Webber, but I think you have nothing to worry about. You're stronger than him. Always have been, if I'm correct.” I nodded in agreement. “This doesn't change anything. If anything, it could be good.”

“Maybe you could free him from your mind forever,” I agreed thoughtfully.

Webber turned to look at us, blinking wetly as he seemed to think over our words. “What if... what if the opposite happens?” He asked in a small voice. “What if he destroys me?”

“That won't happen,” I said. “You're stronger than him. I believe that, and Winona believes that, and I'm certain Wilbur believes that too. You don't have to worry about disappearing.”

He sniffed loudly, wiping the tears from his face with his hand. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Your faith... if nothing else... it means so much to me. But... really. What would you do if he took control? It's... it's a real concern to have.”

Winona and I glanced at each other. She gave a helpless shrug, eyes darting back to the boy. “Well, what would you want us to do?” She asked.

Wilbur said something to him, and the boy shrugged it off, looking away. “Kill him?” Webber spoke softly, unsure. I was certain it was a fate he did not want, but he couldn't think of a better answer. “If... if that's the fate I suffer... then death would be better, don't you agree?”

“I don't agree,” Winona argued, but Webber focused his gaze on me.

“You know what it's like to be under that kind of control,” the boy pressed. I stared at the ground, unwilling to look back. “Unless you have a better idea...?”

“He's right,” I admitted heavily. “To lose yourself completely forever... it's a fate worse than death.”

“So dramatic, Host.”

“You're both wrong,” Winona snapped. “Webber, we're not killing you if you lose it. If somehow, that did happen, we wouldn't harm a fur on your face. We'd find a way to get you back. Right, Wilson?”

I scowled at the ground and remained silent. This wasn't something Winona had ever been through. She had no idea.

“Okay, well, fine, I'll find a way to get you back, then. Okay?”

Wilbur added something, nodding along with Winona's sentiment and nudging the boy he sat beside. Webber sighed heavily through his teeth, but he gave a wry smile nonetheless. “...okay. I... thank you.”

“You've got all of us behind you,” Winona said kindly, smiling at her perceived victory.

“Now that that's settled, we've got another issue to discuss.” I leaned forward, eyeing Webber and Wilbur critically. “Maxwell's Door. Do you guys have any idea how to find it?”

“Well, that's the issue with it. I have no idea.” In conjunction with Webber's words, Wilbur shook his head. I growled to myself, but Winona only gave an easy shrug.

“Well.” She grinned. “I guess we had better get started then.”

Edited December 21, 2022 by Pokemaniac7000

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 66. One Step Forward

 

Wilbur snapped violently into wakefulness. Less than a second passed between his eyes opening and him being on his feet, staring into the distance. Immediately, his claws came out, clicking against smooth marble beneath him. The second he noticed the makeup of the flooring beneath him, Wilbur fell back, scrabbling uselessly against the marble.

“No no, nonono,” he gasped. Panic spiked in his chest as awful images raced through his head. “No no, not here, not again. I-I promised-” He couldn't breathe. Not here again. He promised himself to never walk these marble halls again. Not after what happened- the last time-

“MONKEY.”

He cried out as the shadows broke away. Every inch of him expected to see Nightmare, preparing to taunt him about his past, the things he had done, the things that had happened to him-

And yet, even as the figure became clear to him, he couldn't convince himself to relax.

“I didn't call for you,” Wilbur breathed. “Why- why are you here?”

“BECAUSE,” the Martyr said simply, staring calmly back at the panicking prime ape. “I CALLED FOR YOU.”

“Am I dead?”

The Martyr released a harsh laugh. As he did, sparks erupted from the gaping hole in his chest. “NO.”

Wilbur felt his muscles begin to loosen, but he didn't entirely relax. He had never been able to see Charlie without calling for her. The same should be true for dead Survivors... or at least, this particular dead Survivor, who apparently had the ability to dream-step like her. Although... Maxwell had been able to call him to this place without Wilbur's input. Could the Martyr do the same?

“O...kay,” Wilbur said slowly. “So... I'm not dead. I haven't called for anyone. Why... are you here? And why me? Why not Tyler?”

The Martyr frowned. “YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS BEEN HERE. THIS DOMAIN RECOGNIZES YOU.”

Extremely intimidating.

But okay!

“AS FOR WHY I CALLED YOU HERE...” He met Wilbur's gaze steadily. “I AM AWARE THAT YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR MAXWELL'S DOOR.”

“You were listening in on us?” Wilbur let out a huff. “That's not creepy at all.”

The robot seemed to almost smile at that, clearly amused. “COME WITH ME, MONKEY. WE CANNOT SPEAK WHERE THEY CAN HEAR US.”

Wilbur shivered at the reminder that, at the moment, they stood in Their domain. He nervously looked around, expecting to see glowing eyes watching him from the dark. To his surprise, though, it appeared as if he and the Martyr were alone.

The Martyr turned his back to Wilbur, seemingly uncaring of whether the prime ape followed or not. He was almost tempted to stay put, conflicting ideas presenting fearfully in his head. One, he didn't know the Martyr. At all. Everything he knew about him had come directly from Tyler, who could easily be considered a biased party. Who knew if the robot would be loyal to someone he barely knew? Secondly... the Martyr was dead and yet free to roam, a luxury typically only given to Them. That hinted at something much more powerful beneath the surface, something that made this Survivor distinctly different than his predecessors, and whether that was a good thing or not was still to be decided. The only exception to that rule, as far as Wilbur knew, was the Nightmare Servant, Charlie. Even the Nightmare Captor was bound to the Throne.

(Wilbur was one of very few people that knew the truth behind the supposed 'leader' of Them. The title was proof enough. The Nightmare Servant was the primary host of Nightmare, little more than a servant to the beast. The one that Nightmare took the physical form of, given the demon's lack of physical form itself. Charlie was innocent, likely the most trustworthy and respectable creature in all of the Constant. Unfortunately, as Nightmare's host, she was often forced to do horrible things in the name of the Nightmare Throne. When someone first heard her title, it was easy to assume it was her duty to serve Maxwell.

Then, you heard Maxwell's title. 'Nightmare Captor'. He was but a prisoner in his own right.

Many years ago, Wilbur and Maxwell would spend long nights playing a game dear to Maxwell. A painfully boring board game that Wilbur always lost at. One of these nights, when Wilbur had lost his King piece to Maxwell's strategies, the Captor had lifted his own piece, the white one, and turned it over in his long fingers. “The King is the most important piece on the board. The Monarch, the one you sacrifice everything for.” Wilbur had nodded, unsure of where Maxwell's musings would go. “So then, Wilbur. Why is the King the most helpless?”

“No clue what you're talking about, Max,” Wilbur had said, amused at the way the Captor scowled at the nickname. Even then, though, he wasn't chastised as he usually was. Instead, Maxwell had simply continued his original thought.

“The Bishop's range covers the whole of the board, though only diagonally. The Rook, front and back, side to side. The Knight is difficult to master, but its method of attack is invaluable in its unpredictability. A patriarchal game, and yet even the Queen has more power. In fact, her power is unmatched. Yet in the end, the King, the leader, the monarch, is little more than a pawn himself.” With that, the Captor tossed the white King onto the ground at the foot of the Throne. Their conversation ended after that.)

“ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?” The Martyr's voice was the only thing to snap Wilbur out of his trance. He shook his head furiously, trying to erase the thoughts from his head.

“I'm coming.” What did he have to lose? If he was to be betrayed, it was a long time coming. If he was to be killed, it was deserved. The only certainty he had was that the robot would not hurt Tyler, and that had to be enough for the moment.

He tried to keep his mind free as he followed the robot, but his eyes kept drifting. First, to The Martyr's feet, heavy but silent against the marble. Then, to the hole torn into his chest, still sparking intermittently. Then, to the darkness, searching for the eyes that he knew were there.

Wilbur's King fell again.

The silence was deafening. The only noise was Wilbur's padded footsteps. In the midst of Wilbur's panic, he hadn't had the opportunity to study The Martyr closely. Now, though, he could see two cords hanging from his neck, but with his back to Wilbur, he couldn't tell what was on them.

And again.

He knew this hall like the back of his hand. He didn't even hesitate to step into the darkness, knowing full well that torches would sputter to life the second he left the safety of the previous ones. At one point, the robot looked back at Wilbur as if confirming the ape was still following. A faint red light pulsed around him, rising from a red amulet hanging from the thicker of the cords. The second was more crude, less perfect, but hung with-

seashells.

Wilbur's breath hitched as he recognized it. The Martyr said nothing, only continued onward, but now Wilbur couldn't get it out of his head. The Martyr was wearing a life-giving amulet, hung proudly alongside a familiar necklace of shells.

And again.

Wilbur's breathing sounded too loud. It was too loud. Maxwell was going to hear him. Nightmare was going to hear him. He would be struck down where he stood.

(“What is the point of the Pawns?” Wilbur once asked, tipping over one of the small pieces with one claw. Maxwell had scowled.

“The Pawns are everything,” Maxwell had responded, his voice touched with what almost sounded like fondness. “Did you know everything about a game can be determined by the simple movements of the Pawns?”

Wilbur gave him a dubious look. The Captor smirked, resetting the board with a wave of his hand. “Your first move will almost always be a pawn. The King Pawn opening, or the Queen Pawn opening.” With knobbly fingers, he tapped the respective Pawns.

“They're just fodder,” Wilbur argued.

“Maybe they are,” Maxwell agreed. “But they are the reason the real strength gets to the front. The Bishop.” He tapped the piece. “The Rook.” Then that piece. “The Knight. The Queen. The King. Cannon fodder. But invaluable.”)

Fear struck Wilbur's chest as he noticed The Martyr stepping off of the path. Torches continued to follow him, but he was no longer headed in the direction of the music. That should have been a positive sign- he wouldn't have to face Maxwell, after all- but he knew exactly where this path took them.

“Wait,” Wilbur interrupted. The Martyr paused, sighing.

“WHAT?” He sounded irritated.

“I can't go there.” His voice cracked. “The Prison. I can't.”

Something about his features softened. If he knew enough to know that They couldn't access the Prison, then he knew exactly what it was. “THERE IS NO TELLING WHAT THEY WOULD DO IF THEY HEARD OUR CONVERSATION,” the robot murmured, gazing uncomfortably into the darkness. Something rippled in the shadows, and even though the eyes were not present, Wilbur was suddenly very aware that they weren't as alone as he had thought. “IT IS NOWHERE SOMEONE LIKE US SHOULD BE, BUT IT IS THE ONLY SAFETY I CAN PROVIDE.”

Wilbur took a step back, shaking his head furiously. “No. I can't do it. My old companions...”

(Wilbur had been there only twice before. The first time, Charlie had brought him there to talk. She knew just as well The Martyr seemed to know that it was the only place you could get away from Them in this domain. The details of that conversation had been lost to time by now, but he had remembered the eyes staring at him. It wasn't Their eyes, no, it was the eyes of Survivors who had already failed. They whispered to each other, watching the intruders with expressions ranging from wariness to straight up hostility.

The second time, Wilbur had gone there on his own. He had charged through the darkness, risking Nightmare's wrath several times as he moved faster than the light could catch up to him. When he finally reached the invisible doorway, he had wailed desperately for Roselyn. Begging for her forgiveness. Charlie had found him like that, collapsed just inside the Prison, hours later. Sobbing and pleading. He couldn't go any further in. He knew that his old companions would be there.

Charlie basically had to drag him away. “Roselyn isn't there,” Charlie had told him. “She isn't like the rest of you. She never was a Survivor. She's moved on, Wilbur. She's safe now.”

Wilbur had never believed her.)

“WE CANNOT BE PICKY,” The Martyr hummed, shaking his head softly. “AND NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY, THEY CANNOT HURT YOU.”

The Martyr kept walking. Wilbur was barely able to force himself to follow.

“Why are you different?” Wilbur asked, desperate to break the silence threatening to consume him again. “Why are you out here and not in there?”

The deceased Survivor shrugged his shoulders without looking back. Wilbur noticed him raise one hand to toy with one of the cords around his neck, but whether it was the amulet or the shells, he couldn't tell.

“You don't know?”

“HOW WOULD I?” He responded glumly. “I MAY ROAM FREE, BUT I AM STILL A SLAVE. A SURVIVOR. THE BOTTOM OF THE RANKINGS.”

“A Pawn,” Wilbur murmured.

“NO.”

Wilbur tipped his head, but whether The Martyr noticed or not was to be decided. He tossed his head back, glancing at Wilbur with a grim smirk. “THE OTHERS ARE THE PAWNS. WE ARE MORE.”

“Has Max gotten you into that atrocious game, too?”

“ON THE CONTRARY, I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN RATHER FOND OF CHESS.” There was a moment of quiet as he seemed to think, then added: “ALTHOUGH... I COULD NEVER QUITE BEAT WEBBER IN IT.”

Wilbur blinked, surprised. “Tyler knows Chess?”

“A SELF-MADE MASTER, IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF.” He sounded amused.

Wilbur smiled fondly at the concept. A young child beating a literal machine at a game like Chess. Now he had heard everything.

The Martyr suddenly froze, sticking one arm out to the side to stop Wilbur as well. They had reached the end of the road. Something flickered across his face as he turned to look at Wilbur, but he quickly covered it with something more determined. “ARE YOU PREPARED?”

Not 'are you ready', because they both knew that Wilbur would never be quite ready to step in there again. Just 'are you prepared'. Are you the best you can be right now?

Wilbur took a deep breath, stared at the ground, then nodded.

“GOOD.”

The Prison was cold. Not a natural cold, like the air after a heavy rain or a cool cave at night. This was a still, unnatural cold, stiff and unforgiving. Sun had never touched this place. Warmth was foreign to the darkness. Wilbur could see his breath in front of him, but it was the only air movement to be found.

“Why do you need me here?” Wilbur asked, his voice small. It was barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to sense awareness on all sides. He stared straight ahead, at the damaged form of The Martyr, unwilling to try to make out any of the shapes in the cages that surrounded them.

“DID YOU KNOW,” the robot mused instead of responding. “THAT YOU FOUR ARE THE LAST ONES?”

Wilbur tipped his head, about to ask for clarification, but he couldn't quite make words. He couldn't bring himself to speak freely.

“ALL OF THE OTHER SURVIVORS ARE DEAD.” He flourished his arms, beckoning to the cages all around them. Wilbur's eyes barely flicked in their direction, but it was enough for him to make out some of them. An eviscerated woman. A young girl with half of her face having been brutally torn off by some beast. A man with his arms wrapped around himself, desperately trying to keep warm. “THEIR DEATHS CAME WITHIN THE FIRST YEAR. TYPICALLY AFTER THEIR FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH SOMETHING THAT WANTED TO KILL THEM.”

Wilbur gulped. “Why... are you telling me this?” He whispered.

“BECAUSE,” The Martyr turned his gaze down, boring into Wilbur. “DOES THAT NOT SEEM STRANGE? THAT AT EVERY TURN, IT WAS OUR GROUP THAT HELD ON? EVEN THOUGH NIGHTMARE WILL DO ANYTHING TO DESTROY IT?”

Wilbur said nothing. He couldn't think of anything else to say. The robot chuckled and shook his head.

“IGNORE ME. IT IS OFTEN DIFFICULT TO KEEP MY THOUGHTS TO MYSELF.”

“You said... you said something about Maxwell's Door.” Wilbur swallowed hard, trying to prevent his dry throat from cracking. “Is that why you brought me here? Where They couldn't hear?”

“YES.” The Martyr nodded, flicking out one hand. “THAT IS EXACTLY WHY YOU ARE HERE. YOU SEE, MONKEY...” He paused for a moment, then corrected himself. “WILBUR.” The prime ape shifted uncomfortably. “I ONCE FOUND MAXWELL'S DOOR.”

Wilbur shot his gaze up, shock painting his face. He felt his mouth drop, but he couldn't quite get himself to close it. “You... you found it?”

Something shifted around us. Not Them, not here, but the eyes that watched us nonetheless. Interest sparked among their ranks. Did they understand what Maxwell's Door did? He could only imagine that the vessel of freedom was whispered around often enough, especially among the group trapped forever in cages barely big enough for them. But even then, it had to sound like a myth. After all, if they never found it, then surely it didn't exist. The Martyr, however, seemed quite confident. He nodded one short time.

“VERY SOON AFTER WE FIRST ARRIVED HERE,” he began, pacing further into the room. Wilbur followed slowly after, his eyes darting from side to side in fear of one of his old companions seeing him. “I STUMBLED ACROSS SOMETHING... STRANGE. IT WAS DAMAGED, BROKEN DOWN, AND I COULD NOT ACTIVATE IT. BUT EVEN THEN, I COULD HEAR THE MUSIC IT HUMMED. WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO ACTIVATE IT, THOUGH... I SIMPLY PAID MORE ATTENTION TO THE BOOK IN FRONT OF IT. SOMETHING THAT I TOOK WITH ME... AND EVENTUALLY, BECAME A SORT OF GUIDE TO US.” He looked away, staring down one of the Survivors in the cage. Nothing flickered behind his gaze, and Wilbur couldn't help but wonder if the robot felt anything for them. Pity? Regret? Guilt? Was he amused at their predicament? Or nervous about the fact that he should have been there beside them as well? “I FORGOT ABOUT THE STRUCTURE,” he said, almost to himself. “IT WAS NOT THE ONLY BROKEN, DAMAGED OBJECT WE FOUND OUT THERE. I HAD NO IDEA WHAT IT WOULD BE IN THE END.”

“How do you know now?” Wilbur asked. The fur on his face was damp with moisture from his chilled breath.

“I FINALLY DISCOVERED WHAT THE BOOK WAS,” The Martyr responded. “THE CODEX UMBRA.”

“The Codex Umbra?” Wilbur repeated. “The Shadowed Book.”

He nodded. “A TOME THAT ONCE BELONGED TO MAXWELL HIMSELF.”

Wilbur tapped one claw against the floor. He heard shuffling all around him as Survivors drew themselves higher, cages swinging slightly as they leaned forward to hear the conversation. Their hope was almost palpable, even though they surely knew that it would not free them from their plight. “But... you said it was broken.”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS,” the robot amended. “BUT THAT WAS NOT THE TRUTH.” His shoulders sunk slightly as he turned to look at another one of the Survivors. “THE TRUTH IS, THE DOOR WOULD ONLY OPEN FOR YOU FOUR. I COULD NEVER CALL UPON ITS MAGIC LIKE THAT.”

“Why not?”

“I WAS NEVER MEANT TO GO THROUGH IT.” His voice sounded heavy as he said it, and Wilbur couldn't quite shove down the ache in his chest. Once again, the robot started toying with the shells around his neck, threading them through his fingers with a face deep in thought.

“Can you show me where it is, then?” Wilbur asked, eager to leave this depressing place behind. He hadn't seen his companions yet, but he knew they were here. He knew that they were aware of him being here. Why they hadn't said anything, cursed at him or yelled at him, he didn't know. The Martyr nodded at Wilbur's question, but hesitated before actually answering.

“YOU SHOULD SPEAK TO THEM,” he said, and Wilbur almost thought he was imagining the soft tone of his voice. “IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME. THEIR ANGER HAS FADED. THEY WOULD UNDERSTAND.”

“No,” Wilbur said immediately, knowing full well who The Martyr was talking about. “Just get me out of here, please.”

He stared at the ape for a long period of time as if waiting for him to change his mind. When Wilbur didn't, he simply extended a hand. “I CAN DO THAT.”

(And when Wilbur woke up again, he would be sure to tell Tyler everything about the dream. Everything about the Door, yes, but something more personally important than that, too. He would let the boy know that his gift had been received and accepted, and that the robot now wore a necklace of seashells proudly, even in death.)

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 67. The King's Door
 

 

Webber's POV

“Tyler, hold on, slow down!” Wilbur shouted, scrambling to keep up with me as I ran on ahead. I let out a huffy sigh, crossing my arms and waiting for my friends to join me. Wilbur nearly tumbled down the slope I had slid down with ease, pausing to catch his breath and to let our human companions join as well. The only one properly keeping up with me was Popsicle, who now paced around my feet and pawed at the dirt, ready to run again.

“I'd love to run to keep up with you guys, but someone's gotta make sure Pyrite doesn't set the forest on fire!” Winona called from the back of the group, with Wilson just a few steps ahead of her. Even Chester was with us right now, standing silently at Wilson's side with his tongue sticking out.

“Your companions are scrubs,” Wilbur snarked, dragging himself back up and staring back at the humans. Winona paused only for a second at the slope before using one hand to keep her balance and sliding smoothly down the mud. Wilson hesitated for a moment longer, and his descent was much less graceful.

“Are we sure that... um... Wilbur knows where he's going?” Wilson asked, furiously dusting himself off as if he had been clean before the muddy hill. “We've been doing a whole lot of walking.”

“Tell your friend that he's stupid.”

“He knows what he's doing.”

“That is not what I said.”

I chuckled and gazed down at the indignant prime ape. “If you're so desperate to be understood by them, maybe speak English.”

“English is the language of fools,” Wilbur proclaimed. “But if you insist, I shall employ my extremely limited mind you knowledge of English for this one.” He turned on his heel, stuck his tongue out, and shouted: “Stupid!”

Winona barked a laugh, covering her mouth with one hand as Wilson glared at her. “He's been leading us in what I'm pretty sure is circles!” He exclaimed. “And forgive me if not entirely believing this nonsense about talking to WX!”

When I bared my teeth at him, he finally silenced himself, grumbling lowly. Winona and Wilson clearly didn't quite believe Wilbur to be as intelligent as a human, and his inability (or refusal) to speak directly with them only solidified that incorrect thought.

When Wilbur had woken earlier that morning, spouting stuff about dream-stepping, I was a bit cautious as well. He told me once before about his ability to call for Charlie, and how the last time, it had been my lost friend to answer the call, but this seemed more extreme. Wilbur hadn't called for anyone and had expressed genuine confusion about WX calling for him. It was something that really only Maxwell should have been able to do. Nonetheless, he believed his words wholeheartedly, and some of the details he added was enough to convince me.

The book, apparently named the Codex Umbra, that we had once relied on for information, was not something I had shared with him. I had honestly forgotten about it, given how long it had been since we had last needed it. But, in the beginning, it had been WX to bring back the strange tome, with absolutely no explanation about where it had come from. His initial explorations had taken him quite far from camp, as this current adventure proved.

And then... the shells. While Wilbur had been there when I had given the Ancient Guardian the seashells, but the sparkle in his eyes when he mentioned them. He was wearing them. He received them. Well, it was enough for me to believe that Wilbur knew what he was doing.

Or, maybe, just maybe, Wilbur was horrendously lost.

“See, I recognize this tree,” Wilbur said, arching his tail to motion at the tree beside him. “Because I saw the branches and thought they looked like a middle finger. But then I don't remember... hmm. Gah, what do all trees look the same!?” He hit his forehead with his fist.

“He's lost, isn't he?” Winona said lightly, and I gave her a loose shrug in response.

“No! No I'm not! I just need a better view. Tyler, give me a boost!” Without waiting for me to consent, Wilbur launched himself onto my shoulders, clinging tightly on and staring straight ahead. I felt his tail flicking against one of my whiskers, which twitched in response.

“Wilbur, you're a prime ape. Just climb a tree.”

“You're right!” Wilbur exclaimed, a bit too loudly given that he was right in my ear, before promptly disembarking and clambering up the middle-finger tree.

I shook my head, sighing fondly.

Winona and Wilson came to stand beside me, craning their necks to peer into the branches. “Are you sure we should be following him?” Wilson scratched his head. “I mean, he's a monkey and its taken him this long to climb a tree. He can't even monkey right.”

“Actually, he's an ape,” I corrected. “A prime ape.”

Wilson tapped his chin. “No no, he's a monkey. He's got a tail, see? Apes don't have tails.”

“Humans are also fantastic at being wrong about everything,” I said. “How could a species called a 'prime ape' be a monkey? Think, Wilson.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Winona patted his shoulder to stop him before he could. “Calm down, it's just semantics.”

Wilbur dropped from the tree with a loud thunk, causing both of the humans to jump in surprise. He dusted himself off, grinned at me, then started walking forward once more. “I've got my bearings again. Okay! Not gonna get lost again! Not... that I was in the first place of course!”

I tipped my head at the others and jumped to catch up with Wilbur. He certainly seemed confident once more, head held high and tail arched over his back. Popsicle fell into step behind us, sniffing at the tree litter every once in awhile as if trying to get his own bearings.

“So... I guess I'm a little confused,” Winona spoke up after several minutes of silence. Wilson gave a small 'hmm?' of acknowledgment and I glanced back at her. “Maxwell's Door is the portal that got us here? So then, realistically, it should take us back home, right?”

“That's the plan,” Wilson said.

“Then... what's the point of all the fanfare about us? If this is how the whole thing is supposed to end? You know, why go through the trouble of all the fancy titles and promises if it was just going to end with us going through the door and going home? This isn't adding up.”

“Well, you guys are from a different world, right?” I asked. “You're not from here?”

Wilson frowned slightly. “I guess you are, aren't you?”

“So is Wilbur. So... if Maxwell's Door does take us home, then I'll still be in this world. Still present to take the Throne, I guess.” I shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. “Which means... I'll probably have to say my goodbyes to you two.”

Winona froze, her eyes wide, causing the rest of us to pause as well. “Wait, I can't leave yet! What about Charlie?”

Wilbur perked up. “Wait, how does she know Charlie?”

“That's her sister,” I said.

He slowly raised his hands, pressing them into his eyes. “You mean... Charlie. My friend Charlie. The same Charlie who is possessed by Nightmare, serves the Nightmare Throne, and tries to keep the timeline in order. The very same Charlie that I have mentioned several times before and you have never mentioned to be one of your companion's siblings?”

I opened my mouth to discredit that, but found myself unable to. Charlie is, by no means, a rare name. And really, even the simple idea of Wilbur's friend and Winona's sister being the same is just so off the wall that the possibility never occurred to me. “Charlie's not a rare name,” I mumbled.

“In a world like this?! When there's been like, thirty people max that have ever been brought here? Charlie is indeed a very rare name!! Ask her to tell me more about her if you doubt it. Or, better yet, name drop 'William Carter'.”

“Winona, does the name William Carter ring a bell?” I asked the handywoman. She stared at me for a moment, then nodded.

“I think I've mentioned him before. That was Charlie's fiance. Is Wilbur okay? He seems pretty worked up.”

“Fun fact,” Wilbur said. “William Carter is Maxwell's real name.”

“What!?” I shouted this in English, drawing the attention of the entire group once more. “What do you mean William is Maxwell's real name!?”

“I'm sorry, what? I don't think I'm following. How on Earth do you know about William and his stage name? Is he here?” Winona's eyes were wide, and she looked almost uncomfortable. Like she was very much not a fan of this conversation, but it was one that needed to happen.

“You guys all put pieces together, but can we do it while walking?” Wilbur asked.

And so, we did, struggling to connect pieces together in a coherent way.

“The last time I saw Charlie and William was at their last show. There was an earthquake and a lot of people swore they saw shadows coming from the book they used for their act. I didn't see them, personally, but the stories are pretty consistent. They were always together, almost inseparable, but William... I dunno, something was wrong with him. He wasn't himself before the show.”

“If it is the same people, which I'm beginning to believe it is, then the book, whatever it was-”

“The Codex Umbra,” Wilbur filled in.

“The Codex Umbra,” I corrected. “Brought them here. But then Maxwell- er, William- got put on the Nightmare Throne. And Charlie became... Wilbur, fill me in on that. What's Charlie's situation?”

“She's Nightmare's host,” Wilbur said. “Not like The Host, but in the sense that she is Nightmare's vessel. Or... whatever it has. Nightmare takes her appearance, and without her, it would die. However, it also uses her to do its bidding, like stalking the darkness and attacking people who stay out at night. The Nightmare Servant is what she's called.”

“Charlie became... possessed by a demon and now kills people in the dark.” I scowled at the sour taste the words left in my mouth. “But she's not evil.”

“No. She's not evil,” Wilbur agreed. “When Nightmare's not involved, she's entirely innocent. Honestly, she's probably the least evil person here.”

“She's not evil,” I said again, more confidently.

“She's... possessed by a demon,” Winona repeated softly, wringing her hands together. “But she's not evil. Can we save her?”

“If you're in the business of drinking disgusting poisoned blood and Nightmare likes you better than her, then sure.” Wilbur shrugged. “It can only jump between vessels through blood contact, and only if it chooses.”

I relayed the information.

“What about me, then?” Wilson argued. “How did I become its host if I never had contact with its blood?”

“Translate for me, Tyler: Your title, like mine, is sort of misleading. You weren't actually Nightmare's host. Nightmare possessed you, yes. Could control your mind and words and feelings, but really, it was just controlling parts of your brain. It wouldn't have had full power over you. The possession that Charlie is under is much more absolute. Her body is Nightmare's vessel. That's why if you ever actually see Nightmare, it looks like a twisted version of her. If someone else became its vessel, then it would look like them.”

“Then what does that mean for Charlie?” Winona pressed when I finished relaying the message.

“It means that unless somebody else gets Nightmare juice in their body, she's like that forever.” Wilbur shook his head. “Trust me, if I could have helped Charlie, I would have. But I'm not stupid enough to subject myself to that torture. Nightmare... doesn't need more power over me.”

My translation wasn't exact, but I also didn't want Winona to go out and get herself possessed for Charlie's sake.

“I'm sure she's fine,” Wilson reasoned. “It seems as if she's very much made a decent place for herself here. I mean... being possessed by a demon isn't great, but it sounds like she's a bright spot in a dark place.”

“She would be,” Winona mused softly. “But... I'm sorry. I can't leave without her. We'll find this Door, but I can't go with you guys.”

“I'm not touching that door,” Wilbur said. “Once you guys are gone, I'll probably go back to the Archipelago. Who knows, maybe I'll try to help Charlie, too. She deserves that much at least after everything.”

“Wilbur woud help you,” I told Winona, who gave a soft smile and nodded thankfully at the prime ape.

“So then it's just me and Webber,” Wilson sighed. “Webber, would you... risk... going to Earth? I mean, if the Door takes you there instead of your home...”

I inhaled sharply through my teeth. I... hadn't thought of that. I had assumed that it would be my home, given I remember building the Door. But Wilson made one as well, on his world. Where would it go?

“The better question is,” I said wryly. “Would you risk being stuck in this world if it takes you to my home?”

“Um...” Wilson nervously looked around. “It's not like... as bad as this place, right?”

“Same creatures and everything. Just... civilized. I lived in a town.”

“That's... I guess that would still be better than day-to-day survival.”

“It's quite lovely. Just don't mess with the spiders.”

Wilson was silent for a moment, as if he had to think about the joke, or maybe the fact that I would make it, but he eventually did give a small and awkward laugh, as if afraid I would take offense to the humor. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly, then glanced up at the trees.

“I think I want to stay a bit, though. I want to know where the Door is so I can leave when I'm ready, but... I think I want to stay with Winona and Wilbur. Try to help Charlie.”

“What? Webber, come on...”

“I've been away from my family for four years now, Wilson. A little longer won't hurt. Besides.” I scratched Popsicle's head, and the ice hound's tail thumped against the ground. “I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to Pop.”

“I remember this!” Wilbur suddenly blurted, shooting forward. Without hesitation, I darted after him with Popsicle by my side. “There was that animal trail over there, and the berry bushes there...” I drew to a stop as Wilbur turned in a circle, pointing out various landmarks as he mentioned them. “Then that means...” He padded to a thick clump of brush, poking his head into the thorns to see on the other side. He drew back, fur tousled and prickers stuck in his fur, but a wide grin on his face. “Prepare to feel stupid for doubting me, humans.”

As Winona, Wilson, and the duo of slower pets caught up to us, Wilbur drew back the plantlife to reveal...

Wilson yelped. as if in pain, clutching his head with a deep grimace. I flinched at the noise and flipped to look at him, but he was still standing, just with one eye half-closed as if struck with a headache. “Sorry. Don't- ah- don't worry about me. Just that... egh, that sound.”

“It's Their favorite torture device,” Wilbur agreed. He pushed forward until the brush fully cleared away into a flattened circle of grass. This place appeared well-worn, despite no obvious signs of footsteps or life. The mud was packed hard, with flattened grass stalks covering what normally would have been a muddy mess.

It was the machine in the center, though, that drew our attention.

Our attention.

Like Wilson, pain was building in the back of my head. But for me, it wasn't caused by whatever godawful sound the machine was producing. Rather, it was the familiar pang of a recently dormant spider testing the waters. With a low growl, I pushed back, and surprisingly, he gave rather easily. The pain faded.

The machine was shorter than I remembered, but that might have also been because of me having grown taller since last face-to-face with it. It was crude, appearing very much on the verge of collapsing under its own weight, but it held firm.

Winona shuddered. “Anyone else just get a terrible case of Deja Vu?”

“Mine didn't sound like that,” Wilson complained.

“Maybe it did and you just forgot,” I said helpfully. I paced closer, pausing only when Popsicle grabbed my lame hand. I glanced back at the puppy, confused by his reaction, as he desperately tried to drag me away. “It's okay, buddy,” I promised. I reached up to scratch his cheek in an attempt to calm him down. “I'm not going yet. I'm just taking a look, okay?”

In the corner of my eye, I noticed both Chester and Pyrite trying to stop Wilson from getting closer to it. The scientist looked desperately confused, but his head must have been hurting too much to try to argue. Chester physically blocked his way, nudging Wilson's leg in the opposite direction, while Pyrite spat tiny globules of lava onto the ground in front of him, almost like a warning shot.

“Why... are they acting so weird?” Winona asked cautiously, remaining unharrassed by animals but noticing easily enough that we did not share the same convenience.

Popsicle barked frantically, and Wilbur scowled.

“It's bad. That's all he keeps saying. It's bad,” the prime ape translated. He looked vaguely nauseous.

I touched the wood of the Door, ignoring Popsicle's low whine as I did so. It felt... strangely warm. Certainly not from the sun, given it was cast in shadows, but from something inside. Like machinery that had remained running and never had the chance to cool.

“So... I guess we say goodbye then?” Winona said softly, finally tearing her gaze away from Maxwell's Door. “At least... goodbye to Wilson?”

Wilson, for his part, seemed uncomfortable at being called out. He gazed up at it, something uncertain flickering in his eyes. Then, after a moment, his expression settled on something quiet and cold.

“No,” he said calmly. He pushed Chester away and stepped over Pyrite's attempted barrier. Then, he placed his hand on the wood as well, fingers curling slightly into it as if beckoning something from inside. “There must be five. Five to make it to the end. We can't do that here.”

Winona took a step closer, stopping only when Chester and Pyrite turned their attentions to her. “Um, Wilson?” She laughed uncomfortably. “Ah, uh, what are you talking about?”

“Do you seriously believe he would let us get this far and wouldn't push us to complete this?” Wilson said instead. He turned to face us, and suddenly, my entire body was swamped with terror.

I recognized this.

I stumbled away from him, violent trembling already starting even as both Wilbur and Winona reached out to me. I pushed away their advances, shaking my head furiously. “No. No no, no no no. You- I thought you would be-”

“I thought you would know more than anyone about biding your time, Webber. After all, is that not exactly what you're doing?” Wilson- Nightmare?- tapped his head, grinning wickedly. “We're too close to the surface here, though. Let us dive a little deeper, shall we?”

“Wilson don't!” Winona shouted, just as he pulled the lever on Maxwell's Door.

Despite myself, a raw scream of terror tore itself out of my chest as shadows burst through the Door. They twisted in on each other, dancing around themselves before branching out into clawed fingers. The terror reached a fever pitch as one of them latched onto me, and I found myself incapable of making any further sounds. Beside me, Winona stared blankly ahead as if in a state of shock, and Wilbur was hissing and thrashing against his binds, struggling to reach Wilson in what was likely a valiant attempt to flay the scientist alive.

Only I knew it was Nightmare here now.

Winona and Wilbur were dragged into the ground by the shadows with muffled cries, in a sight far too familiar to what we had experienced the last time this journey was made. Before they could take me, however, Nightmare beckoned them forward, and they lurched forward quickly to follow the demand.

“Find the machine,” Nightmare said calmly. It reached forward, flicking one of my whiskers and chuckling softly as I flinched at the contact. “We'll be waiting for you in Darkness, Young Heir. But until then... toodles~”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to lunge at the creature that had stolen my once-friends face, to get revenge for everything that it had done to me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hide and try to wait this out and pray that maybe, this time, Nightmare wouldn't succeed in killing me once and for all.

Instead of making any attempt to hurt me, though, it simply shook its head, then waved one hand. The shadows restricting me responded, and dragged me into the ground alongside the others into what I assumed would truly be the beginning of the end.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Part 3: The King's Gambit

Chapter 68. Left Unchecked
 

The Prison was a quiet place to be. Held in a state of silence so absolute that the only sounds to be heard was the ringing of ones ears as they strained. Occasionally, chatter would bubble up amongst the prisoners, but the longer any given Survivor stayed, the more quiet they became. Eventually, they too would fall completely silent. Nothing happened in the Prison. Once someone realized that, and realized they were doomed to be here for the rest of eternity, they became somber and morose. Some went mad. Some became violent. Some still pleaded for help, for release, for the pains of their everlasting wounds to stop.

So when something did happen in the Prison, no matter how minor, every single one of them made sure to catch every single detail. The speaking would start up again, with a couple inhabitants being mildly interested in the journey of their living counterparts. Many could care less. They knew, perhaps more than anyone else, that if even something major happened, it would never affect them, as timeless as these cages were. But a rare few held out hope for release. Hope for a better future. They had all heard Charlie's whispers.

If anything broke the monotony, it would be the Nightmare Servant. She tended to the prisoners to the best of her ability, each time with something soft and sad in her shadowed eyes. She would reach her hands out to the Survivors who pleaded for mercy, allowing them to clutch onto her just to feel something alive. The Survivors no longer felt real hunger or cold, but Charlie would still bring food to the ever-starving ones who perished to hunger, and meager warmth to those who froze in winter. She did what she could because it was never enough.

They would not become violent to her. She came to the Prison when she needed to think. The prisoners let her think. They cast their eyes away and listened to her rambling softly to herself. Through her words, even the uninterested ones soon learned everything that happened on the Mainland.

Then, there was the Other One, the makeshift nickname given to the nameless prisoner who did not have the same chains as them. They could never quite catch his name, only hearing 'The Martyr' passed around a couple of times, but even then, that was simply a title.

It had started the first time he had come here at Charlie's side. He had a wound- a gaping one, a fatal one, just like many of them. He hadn't said a word to her or the prisoners, instead watching them wearily as if he expected them to launch themselves at him. He was scared of them. But, many had come to the conclusion that it wasn't themselves he was afraid of, but rather becoming them.

When they had left, one of the Survivors had blurted out: “Who was the other one?” and the name simply stuck.

Suddenly, they had two visitors now. Charlie, with her cool, caring hands and pitiful looks, and the Other One, often silent, sometimes speaking lowly to himself. The very night before, he had returned with a companion, one that he had called 'Wilbur'.

Another Survivor. Another one of them. They listened, not out of interest, but because they had nothing else to do. They heard their words because there was nothing else to hear. Their conversation had been quick and to the point, with the duo leaving very soon after, but it had not gone unnoticed.

Immediately after their departure, the talking started again. Questions, comments, angry snaps. It didn't stop until one Survivor told them to shut up, voice raising into an angry shout that was simply unfamiliar coming from him. They all hushed with baited breath, waiting for more.

It was Warly who had spoken. He was situated towards the back, hand absently pressed against a wound across his throat that no longer bled. He gave no further information, no context, and no comments. It clicked in their minds, some faster than others, that this must have been the one to kill Warly. He had never stopped talking about his death until several months after he arrived. By extension, then, Warly's companions, Walani and Woodlegs, must have also recognized Wilbur.

Before prisoners could verbally put pieces together, someone entered the prison.

At first, they relaxed, recognizing the shape of their long-time friend, Charlie. However, a moment later, the light shifted, revealing red and black markings, and silent fire burning in its eyes. The reaction was instant, with the still sane ones jumping back in terror and the mad ones lurching forward to fight it.

It paced silently into the prison. Its footsteps made not a single sound as it moved, almost seeming to hover a few centimeters off of the ground. Then, when it spoke in a familiar garbled voice, the Survivors instinctively snapped into attention.

“Who. Was. Here?”

Its voice was calm and sharp at once. Stoic and collected, but radiating menace and fury with every syllable. The residents were silent, with more than one shuffling as far away from the furious creature as possible.

Its face curled into an unpleasant smile. It gazed around, inching towards one of the cages and reaching a hand through to caress the face of the prisoner inside. Wilba tried to bare her teeth at it, but fur noticeably sprouted up at Nightmare's touch, betraying her terror.

“I'm asking nicely. I would really rather not have to ask again.”

“It was just the robot!”

Nightmare swung around and moved so fast it was merely a blur to their eyes. It grabbed onto the cage containing Wendy. The girl was more than used to interacting with the supernatural, but Nightmare was more than that. Even she was noticeably shaken under the direct attention of the most terrifying creature in the Constant.

“The robot?” Nightmare mused. “Why, that doesn't sound right. I know he was not alone. Do you really want to risk lying to me?”

“Not lying!” Wormwood spoke up. The creature was shaking so hard it was a wonder it got the words out, and it went completely numb as Nightmare's gaze swung to meet it.

Nightmare growled. It was fully aware that they were all lying to it.

“You know... you may be dead, but that does not mean you are immune to pain. It simply means I can do whatever I want to you without the risk of killing you again.” Its grin grew as it neared another cage, trailing one claw across the bars. “Strongman, I'm sure you could take a couple of hits for your little... 'secret', right?”

“I not know!” Wolfgang blurted, visibly flinching as Nightmare spoke. “Little monkey man?”

“Wilbur.”

The voice came from the back. Nightmare suddenly stopped taunting Wolfgang, and wreathed its way towards the new voice. “Warly, how nice of you to speak up,” it purred. The chef managed a look of defiance before it quickly melted into the same terror everyone else felt. “But you have to speak a little clearer. Do you want me to believe that that useless monkey was here?”

“Ask your shadows. I'm sure they saw him.” Warly frowned, not meeting Nightmare's gaze.

Nightmare was quiet for a moment, reaching out mentally to prod at Warly's psyche. To test that truth.

“What do you have to say?” It turned to Walani, who had remained silent up until now. She had her mouth tightly closed, flicking from Warly to Nightmare and back. “Was it him?”

“Y-You know, it's been so long since I last saw the guy, I can't be expected to remember what he looked like-” She started babbling, but Nightmare grabbed the bars and shook the cage furiously, immediately putting an end to her attempted monologue. She gulped hard, planing her hands against the bottom of the cage and staring at Nightmare with wide eyes. “Okay, okay! Yeah, it was Wilbur. But they barely talked about anything!”

“Then what did they talk about, if it was so 'unimportant'?” Nightmare growled, pressing further against the cage until Walani had no choice but to stare at it.

“Um... the weather?”

“Leave them alone, Nightmare!”

The terrified Survivors snapped back into awareness as Charlie's voice cut through the prison. She moved quickly, eyes narrowed into angry slits. “What are you doing in here? This is not your place!” Nightmare growled as it released Walani's cage to face the furious woman.

“Chasing a lead, Charlotte. Something that I knew for certain you wouldn't do. And it involves your little 'pet'.”

Charlie, for her part, looked genuinely confused. Even then, though, she still froze up as Nightmare approached her.

“Where is he right now, Charlotte?” It whispered.

“Why does it matter, Nightmare? This has nothing to do with you.”

“On the contrary, I believe it has everything to do with me. Especially, since it appears you have allowed him to dream-step. Not once, but twice.”

Charlie drew back, sucking in air harshly from between her teeth. “No? Survivors can't dream-step. You know that as well as I do.”

“Then why is it that I've been informed that he was in here not too long ago... with one of the living Survivors?”

“Because everyone in here has been isolated for years and is going insane? How do you expect me to know?”

“Because I know full well that you are behind it. To allow sensitive information to possibly be passed onto the Mainland is treason of the highest order.”

“Then it's a good thing I've never told him any sensitive information, hmm?” She tapped her chin, staring down Nightmare with as much bravery as one could muster when faced with the demon. “Oh wait, it's you and Maxwell that have had loose lips around him, isn't it?”

Nightmare swelled in anger for just a moment, before deflating into a sort of calm indifference. “You have been a traitor for many years, Charlotte. We are all aware. To allow a Survivor to dream-step? You should be sent to death for this.”

“But I won't be,” Charlie concluded. “Because without me, you will die. It's a lot harder to accidentally mix blood than you think it would be, isn't it?”

Nightmare twisted in anger. “Nonetheless. I see a great opportunity coming up soon. One that you should not concern yourself with. Just know that your position is weak here. Your fiance's regime will collapse because of you.”

“It's about time somebody did it, then.”

She barely had the time to react before a swell of pure darkness warped the air and struck her in the chest. Charlie stumbled back, wheezing hard, as Nightmare lowered its hand. “You were a good host for so long,” it lamented, eyes glittering with cruelty. “Count your minutes, Charlotte. Very soon, your life will mean nothing to me. The second I am done using you and The Martyr, you shall both perish by my hand. Until then,” it clenched a fist, and shadows gathered around the young woman's mouth. She let out a muffled cry, but fell silent the second she realized it had gagged her. “We just have to take a couple of extra precautions to make sure nothing else unsavory is shared with your little pet.”

“He found it himself,” Warly said softly. “She had no part of this.” The chef's eyes were dark with concern for the woman who had shown them all such care. If defending her meant throwing the Other One under the bus, then so be it. “He told Wilbur where Maxwell's Door was. He said he found it himself. Let her go.”

Surprisingly, Nightmare did exactly as Warly demanded, releasing the shadows clutched around Charlie's face to glare down at the perished human. “The Door?”

Charlie felt her heart skip a beat at the pure joy in Nightmare's voice.

“This might end up in our favor then. Charlotte, you will go to Darkness and remain there for as long as necessary. You shall not leave until a new host is infected or you perish, do you understand?” Without waiting for a response, it waved the woman away, and she vanished at Nightmare's beckon. “Thank you, Culinarian, for speaking the truth of this matter. Now... I know where to start.”

“Start... what?” Walani asked cautiously.

Nightmare glided towards the door, but paused at the woman's question. It turned its head, raising one claw and placing it to its mouth in a hushing gesture. A grin stretched across its face as it purred: “It's a secret.”

And then, it was gone, leaving nothing behind but cold air and residual terror. The Survivors said nothing to each other, fully aware that there was nothing to be said. They had no part in this. No stakes in the matter. And yet, knowing that Nightmare had something in store still chilled the sane prisoners. They looked to their departed companions in fear, some hoping to draw strength from the ones they had perished alongside and others simply acting in curiosity. Walani glared at Warly and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the last of their group.

“Leave 'er be,” Woodlegs said. “The beastie woulda' figured it out.” The man closed his eyes, tapping one wooden leg against the bottom of the cage and scratching loudly at his bearded chin.

“It would've hurt someone,” Warly told her hotly. “I wouldn't risk hurting someone here more than we already are just to defend Wilbur.”

“It's not just Wilbur that's at risk, though,” Walani argued. “By ratting both him and the Other One out, you've put all of them in grave danger.”

Warly sighed, turning his head away and pressing his cheek against the bars. “What Woodlegs said. It would've found out eventually. Besides, why do you care about the fate of the living ones? It's not like it's going to affect us at all.”

“What happens to the Young Heir affects all of us,” Wendy spoke up, her voice soft yet emotionless as she picked at her fingernails. She was stripped of the flower she once had, and unfortunately, her picking had been transferred from the soft petals to her cuticles. “In case you forgot that there is a chance they could overthrow Maxwell.”

“Which would affect us,” Walani agreed.

“Then I'll worry about that when it happens.” Warly closed his eyes, fully ending the conversation at that.

Walani stared at the entrance to the Prison, so close yet so far away. Nightmare's rage wouldn't just affect the last living group; it also deeply affected Charlie, who had shown them nothing but kindness. A frown creased her brow as worry crept into her chest.

Nightmare was bound to Charlie, who was now semi-banished to 'Darkness'... whatever that was. She couldn't even begin to guess. If Nightmare was now patrolling such a place, though, it had to have a reason.

Once unconcerned for the plight of the living Survivors, for the first time, Walani felt scared on their behalf.

And she wasn't alone. No, many of them knew what this meant for their counterparts. Some grew fearful, some only chuckling wryly, and some were surprised by the hope they felt. If just one group could thwart Nightmare multiple times already and survive for as long as they have, maybe that meant that change truly was coming.

Maybe freedom was actually in their grasp.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 69. Integrity - Part 1

Chapter 1 of 5

A Cold Reception

 

Wilbur awoke with every nerve alight with fire. His memories were foggy, but for whatever reason, he simmered with rage, and he leaped to his feet entirely prepared to fight.

Immediately, several things came to his attention.

One. He was the last awake.

Two. He had no idea where he was. Winona was still crouched on the ground, having likely been the most recent to stir before him. As Wilbur moved, she stuck one arm out to stop him, even though he wasn't immediately sure why.

Three. He had clearly either missed something or forgotten something.

Wilson and Tyler were in a stand-off. Neither looked angry, although Winona seemed to think it was anger spiking the air between them, but Wilbur knew at once that that wasn't it.

The scent of terror was so strong Wilbur felt as though he was drowning in it. It was sour on his tongue, apparently coming from both parties staring each other down. For a long moment, nobody moved save for the soft rise and fall of breathing.

Although, Wilbur quickly noticed, there was nothing soft about Tyler's breathing. It was fast and erratic, so much so that there was no way he was getting enough air. Wilson, in contrast, looked quite like he was at the tail end of a panic attack, when the panic settled more into disassociation. His breaths were calm, but his eyes were glazed and distant, and even though he was facing Tyler, he wasn't really looking at him. One hand grasped absently at his chest, clutching the worn fabric of his top tightly as if preparing to rip at something under it.

They were both terrified, but of different things. For Wilson, something inside. For Tyler, something outside.

When it didn't seem as if either party was willing to move, Winona took the initiative to reach one hand out to them. Not to touch either, but simply to break the stillness.

Instantly, Tyler's eyes shot towards the movement, every other part of his body down to the whiskers frozen in place as if staying still would save him from whatever he was scared of.

The reaction from Tyler sparked a reaction from Wilson. He was still clearly out of it, but he took the smallest of stumbled steps back, breathing picking up once more.

Winona froze as well, only moving just enough to give Wilbur a meaningful look. She gave a very small nod, almost encouraging him. He didn't need to be told twice. Wilbur took a step forward, closer to Tyler, while Winona set her sights on Wilson.

Tyler's gaze flicked to Wilbur, large eyes displaying every inch of fear coursing through his body. Wilbur reached a steady hand out and made sure to keep his advance slow. It was like approaching a scared crabbit, he told himself. Slow movements. Keep your eyes focused on them, but not directly in the eyes. For that reason, he kept his gaze on Tyler's scarred cheek.

It didn't seem to help though. Once Wilbur was finally in touching distance, Tyler threw his hands over his head, elbows close together as if trying to defend his neck and face at the same time. His stillness devolved into terrible tremors.

“Tyler, hey. It's okay. It's just me.” He spoke softly as to not startle him further, but any progress he may or may not have made was immediately ruined when Wilson made the smallest movement. Just the slightest turning of his head to face Winona, the smallest and most inoffensive of movements, but it was enough incentive for Tyler to immediately bolt. Wilbur cried out and gave chase, but not without a quick glance behind him to make sure that Winona still had their companion under control.

He had seen the boy run before, but this was more than a jog through the woods. This was a panicked sprint that Wilbur couldn't hope to keep up with, and so he did the best he could with what he had. The further he ran, though, the more small things seemed to catch his attention.

The forest they had been in before had been filled primarily with conifers. The sharp scent of evergreens had washed out most other scents, leaving him little hope for sniffing out prey or anything of the sort even if he wanted to. However, this forest, while almost as dense, was deciduous. Leaves dotted the ground, thicker in some places than others, and the scent of prey was almost overwhelming. He spotted rabbits that didn't move away from him as he ran, birds that only tipped their heads curiously as he passed instead of flying away. He saw animals that were accustomed to having few natural predators. Not the skittish animals that should exist in a land that Survivors came to die.

He didn't have much time to ponder, though, because Tyler stumbled in front of him, likely tripping on something beneath the fallen leaves and ending up on the ground. Without even attempting to right himself, the boy flipped around to face Wilbur. He scrabbled backwards to the best of his ability, only stopping when his back hit the trunk of a tree. Wilbur slowed until he was barely moving once more, keeping both of his hands visible to his friend.

“It's just me,” Wilbur breathed. Tyler's gaze flicked to both of his hands, but even though Wilbur was unarmed and making himself as vulnerable as possible, the boy did not seemed convinced of his intentions.

“S-stay away,” Tyler hissed. His voice was tight and soft, little more than a whisper, but Wilbur heard it clearly enough. He immediately stopped moving entirely.

“Alright, okay, I'm staying away. Look, I'm not getting any closer to you. I'm not going to touch you.” Wilbur had seen one of Tyler's breakdowns before. A couple times now, actually. Both panic spirals and moments when his consciousness broke enough for the spider to come through. He knew Tyler well enough to be confident that this had nothing to do with Webber. There was no malice or anger or anything similar to that in his eyes. Instead, his almost animalistic movements seemed entirely based on instincts. Even though Wilbur made no move to get closer, Tyler dragged himself to his hands and knees, crouched low with his claws out and growling wildly. His behavior was borderline feral, easily confused as a spider's actions, but Wilbur knew better.

After all, Wilbur himself was no stranger to panic attacks like this.

“Can you try to focus on your breathing?” Wilbur asked him calmly. He inched forward in an attempt to allow Tyler to follow his own breathing, but it only sent the boy into another round of fearsome snarling.

He wasn't sure what to do. Touch had always been quite grounding to Wilbur, and when touch didn't work, just hearing someone's voice was often enough. Something to focus on. Tyler didn't seem capable of focusing on anything right now, and Wilbur had the sneaking suspicion that any attempt to touch him would end with him being on the receiving end of those claws.

Something terrible clearly happened. Something that Wilbur was having trouble remembering. Likely between Tyler and Wilson, given their respective reactions to each other. Keeping a close eye on Tyler to ensure the boy wouldn't try to run again, he pried at his recent memories.

There was Maxwell's Door. Shatter's panicked barking warning them of something dangerous. Then...

Oh.

Oh.

Wilson. The crazed look in his eye. He had activated the door, rambling about diving deeper. Winona and himself had been dragged... seemingly into the ground, but Tyler hadn't been. Not immediately, anyway.

What happened between them that caused Tyler to react like this?

What did he say?

What did he say!?

“Tyler, please, I need you to tell me if you're hurt,” Wilbur tried. The hybrid's snarls petered out, but nothing else seemed to have changed. Wilbur tried inching closer again, and even though Tyler's defenses somehow shot even higher, he made no move to attack. Another step forward. “Are you okay? I am speaking to Tyler now, yes? It doesn't look like you're bleeding but I need to know if you're okay. Did he hurt you?”

Wilbur was close enough to touch him now, but the attempt ended with Tyler's sharp facade immediately crumbling. He curled into himself, once more hiding his face as if afraid that Wilbur was going to hurt him. His breathing picked up into an even more inconsistent rhythm.

Wilbur sighed softly. “If you keep breathing like that, you're either going to make yourself sick or pass out. Come on. Try it with me.” He exaggerated his breathing to an audible degree. Tyler was still hiding his face, and it wouldn't do much good if he had no example to go off of.

After many moments of little to no progress, Wilbur finally noticed an attempt for him to breathe normally. His throat caught as he choked on a sob, but it was something.

“It's okay, it's okay. Trust me, these things suck. They're not fun. But you gotta stick with me if you want to feel better.”

Wilbur saw the smallest glimmer of the boy's eye -leaking tears- as he slightly lowered one hand. He hiccuped and choked again, but found the rhythm of breathing soon after. He was partially curled over his injured side, protecting the missing eye as if there was anything left to lose.

“Was that how he hurt you?” Wilbur wondered aloud. He didn't intend for Tyler to respond, assuming him to still be too far out of it to understand, so he was surprised to see the boy nod. No wonder he was having such a severe panic attack. The last time he had seen his companion act in such a way, he had ended up permanently scarred...

“Hey, look at that. You're breathing like a normal person again. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Tyler shook his head. His breathing was still faster than normal, but it was at least fairly regular. That was a major success.

“Where-” Tyler tried, but his voice caught on the word and he coughed. “Where-”

“It doesn't matter right now,” Wilbur said fiercely. He reached out again, and this time, Tyler didn't shrink back or lash out. Instead, the boy seemed to relish the touch. His hands finally drifted away from his face. “Right now, we just need you to keep breathing and keep your head on straight.”

“He said... h-he said-” His claws curled into the ground, and a low whine rose in his throat. “He lied!”

Wilbur didn't respond. He wasn't entirely sure what Tyler was talking about. The boy's words didn't stop, though. He spoke quickly and low, mumbled words that made little to no sense together.

The crash hit fast and hard. One minute, Tyler was stiff and terrified, even if not actively panicking, and the next, his entire body slouched against Wilbur. Fresh tears still rose from his eye and soaked into his fur, but the worst of it finally seemed over. Wilbur sighed, pulling away just enough to look Tyler in the eye. “Are you okay?”

He opened and closed his fists a few times. “Mmph, my hands. Tingly.”

Despite himself, Wilbur smiled wryly. It faded almost immediately, though, as he pressed: “Are you... erm, can you tell me what happened?”

Tyler blinked wetly at him. He looked exhausted and miserable, but however much Wilbur would've loved to let it go, he had to know what had happened. Tyler raised his lame hand and mopped at the tears staining his face. “Wilson- he said that- that Nightmare was gone. That he wouldn't try to hurt me anymore. He promised, Wilbur. He said that I was safe-”

“Hey hey, calm down.” Wilbur pressed his hands against Tyler's shoulders just enough for him to feel the pressure. “Don't work yourself up again.”

Tyler swallowed hard and nodded. “S-sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to do that. It just- it came out of nowhere. But I thought that... that he wanted to finish the job. He was going to kill me and I couldn't do anything-”

“Did he hurt you?” Wilbur asked gently.

Tyler denied it. “He... told me to find the machine. Wilbur, Nightmare- Nightmare's waiting for me. Oh God, he's going to kill me-”

“I understand, I understand. You don't have to keep talking.” He desperately wanted to know more, but more than that, it was clear that pushing Tyler for more answers would only cause him to spiral once more. “Hey, how about you and I go back and see what's up, okay? I promise I'll protect you.”

Fear sparked in Tyler's eyes. “But he'll be there.”

“Wilson was just as dazed as you were. For the moment, you're safe.” A small core of anger pulsed in Wilbur's chest, and he cracked his knuckles. “And he'd better have a real good answer to all of this, or I swear to myself that he'll never have the opportunity to do anything to you again.”

…

For as much as Wilbur wanted to flay Wilson for what had happened, he couldn't suppress the smallest hint of pity when he saw the look on the scientist's face again. Winona was holding onto his shoulder, her grip firm, but whether it was to ground him or to keep him from moving, Wilbur was uncertain. Instead, he focused on Tyler beside him, and the way the boy immediately started shaking again when brought back to face his companions.

Winona met Wilbur's eyes, and he could see the unspoken question on her face. Is he okay?

Wilbur shrugged and cast a worried look towards his friend. I don't know.

“I-I'm sorry,” Wilson blurted when the silence had gone on long enough. “I- I should've said something. But- I thought... it said that it didn't want me anymore. I don't know why-” Winona squeezed his shoulder, stopping his panicked words in their track.

“How long has this been happening?” She asked calmly.

“I... I don't know. Since Webber disappeared?” His gaze clouded over, and he cast his eyes to the ground.

Wilbur had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he had no wish to try to speak English with the humans. He had to be content to wait until Tyler was comfortable enough to translate for him.

“Nightmare,” Tyler whispered. He swallowed hard, voice cracking as if dry, before he tried again. “What... what does it want with me?”

Something flashed over Wilson's face, and he seemed to draw into himself a bit. “It didn't... it wasn't going to hurt you,” he said quickly. “I swear, I absolutely swear Webber, I would never let that happen again.”

“Oh yeah, because you let it happen last time?” Wilbur snapped, keeping his language to one that Tyler wouldn't understand either. The anger must have been evident in the tone of his voice, though, for Wilson immediately shrunk back and Tyler flinched hard, as if it was directed at him. Wilbur shut his mouth, but his tail lashed furiously from side to side.

“It said it wanted us to go deeper, Wilson. What does that mean?” Winona pressed. He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off before he could. “And I don't want any more lies or half-truths. This has gotten far too serious for you to just blow something off. Tell us everything.”

“I... I don't know,” Wilson admitted. “It... it didn't tell me anything. All I know is what it told you guys...”

“Why should we believe that?” Tyler snapped. “When you've been hiding something like this without saying a thing about it.” He took several steps back, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of stubborn burrs. “I- I can't get hurt again. Please, not again.”

“Do you think I want to be in this situation any more than you do?” Wilson asked incredulously. “I don't think its presence here has anything to do with you.” He scoffed. “In case you forgot, 'Young Heir', not everything in this world totally revolves around you.”

Tyler flinched and bristled at that. Wilbur curled his nose at the suddenly overwhelming smell of fear and anger that permeated the air once more.

Winona smacked Wilson's shoulder, hard enough that it probably hurt. “That is uncalled for. He's scared, not entitled.”

The boy shook his head again, more furiously than the last. “Hng... get out get out get out.” He let out a low, pained moan. Wilson smirked at him.

“You're fighting that spider, aren't you? How can we know that you're safe to be around? You can't be upset with me for Nightmare when you're something like that.”

Tyler shot his head up, teeth bared in a snarled as his eyes flickered. The same flicker seemed to glow in Wilson's eyes as he crossed his arms. Suddenly, Wilbur was struck with the realization that this argument was no longer between Tyler and Wilson. Or rather, just between them.

That was enough for Winona apparently. Wilbur was keeping back, fearful of causing violence to break out, but Winona had no such reservations. She lunged forward and grabbed Wilson's shoulders, pulling him back and shaking him.

“There's absolutely no reason for you to be acting like this,” the Handywoman snapped. “Unlike Webber, you have no reason to be afraid of anyone here. In case you have forgotten, you are an adult. And you're trying to make a little kid feel guilty for being scared of you when you've clearly hurt him in the past?”

“I'm trying my best!” Wilson argued as he shoved Winona away. “It wasn't like I chose to die! I didn't ask to be resurrected just to be the host of a demon! And we can't just act like I'm the only ticking time bomb here!” He motioned towards Tyler, whose pained grimace was growing gradually deeper. “We're birds of a feather!”

“We didn't ask for any of this either!” Tyler suddenly shouted. His voice was rough and angry and mean, and yet not entirely Webber's. It was something more in between. Something unsteady. He gripped his head, whiskers twitching. “I didn't ask to be forever chained to a stupid human! I didn't ask to be eaten by a spider! I didn't ask to be afraid all of the time like a child- to be savage all the time like a spider! I didn't- we- ngh...” As quickly as it rose, his voice tapered off. He swayed on his feet. Winona's eyes widened, but Wilbur was the only one close enough to catch him when he collapsed. Tyler shoved Wilbur away the second he was safely lowered to the ground, but it was clear he still wasn't entirely present. His eyes were foggy and his breaths were labored, as if trying to inhale and exhale at the same time. All he ended up achieving was small, inefficient wheezes.

Wilson sighed heavily and Wilbur jumped on the defensive. He bared his teeth at the scientist, daring him to come closer. Luckily, it seemed he was finally putting that brain of his to use, and he didn't move. Instead, he dug the balls of his hands into his eyes and groaned. “I-I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean any of that. I-I'm just... I'm scared, too, okay? I'm really scared that I might accidentally hurt someone and I can't do anything about it.” He lowered his hands and his eyes betrayed every conflicted feeling swirling through his head . “Nightmare is so much more powerful than me, and that terrifies me to know. That I can just be... controlled like that.”

“Okay, yes, I get that, but that's no reason to take it out on anyone else,” Winona argued. “Especially not Webber. In case you forgot, he actually told us about the spider before anything bad happened.

Wilson blinked guiltily at her and nodded. “I... I know. You're right. I'm sorry.”

They continued exchanging words, but Wilbur tuned out when he decided any immediate threat was unlikely. He instead focused his attention on the struggling boy in front of him. “Hey, hey buddy. Can you hear me?” He asked Tyler quietly. As if the words were an anchor for him to grasp to, Tyler's eyes fixed intensely on Wilbur. He was still breathing hard and irregularly, his hand grasped at his chest as if trying to help his lungs expand, but his eyes were at least hazily focusing. “Yup, hello, that's me. Panic attack or something else?”
“Something...” He wheezed. The word was nothing but a simple breath, and it took clear effort for him to squeeze out: “else.”

“Okay, okay, you're fine. You're fine. Keep your eyes on me. Don't pass out, okay? Try to stay with me. Let's just get your breathing under control again, okay?”

“It hurts- Wilbur, it hurts,” Tyler hissed. He tipped his chin up, gasping for the air he was struggling to get. “Can't... let him... gah... breathe stupid human...”

Wilbur leaned forward, pressing his hand against the boy's furred chest. “Stay with me. Who am I talking to right now?”

“Me- him- us-” he stuttered.

“In that case, both of you listen up. You've apparently shared that body for years now, you can remember how to breathe together. It's not even been a month since you were last together, has it?”

“I'm going to flay that scientist,” Tyler said instead. His claws scraped uselessly at his upper chest.

“You'll be able to do all the flaying you want after you calm yourself down. I can't hang around you all the time to remind you how to breathe. You've gotta do it on your own sometimes. Come on, you two. Breathing now, homicide later. Okay? Breathing now, homicide later.”

Finally, they seemed to take a steady breath. After the first, the rest seemed to come naturally to them, as if finally remembering how to do it. With the two separate minds finally settling together again, they- quite abruptly- passed out once more.

Wilbur finally turned his attention to Winona and Wilson, gauging their reactions. Winona seemed sad, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Wilson had one hand covering his mouth, his eyes wide with guilt.

“Is he okay?” Winona asked first, keeping her voice low. Wilbur nodded, thought for a moment, then amended his response to a so-so gesture. Wilson lowered his hand and grasped the opposite arm with it. He looked away.

“I... I didn't mean to make him panic,” Wilson said after a long moment. His shoulders hunched as he spoke.

It wasn't a panic attack, but the conflicting nature of conflicting minds, but Wilbur chose not to correct him. Not that he could without speaking English to them. Wilbur gazed back down at his younger companion, concern gnawing at his chest. What would've caused such an episode? How could they have forgotten how to do something as simple as breathing together? Had it somehow been too long, despite such little time having passed since they were last together? Or was it something else?

Should he be concerned about episodes like this in the future?

“Wilbur?” Tyler mumbled from the ground. The prime ape perked up and glanced at Tyler, ready to answer any of the dozens of questions he likely had. Instead of asking about the episode or Wilson, though, the boy simply looked around, then pushed himself to his elbows as if attempting to get a better look at their surroundings.

“What's wrong?”

Tyler said nothing for a moment as if hoping for their environment to change. When it didn't, he turned his pale gaze to Wilbur and asked what was likely the one question he didn't have any good answer to right now.

“Where are we?”

[Pokemaniac7000]

 

Chapter 70. Integrity - Part 2

Chapter 1 of 5

A Cold Reception

Wilson's POV

When Webber and Wilbur spoke, their conversations were typically a strange mix of spider and English. Webber would bounce between the two languages without really noticing, giving me small glimpses as to what they were talking about. I found myself wishing, more than once, that Wilbur would give up whatever game he was playing and just speak to us normally, but he simply refused.

I knew that Wilbur was speaking to the boy in a hurried, hushed tone, but the words themselves were lost on me. Instead, I simply had to stand by and watch him dissolve into yet another panic attack, so soon after running off during the first. Faint inklings of guilt bubbled in my chest, and I wanted nothing more than to inch forward to help, but I knew better.

We were in a situation that I really didn't want to think about right now. A situation that was entirely my fault. They knew it was entirely my fault. They had all seen Nightmare pulling on the strings just hours ago.

Hours? How much time had really passed?

It was approaching winter, I knew that. I had been here long enough to be familiar with the seasonal cycle. And yet, it smelled like spring, and the sun was unnaturally warm for this late in the autumn.

It was Webber, only moments after being dragged out of his panic, that addressed the elephant in the room.

“Where are we?”

He asked the question in a small, hoarse voice, and yet it struck me as hard as if he had

screamed it.

Where were we?

The last thing I had remembered was moving against my will. It hadn't been as total of a possession as the last time (something I expected to feel the usual pang of guilt over, but failed to this time around) but I hadn't been able to fight it. For a moment, everything had felt right, and then everything had felt very very wrong. A ridiculous effort to go home had ended with something else. And I didn't need to have enhanced senses to sense the electricity in the air. I could sense the new shadows with almost terrifyingly accurate perception. The air felt heavier, the light duller. The shadows were more plentiful, hovering just on the edges of the suns rays. Between the particles of light. Observing.

The door hadn't taken us to Earth, which was a bummer but honestly something I had anticipated. It was the fact that Webber was unfamiliar with the world that startled me. After all, what other door could there be?

“You know, that's a great question,” Winona mused. She glanced at me with a tilted eyebrow, cold frustration still glittering in her eyes. “Wilson, care to share?”

“Um.” I had no answer. It was all I could do to shrink under her scrutiny. Webber's anger I was far too familiar with, both aimed at me and otherwise, and Wilbur's was familiar by way of association with his closest companion.

Winona's, however deserved, was entirely new to me.

“Allow me to answer that question, dear boy.”

The voice was new, agonizingly familiar, and dripping cockiness all at once. I turned on my heel so fast that my head spun, my heartrate kicking up several paces at the sight of the man standing before us.

It had been a long time since I had been in Maxwell's presence. While I had never actually seen him, at least to my memory, it was impossible not to recognize his voice, and I had somehow always known what he would look like. He wore a long, fur coat that nearly grazed his too-clean dress shoes. In one hand, he held a cigar, which he casually blew a puff of as I stared, and in the other, a familiar blue sword.

While I was stunned into silence, the rest of my group had entirely different reactions. Wilbur let out a primal screech of rage and nearly leapt at the man, stopped only by Winona actively standing in front of him. Webber turned to anger as well, baring his teeth and growling deep in his throat. Both had their claws at the ready. Winona, however, held a hand out towards him, her eyes wide and blank with shock. It was her who moved first, stumbling closer to Maxwell with her mouth hanging open. “William?”

No sooner than the name left her mouth did Maxwell strike her with the sword. Not the blade, thankfully, but the attack was harsh and unexpected. She was shoved back a few paces, wheezing as the hit took her breath. I immediately moved to defend her from any further strikes, but Maxwell raised one hand and calmly smirked. He lowered the sword, pressing its point into the ground.

“That name is an insult to the person I am now,” he said simply. “I must admit, I am surprised to see you here. It appears as if your sister had the right idea after all.”

“Where is Charlie!?” Winona's voice was wobbly, but demanding nonetheless. “What did you do to her? I swear to God, if you hurt her-”

“Ah, finally asking the right questions! Or, well, close to the right questions.” Maxwell cut off. He took another drag of his cigar, forging tension as he took his time. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Their domain.” He spread his arms, motioning to the surrounding area. “Or, at least, the surface of it.”

“The surface?” I pressed before any of the others could speak. Honestly, I felt I was the most in my mind at the time. Wilbur looked one word away from spreading Maxwell's entrails across the grass and I had no doubt that Winona and Webber would've joined him if their expressions had anything to say about it.

“I know that my companion once told you that the Giants were the key to your freedom.” He placed a hand against his chest, looking awfully pitying, as though gazing upon an injured animal. “And while that was... unfortunately... a lie, you have taken one important step closer. You see, Their domain exists between our worlds. But the specifics are unimportant to you, I presume.”

“Get to the point, Maxwell,” Webber snarled. I absently raised a hand at the boy to tell him to stand down. “What does this have to do with Charlie?”

“Pushy, aren't we?” Maxwell pushed closer to Webber and Wilbur, a humored gleam in his eyes. “My my, what a duo you two make. You've moved on rather fast, Wilbur, haven't you?”

The tension snapped. Wilbur lunged at Maxwell in a frenzy, and I fully expected to see a violent fight happen before my eyes. Instead of pulling any magic tricks, though, Maxwell simply waved Wilbur's violence off. The monkey's attack didn't land, rather passing straight through what I now knew to be an apparition of our captor. Wilbur didn't appear confused, or even shocked in the slightest. The prime ape launched into a furious tirade, bouncing between languages so fast that I couldn't even make out growls from hisses from barks.

Maxwell's gaze landed on Winona, steady and arrogant. “Oh, but the opposite is true for you, right? You simply refuse to move on, despite everyone else telling you to.”

“You are really overstaying your welcome,” I said lowly.

“So impatient,” Maxwell sighed, tapping the ash off of his cigar. “No flair for the dramatics. Fine, then. You stand at the beginning of your greatest challenge yet. Ahead of you lies five worlds, each painstakingly designed to break you in every possible way. To advance to the next world, you must not only survive the pressures of each land, but thrive in them. Only then will the way be clear to you.”

“We're not in the mood for your games, William!” Winona snapped.

“Unfortunate. You can't win anything if you aren't playing a game.” Another drag of the cigar, another moment of manufactured tension. “Oh, and you'll be needing this.” With that, Maxwell tossed the blade to the ground in front of Webber, sneering at the boy as he moved to take it back. Webber froze under the scrutiny and stared wearily towards Maxwell, as if anticipating a trap. Maxwell ignored him. “The way will be violent. Bloody. People have made it here before, only to fall before the end. If you are the first to succeed, though, you will find everything you seek. Your purpose. Your freedom.” Maxwell's gaze hardened on Winona again. “Your sister.”

A sort of unsteady hope bloomed on Winona's face, even as her expression twisted to distrust. “How do we know you're not lying?”

“Oh, whoopsie. I suppose there is no way to know. Shame, that the only thing you have to go on is my word.”

I clenched my fists and opened my mouth to speak, but Maxwell raised a hand to stop me.

“It appears that our little rendezvous is coming to an end. I have already given you all the information you will get. Succeed, and you will have everything you wish for. Fail, and... well, your little friend is probably getting lonely, hmm?”

Webber snapped at him, claws glinting in the daylight as he aimed a vicious swipe towards the man. Before the blow even had the chance to pass through the incorporeal form, Maxwell was gone.

Silence suddenly stretched between us, broken only by Wilbur's furious panting as he paced back and forth.

It was Winona that broke the silence. “I swear to God, when I find him, I will tear him to shreds.” She wrapped her arms around herself, and I could see the muscles twitching in her jaw as she gritted her teeth. “Whatever he did to Charlie wasn't enough? He had to go and drag everyone into his... his foul game? What a miserable maggot of a human being...” Her voice trailed off, but I was sure her mind was still forming hundreds of colorful names for our captor.

“The only way is forward,” I said after a moment. “We've gotten pretty good at surviving, right?”

“Oh, the traitor wants to give a pep talk.” Webber rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side. “Was this your plan all along, Wilson? To lure all of us to our deaths? Did you want Them to laugh at us while we died. Was that it? It's hilarious, isn't it? Go ahead, Wilson. Go ahead and laugh like I know you want to.” Even as his words and voice screamed anger, I had known him long enough to recognize the subtleties of his movements. The slight tremble in his claws, the uncomfortable scratching around his scars.

“Hiding your fear behind anger again, Webber?” I scoffed. “I thought we were over that.”

“I thought so, too,” he snapped. He grabbed his sword and thrust it towards me. “And that's not my name.”

“Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between you two. You're as volatile as I am. At least I only have one name.”

At that, I saw him inhale sharply. He was still trembling, but anger seemed to be genuinely overriding his fear now. His grip on the sword tightened. I fully expected him to attack me.

So it was unexpected when Winona was the one to hit me. It wasn't a debilitating hit, definitely not the kind of wound I would have received fighting with a four foot tall mass of furred rage complete with claws and teeth, but enough to catch me off guard.

“You, are absolutely not helping.” She pointed a finger at me as if scolding, and I reluctantly stood down. With the angry indignance receding, I found myself feeling strangely empty. I expected to feel guilty, but nothing rose in my chest. It just felt cold with indifference. “William- er... Maxwell, I suppose- gave us an ultimatum. And while I don't trust a word out of his mouth, something tells me he would be more than happy to make our lives a living hell if we don't at least try.”

I chose to argue. “He told us absolutely nothing about how to advance, let alone 'win' his stupid game. 'Survive and thrive'? What does he expect us to do? Settle down and start a happy family in the hills? The fact of the matter is, our lives are already Hell! What more could he possibly do to us to make things worse?”

“The other option is to die,” Winona said. “If surviving is all we need to do, then it doesn't matter how long we stay here. We, quite literally, either advance or die trying.”

I turned away from her, entirely unwilling to let her know that I knew her words made sense. I could almost sense her rolling her eyes.

“Whatever. If you want to stay out of this, be my guest. But I know the three of us have every intention to try to pass this test. If you want to sulk about it, nobody will stop you.”

I waited a moment, listening to the low voice she used to speak to Wilbur and Webber. Then, when it sounded like they were about to leave, I let out a heavy sigh and dragged myself to my feet to follow. They knew I was there, I was sure, but none of them looked back at me.

They were all angry with me, I knew that. They had every right. And truthfully, I knew it was a low blow to attack Webber the way that I had, but in this case, redirection was a better strategy than risk the guilt pulling me under. Nightmare had me under its thumb. It had pulled me into a game that I couldn't win, and dragged everyone else into it as well. If anything happened to any of them while we were here, it would be entirely my fault.

Again, I waited for the pang of guilt to hit me. It never did.

A drop of rain hit me on the nose. I glanced up at the sky, noting the clouds that had suddenly swallowed the sun. Weather was normally unpredictable, but I didn't like how fast these clouds were moving. Almost as if pulled into place.

I wasn't surprised when rain started falling in sheets, only minutes later. I groaned, but didn't try to shield myself. I was fully aware that covering my head wouldn't help when I was already soaked to the bone. With the rain brought impaired vision, so I jumped when Winona appeared in front of me. Equally soaked, equally miserable, but still with that familiar steely glint in her eye.

“Come on. There's a thicker part of the forest ahead.”

“I thought you were just gonna ditch me,” I grumbled.

“Yeah. Well.” She didn't seem to care to give much more explanation than that.

Hovering right on her tail, I quickened my pace into a jog. She was actively trying to shield herself from the rain, something that was clearly a fool's task.

When we reached the thicker canopy, the rain only lightened up slightly. It was barely enough for me to see Wilbur splayed out on the muddy ground, with Webber pacing just a few steps behind him. Language barrier or not, Wilbur's deep glare was not lost on me, and I knew enough about primates to know that his bared teeth was not forming a pleasant smile. And yet, he didn't try to rip my face off as soon as our eyes met, so I took it as a win.

Webber, at least, no longer looked angry. When he saw me and Winona approaching, he simply gave a defeated sigh and flopped down onto the ground next to his friend. I intended to get as far from the duo as possible, while still staying in their line of sight, but Winona's look stopped me. She nodded her head towards them. “Apologize.” It was not a request.

“Either of them could kill me easily,” I argued. “I like having a face, thank you.”

“Should've thought of that before.”

I sighed, but she had a point. We would get literally nowhere if half of the group hated the other half. So, instead of fleeing like I wanted to, I joined the duo. They had situated themselves under one of the bigger trees, I noticed, blocking out almost all of the rain. I sat on one of its roots. “Hey... um... Tyler, right?” The name felt weird. Foreign.

Webber's whiskers twitched. His good hand reached for the lame one, massaging stiff and underused muscles. “What?”

“I... I didn't mean what I said back there.” Which was a lie. I meant every spiteful word of it. I just hadn't meant to say it the way I had. “I guess I'm just scared of... everything. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

“You never do, Wilson.” It wasn't acceptance. Just an acknowledgment. It was good enough.

“Um... if you don't mind me asking, why did you go by Webber for so long? If that's... his name?”

“It was the only name I knew.”

His tone invited no further conversation. I chose not to push it.

Winona came to sit beside me on the root. She started wringing water out of her clothes to the best of her ability, all the while clearly making sure things didn't suddenly break out in violence again.

“You lied back there, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You lied.” Finally, Webber looked up at me. His expression was unreadable. “You said you only have one name.”

I blinked, surprised. Was this about to make another vicious turn? I had no clue what he could be talking about.

“But you have three names,” he continued. He raised his good hand, counting on his fingers. “Wilson. Percival. Higgsbury. That's three.”

Oh. Oh! Suddenly, I understood the expression on his face. He was trying to lighten up the mood. Maybe tentatively fix one of the many problems between us. I tipped my head at him, trying to follow his tone. “What, you don't have a middle or last name?”

“Nope.”

“You have to. What's your full name?”

“It's literally just Tyler.”

“How did you know like... your family then? People you're related to.”

To my surprise, Webber laughed. Not an amused sort of laugh, but not entirely malicious either. Probably, he thought the answer was obvious and that I was being stupid. “We lived together. Obviously.”

That wasn't exactly what I meant, but at the moment, I was done arguing. “Well, you got me there. I apologize for the blatant lie, especially one that you caught me on so immediately.”

Something wry twisted his face as he chuckled. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a dangerous note. “Just don't lie to my face again.” With that abrupt change in atmosphere, he stood up to approach Wilbur, leaving me confused and uncertain. Had I misread his intents? Had he been seriously upset? He himself said that it didn't matter what name I called him by, why was he just now getting upset by it?

A small spark ignited in my gut, something like anger but much colder. Instead of stamping it out, like I had been before entering the door, I instead let it fester. I was too tired to fight it anymore.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 71. Integrity - Part 3

 

 

Chapter 1 of 5

A Cold Reception

Webber's POV

The air had been unusually warm before the rain had started up, but the warmth was starting to dissipate. Instead, I noticed hints of winter frost on the wind, something that should have been impossible if it was spring here at the moment. And yet, my senses had never failed me. I didn't know the laws of this land. Perhaps the seasons worked differently, with only two functional seasons.

The idea itself was impossibly stupid, even in my head, but I had to take it at face value. I honestly didn't have the energy to question it much.

The four of us huddled under the wide branches of what appeared to be a birchnut tree, although one that was taller and fuller than any birchnut I had ever seen. Our protection from the elements was meager, but better than nothing. As the rain grew heavier, it only drew the four of us closer and closer to the trunk. Which, unfortunately for me, had the added effect of forcing me into close quarters with the others when all I wanted was to be alone.

Winona and Wilson were speaking to each other in hushed tones, but the bite of Winona's words told me it wasn't a pleasant conversation. Her anger had softened but was still very much present. That left Wilbur by me, his brown fur almost black from his drenching. I chose not to engage in conversation with him and he allowed the silence to stretch. It was a comfort. I remained sitting with my back to the bark of the tree's grand trunk, perched on one of its twisting roots that erupted from the ground. I gazed out into the torrential downpour and tried not to nod off.

At one point, Winona glanced at me with a strange expression. As she did, I realized I was humming to myself, and immediately stopped.

“Don't let them stop you,” Wilbur murmured. He appeared to have given up his alertness and now had his eyes closed. “You can hum if you want.”

I didn't.

Soon, all-too-soon, the light was starting to wane into dusk. The rain had calmed only slightly, and so it was still impossible to tell the exact time, but I recognized twilight when I saw it.

“It's getting dark,” Wilson observed aloud, just moments before I could make the same statement.

Winona picked at the strap of her overalls, face creased in a frown. “How can you tell? It can't have been more than a few hours since the rain started up.”

“Wilson's right,” I said. “I guess we did probably wake up late in the day.”

The words broke the quiet air that had fallen between us. I finally dragged myself to my feet and stretched, legs quivering as I stretched them out one by one. Wilbur did the same, uncurling like a catcoon and drowsily blinking up at the others.

“It doesn't look like the rain will stop any time soon. We need to set up camp here.” Wilson's words were, for all intents and purposes, useless, but the spoken direction seemed to snap a sense of urgency back into our limbs. “...assuming we can even find a place that's dry enough.”

“Ah, leave that to me,” Wilbur said. He reached one hand out to Wilson as if to stop his train of thought, and shot me a grin. “If you think this is bad, I've had to build fires in hurricanes. You and I can set up the fire. Tell the others to... uh... I dunno, find something to eat. I'm starving and I'm sure you're starving.”

I relay the message to Wilson and Winona, who both look varying levels of unsure about Wilbur's direction.

“It's still raining, though,” Wilson complained. “If anyone goes out there, they're sure to at least catch a cold. The last thing we need is for someone to get sick again.” I twitched at his comment and shot him an icy side-eye, but he didn't even seem to notice.

“You're a big boy,” Wilbur said as he rolled his eyes. “Would you rather get the sneezes or starve to death?”

“We could just starve to death,” I said to Wilson, echoing Wilbur's sentiment.

Wilson looked very much ready to argue, but Winona beat him to the punch and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He's right. Let's just be quick and see what there is we can get.”

The scientist closed his mouth and nodded. Winona wasted no time in delving back into the rain, and a moment later, Wilson joined her.

Wilbur turned back to me with a grin. “Alright. A Chiminea. You ever make one?” I shook my head and he clasped his hands together. “Perfect. Usually, you use limestone for something like this, but without that resource, we'll have to make do. Feel the dirt. Notice something about it?”

It wasn't much dirt anymore as it was mud, but I tried to follow his train of thought anyway. I dug my claws into the mud below me, shivering as the gooey substance oozed between my fingers. “Um...”

“Notice how sticky and heavy it is?”

I blinked down at it, then back at him. What was he going on about? “...because it's mud?”

“No!” Wilbur scooped up a ball of the mud and presented it to me, a glimmer in his eye. “It's clay! It's always important to keep an eye out for this kind of soil because it's really hard for things to grow in it. But! It's perfect for crafting!” With that, he beckoned me over with his tail and led me through the steps of molding the heavy mud into a decent fire protection.

“This would help for keeping a fire burning,” I started uneasily as he worked. “But how in the world do you even get dry kindling when it's been raining this hard for this long?”
I almost expected Wilbur to be annoyed by the question, but instead, he seemed delighted that I asked. From there, he showed me how to get dry wood from under the damp bark of dead trees, and to use the fire to dry further kindling. By the time Wilson and Winona reappeared, it was almost too dark to see and Wilbur's fire was burning strong.

“There's no use,” Wilson sighed. “There's nothing out there right now. The animals are all hiding from the rain and there's no edible plants, either. No berries, wild carrots, nothing.”

“Any grass that could possibly be strong enough to use is also dried up,” Winona reported. “Even with all the rain, there's very little usable out there.”

“No berries, no meat,” Wilbur muttered as he poked at the fire. He fed strips of dried bark into the hungry flames. “Looks like we'll need a couple of creatures with better senses to hunt if we actually want something to eat.” He looked up at me as he spoke, but I decisively ignored his attention. Something about the idea of hunting animals turned my stomach. I pushed the feeling away. It made no sense. I had killed more animals than I could count at this point; I had no trouble hunting on the archipelago.

Or, maybe, I was just really hungry and the idea of hunting was bringing my attention back to that hunger.

We stayed there the rest of the night. None of us slept, even though the night seemed to drag on so much longer than any other night we had endured. I tried to sleep, which was better than Wilbur and Wilson, but I could never quite drift off. Eventually I noticed the rain slowing down to a sprinkle, and I took advantage of it.

Without the same resources I was used to, it was a bit harder than normal to fashion a torch to take out with me, but Wilbur's technique to dry kindling proved fruitful.

“What are you doing?” Winona asked as I worked.

“I'm going to find food,” I responded. “The rain's slowed down, so maybe the animals will take advantage of it.”

“It's still dark, though. I don't think it's really safe for any of us to leave camp until the sun comes back up,” Wilson pointed out.

I didn't respond to his point. He was right, of course, but I wasn't stupid. I knew that it was dangerous to go out at night. I was simply more concerned with the buzzing in my feet telling me to be useful, to do something. I lit my torch and threw one last look towards my companions. “I'll be right back, okay?”

“If you're going out there, I'm joining you,” Wilbur said. He dragged himself to his feet, clearly tired. I raised a hand to stop him.

“I'd rather be alone.”

Wilbur cringed back as if I had physically hit him, but he relented. I tried not to scoff at his reaction. It wasn't as if I was going off to face a Giant. I just wanted to get on my feet and move.

I left the safety of the great tree behind and walked in one direction until the light of the fire disappeared from view. The ground was mush beneath my feet, oozing between my toes and clumping the fur of my legs as I trekked. It was unusually silent for a spring night, but that might have been from that pesky chill in the air. It was still there, hanging threateningly over us. It might have been spring now, or this world's equivalent, but winter was approaching nonetheless.

My journey through the forest was largely unremarkable, and I was soon leaving the trees behind entirely. Lush grass now coated the ground, but Winona and Wilson's assessment was correct: any usable tufts of thicker grasses were dry and dead. It was a strange combination, one that made me think it was entirely intentional. After about an hour, I knew that I should really be turning back, but the thought of being surrounded again caused shivers to run up my spine. Instead, I finally let myself rest on the plush grass. It was soft, softer than anything I would have expected though the rain was likely to thank for that.

The torch still had some time on it. I stuck the end upright into the ground and laid back to gaze at the sky. The rain had let up for now, and the clouds had all but disappeared. In their place were stars. Hundreds of them, more than I had ever seen before, in constellations I didn't recognize. Grass tickled my back, and rainwater soaked into my fur.

“We really are in another world,” I muttered to myself. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. “Not home, though. We're still so far away.”

Find the machine.

The words appeared in my head without warning. I held a hand to my forehead and tried to forget them. Tried to forget everything related to Nightmare, actually.

Find the machine.

That's what it had told me to do before sending us here. What machine was it talking about?

I rolled onto my side and picked at the grass, shuddering as cold water soaked into more of my fur.

Find the machine.

We'll be waiting for you in Darkness, Young Heir.

I sat up abruptly as I remembered the demon's other words. “Waiting for me in darkness?” I echoed softly. I looked directly ahead, facing darkness on all sides. Darkness that was drawing steadily closer as my torch burned lower and lower.

I could test the theory blooming in my head. It would go against what Maxwell had said to us, but I didn't trust the man as far as I could throw him. The last time I trusted him, I had been ripped away from my homeland and forced into this twisted game. I didn't trust Nightmare either, of course, but there had been something eager in the demon's words. Something almost excited. As if it was giving me a puzzle that it couldn't wait for me to solve.

“Nightmare?” I called into the night. “Are... are you out there?”

I received no response. I couldn't tell whether to be disappointed or deeply relieved.

“I'm here!” I said again, louder. “I'm here. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Right?” My words echoed into the shadows without reaction. I leaned back again and let out a frustrated huff, but when I spoke, my voice came out embarrassingly scratchy and raw. “Right?”

No reply. Nothing. Emptiness.

I could step into the darkness. The idea teased my mind, fluttering around like a caged bird. I couldn't quite catch it but I couldn't figure out how to release it. I could step into the darkness and force the monster in the dark to respond. To answer me. To see me.

But that wouldn't do anything. It wouldn't fix or solve anything.

At all.

At that, I released all of the breath in my chest. I didn't know why I even tried to make something happen. I knew nothing would.

I closed my eyes and leaned back again. Weariness dragged at my limbs, and not the kind that could just be slept off. I was tired. Desperately tired. And yet I knew that if I fell asleep here, in the waning light of a torch, far from my companions and even farther from home, there could only be one of two outcomes.

I could wake up in a new day, when the sun broke through the seemingly endless night and shooed the monster in the dark away. I might drag myself to my feet and wipe the sleep from my eyes before trudging back to the camp. I would undoubtedly be met by concern and frustration from the others. I could almost hear their voices asking me if I had a death wish, if I was stupid, why would I go out, didn't I understand the danger? I could see Wilbur's pitying expression as he asked me if I was okay, if something was wrong. Wilson's frustration and anger at my stupidity, deflected only by Winona's neverending thoughtfulness and consideration towards the youngest among them. Maybe they would scold me. Maybe I would listen to them. Maybe I wouldn't test the darkness again. Maybe I would live to see the end.

Or... the night may never end. I might fall asleep and never wake up. The torch might die long before the night, leaving my body helpless against the creatures that wanted me dead. Night-dwelling animals would find me long after my body had been mutilated by demons. And I would be nothing more than a faceless creature, maybe a food source. Maybe my death would allow for something else to live.

That second passed, and the thoughts were replaced by sickening nausea. I curled into myself and closed my eyes tighter, trying to force the images away. If I was going to die, I would die fighting.

Or I would die by my companions' hands. A mercy killing. To save the last of my humanity before it was lost forever to the spider that tried to take it away so long ago. Whatever my final moments looked like, I would not be patient in letting them come.

It was that resolve that dragged me back into a sitting position with the knowledge that I needed to return to camp. The torch was burning low, so I could only hope it would be enough to get me back. Or to last me until dawn. Whichever came first.

I had been smart enough to walk away in a straight line, so it was only a matter of walking in the opposite direction, following the same line, to find the others again. I was doing so, almost reaching the tree line if my mental map was accurate at all, when my fur started to prickle. I stopped abruptly in my tracks, a sixth sense of being watched causing my whiskers to tremble and sweat to immediately collect in my palms.

I swung around, causing the torch to waver and sputter but ultimately, it held. My eyes darted from shadow to shadow, straining to catch sight of whatever was watching me.

It was Nightmare. It had to be. I felt it in my gut. Sweat dampened the fur on the back of my neck as my lower stomach roiled with tense sickness. The instincts of my human half cried for me to run, cursing the trembles that caused my legs to feel shaky. The more animalistic instincts caused me to freeze as still as I could. The shaking couldn't be helped, but somehow, standing as still as possible seemed more likely to work than running from its eyes even though it was already well aware of my presence. The light was the only thing preventing it from coming closer.

When the shadows split, the terror surged into a fever pitch and broke my stance. I fell back, crashing against the ground straight onto my bottom as I shimmied away from the movement. The torch bounced on the ground, once again giving a dying sputter before catching on the wood itself rather than the kindling. I was using borrowed time and stolen light.

The thing to breach my shrinking circle of safety wasn't a beast or a monster, though. Rather, the second its form became clear to me, I cursed every bit of myself for my stupidity and childish fear.

It was a rabbit.

A small thing, likely not quite an adult, but big enough to be on its own. Acting as an animal with no predators would, it seemed to hold no fear of me. It had clearly never seen a human before, and if its bravery had anything to say, it had likely never seen a spider either. As it was, the little creature showed only curiosity to the visitor to its lands. It stopped a few paces away from me, tiny nose twitching and fur caked in mud.

Wordlessly, I offered a hand to the animal. It hesitated only a moment before nearing the offered hand and sniffing it. It didn't run or even flinch when I moved my hand down to pet between its long ears and scratch around its spindly antlers.

“Antlers!” Wilson had cried the first time he had seen one. “That's not a rabbit, that's a jackalope!”

“Nope, it's a rabbit,” I had responded with a sort of arrogant huff. “The antlers just get in the way.” I snapped them off effortlessly before using one claw to dig out the stumps. “It's easier to get rid of them when cleaning the animal.”

“RABBITS DO NOT HAVE ANTLERS,” WX-78 said, his words slow as if speaking to a particularly stupid child.

“Well, I'm holding one right now, and it clearly does. I'm right. You're wrong. End of discussion.”

Somehow, knowing how fragile the appendages were made it all the more endearing to me. My claws had killed more rabbits than I could even count, but this one seemed to trust me enough to use those same claws to show it affection.

When its advances were reciprocated, the bunny closed the distance and climbed into my lap. A childish and entirely undignified giggle left my throat as it dug into my legs before settling in them.

“I can't stay, little guy,” I informed it. It didn't seem to care. I didn't try to move it.

My claws twitched as the call of the void flashed images in my head. I knew how easy it was to kill a rabbit. I knew how fragile its spine was, exactly how much force it would take to snap its neck and kill it instantly, or how long it would take to bleed out after a fatal blow to its jugular. I felt its heart beating in its chest, far faster than most animals' heartbeats, and knew precisely how it felt when that beat stopped. It took almost more strength to keep my hold and touch gentle, knowing how easily the animal's decision to trust me would end with its death.

It was there, within reach of the forest my companions were camped in and yet too far for my voice to be heard that the torch finally fizzled out.

It was a slow process, one that I should have noticed happening long before it did, but it wasn't until the rabbit's fur was cast in shadow, just inches below my face, that I realized how long I had waited.

And I was left with darkness.

My body was quick to react to the threat before my mind even registered that I was out in the darkness. With my animal instincts winning again, I froze entirely. The rabbit was none the wiser, fast asleep in my lap. I drew my whiskers close to my face and tucked my hands closer to my side, but remained perfectly still otherwise.

Smaller target.

Don't notice me.

Don't notice me.

And it noticed me.

I was aware of its presence. Its breath just feet away from me. I tried to draw air into my chest, but it came as an awkward hiccup and produced far too much noise and movement. My claws tightened around the rabbit, almost as afraid for this too-trusting animal as I was for myself.

It was there. It was staring at me. It knew I was there. It knew that I was aware of it.

I was the rabbit, sitting directly in the lap of a creature that had killed hundreds just like it. I was the bunny, too stupid to see the danger directly in front of it. I felt the night's claws against me, purposefully gentle as to not cause harm to the little creature caught in its midst. It knew I was at its mercy, and yet its claws were gentle. It threaded its fingers through my fur, carefully unfolding my whiskers to scratch around the base of them. It regarded me curiously. The rabbit was struggling in my grip. Wide awake. Only one set of claws could be holding a weaker being so gently as the night was holding me. As its regarded my furred cheeks, my untamed spiderlike nature, with impossibly cautious movements so as to prevent my injury, mine grew harsher and harsher, dug deeper and deeper.

And when it suddenly left me alone, left my body unharmed and whole, something beneath my palm snapped.

I stayed perfectly still. I did not move. Don't notice me. Don't notice me. It already noticed me. It noticed me. It left me alone. It spared me.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

Dawn broke on the scene, hours later. I had not moved an inch. My whiskers remained out from where the creature in the dark had unfolded them, and my fur remained mussed from the borderline affectionate pets and scratches.

And the rabbit was dead. Had died long ago. Its little neck snapped by my hands. Its little heart still, and its blood drying on my fur.

The others were ecstatic to see me return to camp, whole and unscathed and with prey nonetheless. Wilbur wasted no time in taking the bunny from my white-knuckled grip and preparing it like he had so many animals just like it. He smiled at me and laughed as his claws tore its belly open and removed its mess of organs, its once fast-beating heart so small that Wilbur nearly accidentally crushed it like a berry and Winona patted me on the back for having brought back food and expressed her gratefulness that I had returned safely.

I forced the meat down while they were watching, and as soon as I could get out of their range of sight and hearing I scrambled behind a tree to vomit into the grass.

That was the last time I ate for days afterwards.

 

[Pokemaniac5000]

I have a long-standing art series with this story and I can’t post most of them because of spoilers, but enjoy these two that won’t spoil endgame stuff, one from basic backstory and one from Chapter 43 ^^

(Art, especially human anatomy, is still fairly new to me, so don’t be surprised if it looks a little weird lol)

[Pokemaniac7000]

P i l e

[minespatch]

So cute!

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 72. Integrity - Part 4
 

 

 

Chapter 1 of 5

A Cold Reception

Wilson's POV

The days fell into a strange sort of pattern after the first one. The sun would rise behind a sky thick with clouds, casting just enough light to see in the occasions that it wasn't raining hard enough to obscure that limited vision. Thunder would crackle from somewhere high above us as we crowded in our meager shelter. Winona would glance into the sky when lightning flashed, a strange expression falling over her face and her hands fiddling with small objects from the ground or each other. After the first night, Wilbur never let Webber leave our temporary campsite alone, so the two of them would often disappear at some point in the day only to return with little to show for it.

It had been some time since I was this hungry.

The hard-packed dirt was laden with clay that was far too thick for much to grow other than short, thick grass. On the rare occasions that the animals weren't hiding from the weather, only Wilbur would return with a successful kill. Webber's hunting skills must have totally diminished for him to be failing as much as he was as of late.

Or, as my suspicions ran, he was eating while out and failing to catch enough to bring back. It annoyed me, that he could possibly be as selfish as that, but it was only a theory anyway. After all, I never saw him eat when he got back.

All the while, when the others were asleep, Winona and I would feed strips of dead bark into the chiminea and toss around ideas and theories.

“Survive and thrive” was a very vague goal.

“Maybe he just... wants us to settle here,” Winona said one night. Her voice had snapped me out of my concentration and I had to blink a few times to remember where I was. I wasn't wrong in thinking the nights lasted much longer than they were supposed to. If there was still twenty-four hours in a day, then only about three of those hours were daylight. That left twenty-one hours of darkness. Twenty-one hours of fighting to keep a weak light ignited from an ever-dwindling supply of kindling while pushing off sleep and trying to figure out how to move on. Maxwell made it clear that we weren't supposed to stay here.

“Why would he want us to settle somewhere?” I scoffed. “You're not suggesting we just give up already?”

“I'm not saying that. I'm saying that maybe he wants us to... I don't know... become self-sufficient. Get comfortable. Then, as soon as things seem to be going right, then bam! We're dragged out and thrust back into empty wilderness.”

I hummed thoughtfully. Next to the root I was sitting on was a stubby stick, and a few feet away was Webber's strange sword. Without much thought, I retrieved the two items and started sharpening the stick with the blade. If nothing else, to keep my hands moving.

“That sounds like something Maxwell would do,” I conceded after a few moments of silence. “I remember hearing somewhere that there was a torture method like that. You lock someone in a cell that's totally silent and every time they start to fall asleep, you introduce something loud and irritating to wake them up. So that they can never truly get comfortable.”

“Wait, was that really a thing?”

“Don't know. Sounds awful though, doesn't it?”

“Suitably awful for William,” Winona agreed. She started picking at her cuticles, face creased in thought. “If that's the case, we outta start making a more permanent base camp here. I don't know about you, but I've done enough scouting at this point to know there's not really any better shelter nearby. “

“There no food around here. We have to move on sooner or later.”

“There's plenty of food. We just have to find a way to get it to come out of its shelter.”

I leaned my head back and let out a loud groan, dropping both the stick and the sword. “They're too good at hiding. We'd basically have to smoke them out if we wanted to even consider that.”

“We could,” Winona said. “I mean, if we could get a somewhat dry day we could try using a torch...” Her voice faded out as she looked up. Her face creased in confusion and she rose one hand as if to catch something and clenched her hand in a fist. “What...?”

“What?”

She beckoned me over, which I followed without hesitance. As soon as I was next to her, she unfolded her fingers to display the thing she had caught.

A singular sparkling snowflake, slowly melting on her glove.

“Snow?” But it didn't feel quite cold enough to snow. It had been raining furiously only a couple of hours ago! I glanced up, noticing the small specks of white dotted against the background of shadowed leaves and black sky. “This isn't good.”

“Maybe it's just earlier in the spring than we originally thought,” Winona offered as she dusted the snowflake off. “It could just be snowing because it hasn't quite warmed up yet.”

“That's not how this world works though,” I argued. “It only snows in winter. Sure it got cold towards the end of fall and chilly in the beginning of spring, but it never snowed. It was always rain.”

Maybe I was wrong to assume it was spring. Maybe it was fall. Really, the only reason I had assumed spring in the first place was because Webber had said so. The thought suddenly hit me, of how ridiculous it was to totally believe his word and trust a literal eight year old to tell me what time of the year it was. I buried my face in my hand and groaned loudly. Serves me right.

“Maybe this world is different,” Winona suggested. “We already know it's different, right?”

That was true. The light snowfall only accentuated the deepened shadows around us. I could feel Them watching me calmly, patiently waiting for something. “I guess.” Even then, it was still more likely to me that we were just wrong. And now, that incorrect thought would cause more trouble than I could imagine for us.

As the night dragged on, the air started to turn colder, although that was to be expected. With the dropping temperature, the snow became heavier. I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered as I tried to feed more kindling into the chiminea. It wasn't burning nearly hot enough to offset the chill.

Wilbur woke with a startle at one point when the snowflakes started to melt against his brown fur. He jerked his head up to stare at the falling snow. The movement jostled Webber slightly, but he didn't seem to wake. Instead, he curled himself into a tighter ball, effectively trapping Wilbur as the boy clutched him closer.

“Snow,” I said to Wilbur. He seemed so confused that I couldn't help but wonder if he even knew what snow was. Had the monkey even been alive long enough to see a winter? Webber had claimed that Wilbur was several thousand years old, but again: believing the word of a literal child. About a monkey being over four thousand years old. Literally impossible.

My acknowledgment of Wilbur threw him into some sort of rant, but it was senseless babbling to my ears. A few different languages seemed to be tossed around, but all of them were nothing but animals noises and twitching tails and moving hands. “You know, frozen rain? Have you never seen snow before?”

More random sounds, this time in the more familiar growl of the spider's language.

“You must be younger than I thought if you haven't seen snow.”

Wilbur's movements became sharper, clearly more irritated.

“Not young,” Winona corrected. I looked at the woman, who was staring hard at Wilbur as he tried to communicate. “Tyler said he was a native older than any of us.” Wilbur nodded affirmatively and clapped his fist against his chest. A snowflake landed on his nose, causing him to break his stance and flinch back as much as he could with a tired spider clinging to him. “I'm assuming you came from somewhere that didn't have snow, then?”

Wilbur nodded again, pointing at Winona and sticking his tongue out at me. I stuck my tongue out right back as frustration coiled in my chest.

“Snow is pretty common in winter,” Winona said in a casual tone. “It starts falling instead of rain when it drops to a certain temperature. If it keeps this up, there'll be enough snow to cover the ground and then some. It can pile up several feet, even though the flakes are so tiny.” She extended a hand to catch a flake on the tip of her finger. “You know, I guess we don't really know much about you, Wilbur. Tyler said that the island was warm, but I'm assuming it was tropical? Warm all year 'round?” At Wilbur's affirmation, she continued. “This all must be a lot for you, then. To be used to living somewhere so warm and to so suddenly have to experience winter snow and cold rain for the first time... why did you leave in the first place?”

Wilbur's tail flicked, something soft coming over his face. He ducked his head to nudge the boy curled around him, then glanced back up at us.

“For him,” I said softly. “You left... for Webber?”

“Tyler,” Winona corrected. I hummed noncommittally. She turned her gaze back to Wilbur. “I understand that. You'd do anything for those you care about. Family is more than anything. You'd go to Hell and back if it meant keeping the one you care about safe.”

Wilbur dipped his head, saying something in his own language, then saying it again in English. “Charlie.”

Winona blinked, surprised. I snapped my eyes to look at him, expecting to have caught him embarrassed in having slipped in his mute act. He didn't even look at me though, instead ignoring me entirely and focusing on Winona. “Yes... Charlie. I left behind so much for her. I didn't... I mean, I didn't mean to go through the portal. I wanted to repair it. I just wanted to see her, to know she was okay. Although...” She sighed and shook her head. “In the end... it was probably for the best. People like me aren't really accepted in the world. If me disappearing kept... you know...” She squirmed around the words, pushing her hair out of the way of her face with one hand and fiddling with the strap of her overalls with the other. “Well, she always told me my obsession with my sister's disappearance would get me in trouble.”

“She?” I wondered out loud.

Winona's eyes darkened and she looked away.

Did Winona have someone back home waiting for her? I suppose I always assumed she did, but she never talked about it often. I realized suddenly that that might have been intentional. After all, if she focused all of her attention on her ultimate goal, she couldn't spare any of it worrying about those she left behind.

That meant me and Webber really were two birds of a feather. We had no one to go back to.

Wilbur wriggled out of Webber's embrace. The boy let out a soft murmur of distress, shifting to make up for the loss of heat, but Wilbur had his eyes set on the distraught woman. He sat heavily in front of her and placed a hand on her knee, as if in comfort.

“You don't think I'm a bad person, do you?” Winona asked softly. Wilbur immediately shook his head, saying something fervently in an unknown language, and Winona turned to look at me. She looked ashamed.

“Trust me, Winona. There's no reason for me to think of you as a bad person.”

“Mm.” She seemed unconvinced, but accepting of the words nonetheless. This conversation was one I would have to think about more in depth later. To be perfectly honest, I was not following very well. Definitely not as well as the literal monkey who refused to speak English seemed to be.

From there, conversation tapered off as we tried to get some sleep. Even if the others wanted to say something, if Wilbur wanted to try some kind of charades or if Winona intended on elaborating on her previous words, I wouldn't have even noticed. I was too deep in thought, combing through the details of my old life in an attempt to figure out what I was really going back to. All this time, every thing we had done, was for the ultimate goal of going home. Time and time again I revisited this train of thought, circling around the ever present question of 'is it worth it?'. As I lay down, gazing up at the snow-studded sky above me, the question slowly started to shift to 'what is the point?'.

Winona had someone waiting for her back home. Some sort of family, maybe a mother or another sibling. At least someone she cared deeply about.

I wasn't sure about Wilbur. With his general refusal to speak to us (with the exception of two words now: 'Stupid' from a few days back and now 'Charlie') I had no opportunity to really know anything about him. And yet, the way he acted around Webber, I could tell his paternal instincts were strong. Strong enough for me to think he had some sort of history with children.

Even Webber had family. While the specifics of his relationship with them weren't entirely clear to me, I knew for a fact that he had two parents and a sister, the latter of which he was so close to that even death couldn't separate them.

I never had a problem being an only child. My problem came from the fact that I had long since cut off contact with the people I once knew and interacted with. And that lack of contact extended to everyone. Any friends I had as a child. Any girl I might've fallen for and started a family with. Everyone. I really had no family back home.

I guess the one who would've been able to relate to me the most was WX. He didn't have family at all, having been built by someone he apparently hated and also happened to be the only one that could vaguely be considered family. Yet WX had somehow found family in us. In Webber at the very least. I hadn't been oblivious to the fact that Webber no longer referred to WX as his 'friend' and instead as his 'brother'.

I had found family in this group once, too. Then things happened. Things got in the way. I died and Nightmare used it as an opportunity to possess me. Any fondness Webber once had for me was long gone, replaced by fear and anger that lived far longer than the wounds that caused it. WX had never liked me, especially after the whole possession fiasco. He had only ever merely tolerated me in the first place. Winona was the only one I even considered a friend anymore, let alone family.

I shifted uncomfortably on the cold ground and rolled over to face the others. Wilbur was fast asleep again, free from Webber's impossibly tight grasp but still pressed against the boy. Winona was also asleep and snoring softly, one arm tucked under her head to act as a pillow. Wilbur's tail was draped over her shoulder, but I wasn't sure whether either party noticed. Something in my chest cracked, for just a moment, and the icy barrier that had grasped my heart recently melted very slightly.

We could get through this together. We had to. I had to. If not for someone anxiously waiting for me back home, then for the ones waiting for them. I wasn't sure how long the clarity would last, but I would take advantage of it while I could.

And so, when I finally fell asleep, I was able to sleep with the faintest of smiles.

…

The next day, I dragged the entire group out to go hunting.

The snow had continued to fall. The once-mud had hardened into frozen dirt, and each blade of grass was tinged with frost and the smallest buildup of snow. It was chilly already, but Webber had immediately warned upon waking up that it would only get worse. I wasn't sure whether to believe him given his track record at this point, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It would fit the general theme after all.

That gave us two main objectives on this hunting trip. Obviously food for one. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and I noticed that the fur of the two furred members of our group was looking dull and lacking the shine they had previously. Webber in particular looked rough, his fur mussed and ragged and eyes dull. Winona's hunger wasn't quite as obvious- she hid it well- but I knew she was just as hungry as we were. Scraps had been meager, barely enough to fill the belly of one person let alone four.

The second goal, though, was fur. Wilbur, through Webber's translations, had boasted a proficiency in skinning animals. Apparently, I was the only one to find this extremely concerning. Instead of being deeply worried about the monkey's strange and specific ability, Winona seemed quite pleased.

“I bet we could find something bigger out there than a rabbit,” she had explained. “We could make some actual clothing to stave off the cold when it gets worse.”

I had never even considered it. We had simply suffered in the cold previously.

Webber didn't actively argue against the sentiment, but I could tell something about it made him uncomfortable. Maybe he was concerned about Wilbur's apparent skill.

Nonetheless, the duo led the way for us. They had been the only ones so far to really leave the shelter of the trees, so Winona and I had to rely on their directions to get anywhere. From a few paces behind, I was able to notice some things right away that I had been neglecting to realize at this point.

Webber looked much skinnier than usual. Much worse off than Wilbur. I could see his ribs from beneath his fur, and it was clear that even walking was taking its toll on him. Wilbur, surprisingly, didn't seem to notice anything off, but a quick glance at Winona showed that she was also looking at the small boy in concern. His grip on his sword was shaky, and I caught him stumbling over his own feet several times as though dizzy.

“Ahead is... um... the best we've found so far,” Webber said softly to me and Winona. I winced at the rough tone in his voice. Like he hadn't drank anything in too long either. “It's the only place we've found rabbits... some beefalo too, I guess. If you guys wanna... wanna try fighting them.”

“Tyler, are you good?” Winona asked, her face creasing in concern. “You sound miserable.”

“Tired,” he mumbled. He shook his head before either of us could press. “With the four of us, we should be able to take out one of the beefalo. The herd, though...”

“That shouldn't be too hard,” I reasoned. “You're faster than the herd, aren't you? You've always been before.”

He swallowed hard. Wilbur said something to him and he immediately brushed the monkey off. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, voice stronger than before. “No problem. I can try to lead one away.”

“The bigger you can handle the better. More meat, more fur,” I said. He nodded again, though looked increasingly unsure of himself. “If you can handle it, I mean. I don't want to push you too much when we're all suffering.”

Webber bristled at that. “I can handle it! I can handle anything I need to. I'm still just as strong as I've ever been.”

“Perfect.”

“Don't push yourself,” Winona warned. She stretched out a hand, which Webber started at wearily, and pressed it against his forehead. “...do you have a fever?”

“I'm not sick, if that's what you think.” The boy rolled his eyes. “Trust me. Wilson's seen me sick enough times to know before it became too big of an issue.”

I couldn't find fault in that assessment, although that didn't change the fact that he really didn't look good.

“There's one on the edge of the herd,” he said, pointing towards the one in particular as they came into view. I regarded the beasts with a tipped head.

“The one with the calf?” I asked. “That could work. The calves won't fight and they follow their mother everywhere. We could get both of them down.”

Webber immediately withdrew his hand, eye widening as he apparently saw something he hadn't noticed before. “I... I mean... y-yeah, the calf. Maybe not that one. No, no, that's a stupid idea. Going after a mother. We should lure one of the others instead.”

“It's in a convenient spot to separate from the rest,” I pointed out. “And it's not like they fight harder when a calf is on the line. I don't think they really care honestly.”

“But the calf is... um... it's-”

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Winona murmured. “We can make a different plan if you want to.”

“I can do it!” Webber protested. “No other plans needed. Don't even think about it.” Wilbur growled something, and Webber nodded in agreement. “Wilbur and I will try to separate the herd. With any luck, they'll focus more on him than me, and I can get one away. Wilbur can climb to get out of their way, right? Perfect. Wilson, stay over there. Winona over there.” He pointed accordingly. “Hide yourselves. That way, no matter who the beefalo come after, there'll be someone to catch them off guard.”

The switch was flipped immediately between shaky and nervous child and headstrong hunter. The subtle shakiness was still in his limbs, but I had to trust that he could do what he said. With that, the four of us split off into our respective directions. Winona was staring after Webber, clearly worried about the boy, but she also didn't know him nearly as well as I. She only saw a little boy when she looked at him, nothing more.

As Webber approached the herd, though, his age suddenly struck me once again, as well as the warning signs I had noticed earlier. Now that we weren't actively interacting with him, his trembling had reappeared full force. He could barely keep his knees under him.

It wasn't until he hesitated just before he was in proper striking distance that I decided that there was no way I should let him do this.

Wilbur was just barely visible on the other side of the herd, his body low and tail straight out and still. I could see the moment his eyes drifted back towards Webber because he immediately shot to a standing position, alerting the herd and causing them to scramble away. Webber didn't move, didn't even try to chase after them. Instead, he let his sword drop to the ground. He fell to his knees.

Oh stars, maybe he was sick.

“Tyler!” Winona cried out. She and Wilbur abandoned their positions almost simultaneously to approach the fallen spider. I moved slower, listening faintly to the anxious words from my companions as they fretted over Webber.

“What's going on?” I asked as soon as I was in range to speak at a normal volume. Webber looked up at me as I spoke, and I was shocked to see that his fur was damp with tears.

“I-I'm sorry,” he sputtered. “I can't do it. I can't kill.”

“I knew you were looking sick,” Winona fretted, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheeks again. He knocked her hand away, scowling at the ground.

“I'm not sick!” He protested. “I'm... I'm just... I'm really hungry...” his voice dropped to a guilty mutter.

“You're hungry?” I said in disbelief. “Webber, we're all hungry. That can't be the only thing.”

He got very quiet at that. For a long moment, I almost expected him to brush it off again and act like nothing happened. Instead, to my surprise, he looked up at us and said in a small voice: “Promise you won't be mad?”

“Whatever it is, Tyler, we're not going to be mad,” Winona said sternly. It was obvious that he didn't believe her. He folded his hands together and took a deep breath.

“I... I haven't been able to kill anything,” he murmured. “It's stupid, I know! I've hunted animals for so long! I had to in order to survive! But the other day... there was this bunny and... and I didn't mean to hurt it. I killed it, guys. It was so trusting and innocent and I killed it.” He sobbed on the words and covered his eyes. Winona put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it with her thumb, her expression concerned. “It's so stupid, I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why but now every time I try to hunt I just stop myself.”

Wilbur let out a comforting murmur and wrapped his tail around Webber's arm. He covered his mouth and tried to stifle another sob. I sighed, honestly not entirely surprised that his youth was finally catching up to him. Apparently it just took a too-trusting rabbit to do that. “Webber, animals that are too trusting are going to die anyway. It wasn't your fault. If it wasn't you, it would've been something else.”

“Did you think we would be mad at you for not wanting to kill?” Winona asked gently. “You're so young, Tyler. Nobody's mad at you for that.”

“No... that's not why I thought you'd be mad,” he confessed. “I... I haven't brought anything home. Haven't... killed any animals or brought back any food. So... I haven't... I haven't been taking any food.”

I felt my heart sink at his words. Wilbur reacted immediately, jumping into what was probably a scolding rant if I had to wager a guess. Webber shrunk at his reaction and stared at his claws.

“When was the last time you ate?” Winona demanded, her voice suddenly sharp. She had gone very still and stiff, staring down at the hybrid with impossible severity. When he didn't say anything, she pressed: “When, Tyler?”

“When I brought back the rabbit,” he whispered.

That was days ago.

“I couldn't keep it down anyway... too guilty.”

Wilbur stared at him in horror, mouth parted slightly in stunned shock. Had the others not noticed him not eating anything? Winona likely had the same assumption as me, that he had been eating while he was out, but Wilbur was with him the whole time. How had nobody stepped in? I wracked my brain, trying to remember if either of us had even bothered to ask. Surely Winona did, right? Had he just flat out lied to her?

“I didn't want to... to take more than I gave back.”

He had been literally starving himself in guilt.

I couldn't think of anything to say to the situation, though not for a lack of trying. Honestly, I felt that anything I could say would only make it worse. Winona and Wilbur were equally silent, as though struggling to even understand what he was saying. The longer the silence stretched, the more and more miserable Webber looked, and at one point I noticed fresh tears silently rising in his eye only to be quickly absorbed by the fur of his cheek.

“Okay. Okay.” Winona finally said, breaking the stalemate. She rubbed her hands over her face and breathed deeply. “Here's what's going to happen. Wilbur is going to take you back to camp while Wilson and I hunt. When we get back, you're going to eat whether you want to or not. Don't even think we wouldn't stoop low enough to force feeding you because I absolutely will if these two don't.”

“I'm sorry,” Webber whispered. “I knew you would be mad.”

“Then why did you do it in the first place?” I said before I even had the chance to consider the words.

Webber shrugged. “Wasn't thinking,” he mumbled.

Wilbur grabbed the boy's arm meaningfully and helped him back to his feet. Now that he wasn't actively trying to hide his weakness, it was much more obvious. Even with Wilbur's help, though, the boy only got a few steps away before crumbling again with a cry of alarm. While Winona and Wilbur immediately started to fret over him again, something swelled up in my chest. The sensation was familiar now, so familiar that I immediately grabbed for my chest as if to prevent it from happening. Unlike the previous times, though, my arm actually moved. My limbs followed the instructions my brain gave them. My movements were my own. The words, though not ones spoken by me, were calming and curious, not demanding and ferocious like all the previous times.

“Have you learned?”

Webber grabbed his own chest and let out a low whine, as if in pain. I stepped closer, keeping my hands carefully back and my body as loose as I could in an attempt to keep from scaring him. I'm still in control! I wanted to shout. I won't hurt you!

Yet, it wasn't me he was scared of. His breaths came out in short wheezes, so rough that I could hear the struggle in each one. Winona's frantic voice fell away, as did Wilbur's.

“Have you learned?” I asked again, calmly.

Finally, when the question was presented a second time, the tension gripping Webber's shoulders immediately dropped. His hand fell alongside with it, revealing a golden yellow glow separate from his necklace coming from deep within his chest. He opened his eye again, and I could see a similar yellow glow bathing his pupil, as well as highlighting the scar across his other eye and his mangled hand. I had grown so used to seeing him without pupils that the appearance of it made him look impossibly strange and far more human than usual.

“I've learned,” he answered softly. His voice was still shaky, but the words were strong enough to offset it. He was both wise far beyond his years and impossibly young.

“What have you learned?” My voice was not mine, the words coming from my mouth without permission. I had no idea what Nightmare was talking about, why everything about it seemed so different than before. There was no hint of malice. Nightmare was simply posing him tender questions, and he was answering them as if he had answered them a million times before. Strangely, a sense of deja vu hit me so hard than I wondered if he had. If this conversation had already happened an infinite amount of times and none of us remembered.

“I've learned... I've learned that the others are worth more than myself,” Webber said. His voice was equally calm, monotone. His fear of Nightmare was nowhere to be seen. “I've learned that a King must always put his subjects first, because his subjects will do anything for him if he does. I've learned that a King must be strong enough to deny what he wants for the greater good. A King is nothing without his subjects. His subjects are nothing without their King.” His eye was fluttering closed.

“What have you shown?” I asked.

“I have shown...” he struggled around the word, his breathing strange and irregular as if his entire body was rejecting it. He swallowed hard, looked me directly in the eye, and tried again. “I have shown Integrity.”

The golden glow from his chest pulsed with his heartbeat once, twice, three times, then faded. A moment after that, his eye drifted shut and he seemingly fell unconscious.

Similarly, weakness hit my limbs as well. Nightmare's presence faded, and with it my ability to stay standing. I blacked out for just a moment and came to on the ground, with Winona holding my head and shoulders up as if having caught me.

I blinked several times to chase the floaters from my vision. “Wuh...?” My voice was mine again, though heavy and slow.

“Oh thank God you're alive,” Winona sighed. She put a hand on her chest and let out a long breath. “Which means that I can tear into you for whatever that was.” I pulled myself to a sitting position and held my aching head as she wagged her finger at me. “Because it sounded like you were encouraging a small child to starve himself half to death because he doesn't matter, and I would very much like an explanation before I sic the angry monkey after you for it.”

“It wasn't me,” I answered quietly. I gazed down at my hands and clenched them into fists to try to get blood flowing back into them. The cold hit me worse than ever. “I was in control though. For the most part. The words weren't me. I wasn't going to hurt anyone.”

Winona didn't look convinced. From a few feet away, Wilbur started excitedly saying something as Webber started to stir as well. I shuffled towards him, much to the other two's upset, and reached for his hand. As soon as we were connected, he blinked sleepily up at me. The golden outline of a pupil was still present, much to my surprise and dismay.

His fingers were equally cold. I covered his hand in both of my own.

“Are you okay?” I asked him quietly. “Do you know what just happened?”

Wilbur shoved his way between us, growling and snapping at me when I tried to get around him. I didn't have the opportunity to be mad before Winona grabbed my shoulders and dragged me back.

“Maybe don't?” Winona sounded exasperated, as if I was being incredibly and obviously stupid. Wilbur, on the other hand, was angrily defending his friend from me even though I had no intention of hurting him.

“We were the ones to go through that,” I snapped at her. “I think we are the ones who need to talk about it.”

“He's fine, guys,” Webber said. His voice was rough. It wondered if talking was as painful for him as it sounded. “I- we... we need to go. Now. It's ready for us.”

“What's ready?” I pressed.

Wilbur was speaking furiously to Webber, but the latter seemed to be entirely ignoring the former. He struggled to get to his feet and was immediately stopped by the monkey. Webber growled something at Wilbur, who immediately growled back in the same language.

“What we need to do,” Winona said. “Is go back to camp and make Tyler eat something. Then if you're still up to talking then you can.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” Winona cut off Webber before the boy could even properly protest. She looked as if she were about to continue, but then her face seemed to fall. “Oh, your eye...”

“Huh?” Webber raised his good hand to touch the space immediately under it. “My eye? Is something wrong with it?”

“We're not used to seeing your pupil,” I answered. “I'm assuming it has something to do with the whole... situation that just happened.”

“My pupil?” His eye widened as if surprised. “Wait, what-”

“Nope,” Winona interjected. “No more. Food first.”

“But it's waiting-”

“Don't care. Whatever 'it' is will still be there later. You won't be if you drop dead of starvation.”

His whiskers quivered, and I could tell he wanted to argue, but he quickly lost the strength to. Just like that, his muscles relaxed and he hung his head. I could tell that whatever thing was desperately grasping for his attention was currently not as strong as the desire to finally get something in his stomach. Our three hours were up anyway, if the sinking sun had anything to say about it. And, honestly, it was too cold anyway to stay out much longer.

Webber dragged himself back to his feet, head low in resignation, but it was clear he was struggling to stay on his feet. That... event... must have taken what little energy he had left after the lack of food and trekking out here. Without a word being spoken, Winona scooped him up in her arms. “We can worry about this in the daylight. I'm sure Wilson and I can find something when it's dark, right?” She shot me a look as if daring me to argue, but I didn't. I would be more than happy to go out, even when it's dark.

Winona and I stayed silent on the way back. I couldn't think of anything to say and I assumed she was the same. A lot had happened today that needed to be discussed, and Webber suddenly getting cold feet hunting was the least of it. Wilbur was speaking to the boy, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or not. He sounded angry, but that language often sounded angry when it wasn't. More than once, Webber would start to struggle in Winona's arms, but she refused to let him go. At one point, it wasn't until her grip accidentally landed on his mangled hand and squeezed that he gave up with a whimper.

Then, Wilbur had to practically sit on him to keep him from getting up anyway once we got back to the chiminea. Hunger was clearly slowing him down and weakening him, but that odd yellow light still pulsed in his eye, growing stronger when he fought and weaker when he gave up. I knew very well that something extremely important had happened, somehow connecting to that glow, but I couldn't be certain that it was good. In the event that something bad was waiting for us, all of us would have to be as strong and well-fed as possible.

And yet, even while trying to hunt effectively in the dark, I couldn't keep focus. My mind kept straying from the task and towards the golden light. How it had originated in his chest and beat in time to his heart. How it illuminated his eyes in a way that made him seem human again.

And most importantly, how it felt painfully familiar, and how I was absolutely certain I had seen it before. Not just once, but a thousand times over. Like our conversation had been rehearsed a million times, and we were finally putting on the two-person play we had spent a dozen years preparing for.

Have you learned?

Have you learned?

I've learned.

What have you learned?

I've learned that the others are worth more than myself. I've learned that a King must always put his subjects first, because his subjects will do anything for him if he does. I've learned that a King must be strong enough to deny what he wants for the greater good. A King is nothing without his subjects. His subjects are nothing without their King.

What have you shown?

I have shown Integrity.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 73. Integrity - Part 5
 

 

 

Chapter 1 of 5

A Cold Reception

Webber's POV

To say I was in trouble would be a massive understatement.

Wilbur and Winona took turns lecturing me that night, with varying levels of concern, frustration, and occasional anger. I remained entirely silent, allowing them to fret over me with no protest or argument. When Wilbur settled down to sleep, he curled himself around me in such a way that it was almost impossible for me to leave without waking him up. Winona watched me like a hawk as I nibbled on a morsel of meat, the first I had had in days. And, honestly, if it weren't for her doing that, I probably would have tried to hold up the charade.

The first day, I barely felt hungry. My stomach still felt tender and uncomfortable from the night before, spent sick long after the meat had left my system.

The second day, the nausea gave way to insistent hunger pains. It was easy enough to ignore them when pain was something I had grown accustomed to.

The third day, the feeling was starting to wane and be replaced by weakness. Minor, at this point, but present. My good hand shook when I gripped the sword and I started to notice cold sweat dampening the fur on the back of my neck.

The fourth day, the thought of eating made my throat tighten and my stomach clench. I struggled to fall asleep, but when I did, I was out cold. It was one of the few nights I didn't have nightmares, although in hindsight I might've just been too tired to produce any.

It wasn't until I actively admitted it, on the fifth day, that anyone noticed. At this point, my thoughts had gone blissfully silent, fading into a distant hum of static that numbed even the spider's anger that I had felt the first couple of days. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Like finally being alone after spending your entire life surrounded by crowds. Sinking into water after hours of hearing thunder above your head.

It was intoxicating.

It was addictive.

And, as Wilbur and Winona made sure I knew, it was very, very unhealthy.

And I guess I knew that from the beginning. I wasn't an idiot by any means, I just had no intention of forcing myself to eat when I didn't want to. And that's exactly what it was. I just couldn't bring myself to eat. The thought of it made me sick, because every time I saw a dead animal, some part of me ached. I wanted to gag at just the thought of it. The thought of a tiny heartbeat going still beneath my claws for the thousandth time. The thought of a furry body pressed against me, blissfully unaware of the predator it was choosing to trust.

Maybe it just reminded me too much of Popsicle.

Of course, that night they forced me to eat. Wilbur had put a lot of time trying to make something that tasted decent after skinning the animal with terrifying efficiency, and Winona had stared me down until I complied. In the back of my mind, I was grateful for it. They cared enough to keep me from actively starving myself to death. It was a nice thought, and my body seemed equally grateful as the persistent ache in my abdomen finally started to fade.

But the rest of me couldn't be grateful. The rest of me hated their control over me, their strength over me. I hadn't felt really in control in so long that the fast had made me feel free. Something that I was doing against the wishes of the adults, against the wishes of the spider. And most of all, it was helping me against the spider. The rumble of his presence had faded so easily and it had felt so gloriously free.

They would be watching me closer now, though. That freedom was out of my grasp.

And, currently, any sense of freedom was out of my grasp. I could barely even move without alerting Wilbur, and even though he and Winona were asleep, Wilson certainly wasn't.

He was the wild card.

Wilson had stayed mostly quiet during the entire ordeal, occasionally adding some thought or information here and there, but far from the lecturing I had received from the other two. Mostly, he remained on the sidelines. Watching. When I looked over to him, the typical fear didn't strike. Instead, I was overwhelmed with a sense of urgency, with the desperate urge to go somewhere. I had somewhere I needed to be, and Winona and Wilbur weren't letting me go. They wanted to protect me, I knew, and I couldn't quite fault them for that, but my muscles twitched and jumped with anticipation and desperation.

I wanted to talk to him more than anything. Back in the fields, something had come over the both of us and I still couldn't puzzle it out. When Wilson spoke, when he posed questions I was certain I had heard before, his voice was calm and collected. Cool, but not malicious. I could see the fear dancing in his eyes, and I could almost hear him saying over and over: I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you. It felt like both Nightmare's voice and not. His voice and not.

For me, though, everything was mine. There was no second being vying for attention (something I was very accustomed to and aware of the sensation of). There was no unwanted or unfamiliar thoughts crowding my head. It was just me, Tyler, with the words of a thousand past lifetimes burrowing into my skull.

That thought was immediately thrown out. And, in all honestly, so was every other thought related to that. No, the familiarity of it wasn't what I wanted to talk about. It was everything else about it. Questions that I desperately wanted to know the answer to.

What made it all the more frustrating was that I could see the questions in Wilson's eyes as well, but it would be difficult to talk without waking Wilbur. And I wasn't entirely sure Wilbur wouldn't kill Wilson if he saw him talking to me. I pondered the risk for only a moment before Wilson made the decision for me.

“Can we talk?” He whispered. He dipped his head sharply towards Wilbur's sleeping form, tightly wrapped around me as it was, as if asking if it was safe. I glanced towards the prime ape, but he seemed to remain deep in sleep.

“Quietly,” I responded, voice equally low.

“Okay, okay. Yeah, I just-” he let out a long and brushed his hair back with one hand. “Yeah, I just need someone to acknowledge that it happened. Winona is almost entirely ignoring it.”

“Wilbur too,” I confirmed.

Wilson was quiet for a moment. He started picking at a hangnail, keeping his eyes decisively away from me until the moment he started speaking again. “Did you feel that too? The... I don't know...”

“The... familiarity?” I guessed, filling in the blank.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He continued fidgeting with his hands. “It's... it's not right. That was weird, right? Don't get me wrong.” He raised his hands innocently. “I'm concerned about you and whatever ridiculous notions you have about food-” I scoffed. “-but I just can't get it out of my head. That wasn't... the spider, was it?”

I shook my head.

“I didn't think so. I just... wanted to be sure.”

Another moment of quiet. I instinctively started scratching at the scar on my face, struggling to put my million questions to words.

“Your eye,” Wilson blurted suddenly. I looked back up at him, humming curiously. “Does it hurt?”

“Which one are we talking about? The one I still have or-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted before I could finish. He flushed, likely in guilt if I had any guess. “The, um... the glowing one. Does it hurt?”

“If you didn't keep insisting that it looked weird, I wouldn't know any different,” I answered vaguely. “If it's any consolation, I don't think any unexplained 'glowing' is coming from my eye. Just showing through it.” Before he could ask, I pressed a hand to my chest. “My chest feels weird. And my head is... buzzing. Hurts a bit.”

“And what's waiting for us?” Wilson pressed. I tipped my head quizzically and he elaborated. “You said that something was ready for us. Waiting. What did you mean?”

I gave his question a moment of consideration. “I dunno,” I finally admitted. “I just... I feel like there's somewhere I have to be. Right at this moment. Like...” I opened and closed my fists several time, face creased in thought as I tried to come up with a good explanation. “You know that feeling like you're being chased?” I finally settled on. “Where you feel like you have to move as fast and lightly as possible, and your heart is pounding and you can't convince yourself to look backwards because what if it's right behind you? And there's a safe area just up ahead, but it's right on your tail and you don't know if you can make it in time?” Wilson nodded uneasily. I wondered if he was thinking of any specific encounter since coming to this world. “That's what it feels like. Except added on is that nobody will let me run, and I have no idea what's chasing me and I also have no idea what the safe place is, just that it's there.”

Wilson stopped picking at the hangnail with his finger and instead started tearing at it with his teeth. I watched as a spot of blood welled up on the side of his thumb when he finally succeeded in working it free. “I see,” he mumbled around it. “And... what they're trying to do. It's making it worse?”

I nodded immediately. No need in hiding that fact. I was miserable and I didn't care if they knew it.

Wilson watched me for a long several moments after that as if considering something. He turned his attention to his other thumb, scratching at the nail nervously. “I can take you if you don't want to be alone,” he offered after an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I would love to take you up on that offer, but there's no way I can get away from Wilbur.” I sighed and rearranged myself slightly, displaying my conundrum with the sleeping prime ape. “I'll have to wait until they let me go.”

“And when will that be?” Wilson asked with surprising ferocity. “Before or after their efforts to help you backfire? Will they wait until you become so miserable on a leash that you don't want to be near anyone? Or will they let you go before it gets so bad that you consider death as a release?”

“...Wilson?” I blinked several times, but he barely seemed to notice it. He had been fired up, but the fire was all his own. His eyes remained clear and gray, his voice decisively his own.

“I know what it feels like, Webber. I know what it's like to want to leave. To feel suffocated. I could tell you all the ways isolation doesn't work until the sun comes up, but you won't believe me. You're young. I can't blame you for that. It's in the nature of any child, let alone a child with your background. I won't let you get to the point you have to learn that, though. I refuse to let anyone else feel trapped like that.”

“Where is this coming from?” My voice was louder than expected, but it seemed to be the only thing that stopped Wilson's rant. He raised one hand and threaded it into his hair, breathing heavily.

“Do you want to go to... whatever it is that's 'waiting'?” The question was posed through his teeth, barely a hiss.

“I... I do-”

“Then listen to me. When someone offers you an out, you take it. If you let yourself be restrained, nothing good comes from it. You will never submit to what you're told.” He looked away, digging his nails into his arms. “You'll just always end up running away from it all.”

“Is that what you did?” Compared to Wilson, my voice was deathly soft. When he didn't respond, I changed the subject. “Wilson, they're not... they're not acting like this to restrain me. They-”

“I've heard the speech before,” he interrupted. “They just worry. They just care. They just want what's best for you. I've heard it.”

My mouth clicked shut.

A moment later, I set to work carefully removing myself from Wilbur's embrace without waking him. After all, like Wilson said, when someone offers you an out, you take it.

“It wasn't about us, was it?” Wilson asked quietly as I worked. His voice had fallen again. “Back there. You said you hadn't eaten anything because you didn't want to take more than you gave. That was a lie, wasn't it?”

My hesitance seemed to give him his answer, but I chose to speak anyway. “Not all of it. It was always in the back of my mind. And it's what the world wanted to hear, wasn't it? 'Integrity' and all that?”

“Then why did you really do it?”

Wilbur's tail was wrapped around my wrist, and the majority of his weight still rested on my leg. He still seemed deeply asleep, though, so I must have been doing fairly well in removing myself. As gingerly as possible, I started to free my wrist as I considered how to answer. Finally, I decided on the truth. “Control.”

This sparked the scientist's interest. I noticed his eyes flickering between my hands and Wilbur's face, as if gauging the ape's wakefulness. “But then you let them take it away from you. Why? Why would you allow that, Webber?”

“Well, it just so happens that I also adore being fussed over.” The answer, once again, wasn't entirely a lie. Wilson scowled at it, though, so I added onto it. “Wilson, what Wilbur and Winona see when they look at me, they don't see me. In fact, none of you do. I'm fully aware.” I let a hint of contempt enter my voice. “You still call me his name. That's all you see when you look at me. A spider.”

“That's not-”

“Deny it and I will know you're lying,” I hissed. “But it's fine. You see a predator, and that's what I am. I'm more that than what they see in me. Because, Wilson, I assure you. They call me Tyler, but I know I'm just a stand in. A stand in for Wilbur's daughter. A stand in for Winona's sister. People that they've failed in the past and desperately want to save now. So, admittedly, that is something I do for them. No ulterior motive.

“I can't deny, though, sometimes it is tempting to take control over yourself. To be what you want to be and do what you want to do. It's rebellion against them. And borderline treachery against Webber.”

“Because it made him weak,” Wilson concluded, his eyes widening in understanding.

“The only things that makes him weaker are things that make me weaker,” I grumbled. My hands were free now, and I almost had my leg free. Wilbur was so deeply asleep that he didn't even move, safe for the slightest twitches of his face as if dreaming. “So it's trying to find a balance. Weak enough that he has no control and strong enough that I can still fight on my own. Apparently five days without food is not a good balance.”

“They're right about that,” Wilson conceded. “But borderline restraining you like this? There's a reason I have almost no contact with my parents anymore.”

“Wish I could say the same.” With that, my limbs were free and I was able to struggle into a standing position. I stumbled over my feet and stretched out my arms. “Any longer like that and my legs would've started to cramp.” When I was finished stretching, I turned my gaze back to Wilson. “You... were telling the truth? You'll go with me?”

Wilson nodded.

“Good. Get an extra torch for me, would ya'?”

The next hour or so was spent in stifling silence as both of us prepared light sources. I occasionally shot a glance towards my sleeping companions, but neither seemed close to waking. With torches prepared, as well the sword I kept close to my person, we headed out into the darkness.

Immediately, the silence went from stifling to straight up sinister. I forced my gaze straight ahead, but I did notice Wilson constantly looking over his shoulder as if expecting to be followed. All the while, the intense buzzing in my chest grew with every step. It gripped my heart and pulled me along somewhere, somewhere that I couldn't even begin to guess. With the ability to finally follow the call, that is exactly what I did.

“Do... you know what we're looking for?” Wilson questioned at one point. His voice was painfully small against the void of darkness around us, piercing the delicate veil that had been draped over us previously. I hummed in consideration for a moment as I scrabbled over a fallen tree, claws digging into soft wood and moss sticking to my fingers. Wilson simply walked around it and offered a hand to help me jump down the other side. His fingers were cold, and the realization that it was, in fact, early winter struck me. The chill failed to penetrate my fur, but whether that was because of said fur or the warm glow coming from inside, I couldn't tell.

“Something important,” I answered vaguely as I landed back on the ground with a gentle thump. The grass was coarser under my feet here, even though it was just as open to the torrential rain as the rest of the plains. “With any luck, the way out of here.”

“When have we ever had any luck?” Wilson sighed. I silently offered to take the torch from him, and the second he passed it off he started picking at his nails again.

“You're making yourself bleed doing that.”

“Am I?” Wilson frowned, turning his hand over to examine the damage. “How could you tell?”

“You smell like blood.”

Wilson scowled as if I had insulted him, even though it was just a fact. He squinted again at his abused fingertips before wiping them off on his pants and clasping his palms together instead. “Probably should try to find a new coping mechanism, hmm?”

“Coping mechanism?”

“Yeah. Like, outlet for stress, you know. Like, up until recently I've kinda... been running on an empty battery. Forced optimism. Masking. All that. This place is fraying my nerves horribly.” He shuddered.

My whiskers twitched, lightly brushing against his shoulder. Honestly, most of what he was saying was Pig to me. “Well, I noticed you doing a lot recently. Why stop now?”

I could almost feel his frown without looking at him. “Well, it's not a good thing when your own mechanisms start hurting you.”

“What's wrong with it? I mean, it's not like you're hurting yourself bad enough to weaken you. It's just a little bit of blood.”

“We- er, Tyler.” The correction caught my attention enough for me to look back at him. He looked almost horrified, eyes catching the firelight like flickering stars as he stared. “You- have you been... I mean...” He seemed to stumble over his words, and I could tell he was trying to find a way to articulate himself. A flicker of frustration rose in my chest. Just spit it out. “When... when you get stressed. What do you do to... I dunno, vent it?”

“Depends on the situation. I used to just... you know, get angry. Yell at people. Try to fight whatever was that stressed me out. And I guess I still do that in a way, it's just a lot harder when it hurts to fight the source of your stress.”

“It- It hurts?” Wilson stammered.

“We already went over this, Wilson.” I sighed. “Or do I have to remind you about the food fiasco?”

“Have... have you been hurting yourself to punish him?”

My sigh was sharper, more forceful. “Well, yeah, sometimes. It's usually not on purpose. But you know what you're... in the middle of panicking and you grab your arms or your head real hard? Well, it doesn't go as well when you have claws. And the pain is grounding. It's not like I go out of my way to hurt myself, but it's like what you said. 'Coping mechanisms' or whatever. Sometimes you accidentally hurt yourself just by following your fear instincts.”

Wilson stopped so abruptly that I nearly left him behind in the darkness. I turned to face him, scowling at his hesitance. Now, he definitely looked horrified, as if I had just told him that I was dying. Inklings of something like guilt fluttered in his gray eyes as his gaze flicked over the features of my face.

“What?”

“I'm just... Tyler, that's really, really bad. Like, hurting yourself, even to try to get at the spider.”

“It's not like it's anything terrible,” I argued. “Maybe to you it would be. You're a lot... squishier than I am.”

Wilson was clearly struggling to find a response. He let out a low breath and shrunk the few paces between us with several purposeful steps. As I continued to lead the way, he reached around my back and put one hand on my opposite shoulder, squeezing gently. I didn't draw any attention to it, instead taking the time to relish the gentle touch that I hadn't felt in so long.

“Sometimes, I still think of you as like a son,” Wilson said softly. “And it makes me worry about you.” I jumped at the words and shot my eyes back to him, but he didn't look at me. Instead, it was his turn to stare directly ahead as he spoke. There was such a tender note in his voice that I almost believed I had imagined it. I hadn't heard anything like it since before he died. Something almost wistful. “Not anybody from my old life that I felt I failed,” he added after a moment, as if remembering my previous comment about Wilbur and Winona's thoughts of me. “I just... I care about you. I don't want anything bad to happen. I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

Despite the way the conversation up until now had gone without much feeling from my side, these words were enough for that familiar warmth to swell in my chest. I rose one hand to grasp at the necklace centered over my heart, running one thumb over the cut gemstone. “Sometimes? ...What about the other times?”

“The other times?” Wilson repeated distantly. “The other times, I'm not myself at all. I can't think of you of anything when I can't even think anything of myself.”

I frowned at the ground, digging one claw into one of the grooves of the pendent. “Wilson...” I started uneasily, preparing to open up a whole new set of questions about Nightmare when something cut me off. The strange sensation bubbling in my chest rose without warning into the back of my throat, causing an instinctual cough as the tickle appeared. Under the stone of Wilbur's necklace, I noticed a warm yellow glow rising from under my fur. I coughed again, squinting fiercely into the darkness ahead. “We're here.”

“Here?” Wilson questioned, shaking his head as if to dispel his previous thoughts. “Where's 'here'?”

“I... don't know,” I admitted, pushing forward a few paces until my feet landed on flooring. The mud had mostly frozen over by now, but that didn't stop it from being present everywhere from when it was still wet. That was what made the floor beneath my feet so unnerving – it was clean. Polished and untainted, as if it had been locked away in an untouched castle for years rather than sitting out in the mud and rain and snow. Even though tiny snowflakes had started falling at some point, they avoided this area, arcing around it to land in a ring around. The flooring itself was icy cold against my feet, enough to almost make me lament my lack of shoes, but dry. It was achingly familiar, but I couldn't quite pin it.

“What is this?” Wilson sounded just as confused as I felt. His shoes tapped on the floor in a much louder fashion than my own padded footsteps and echoed into the night. I shuddered, fearful of the creatures that would be able to hear him. With no answer in our circle of light, I moved forward again, leaving the frozen mud behind entirely.

Then, the light of the torch caught on something. At first, it was just wood stained a deep brown, reaching about as high as my chest. As soon as I was in its vicinity, the same yellow glow that had plagued me all day transferred to it, casting the entire machine in golden light. The new lighting rendered the torch obsolete and highlighted the details that weren't noticeable before. Red runes were carved into the top, creating a circle around a machine of jury-rigged parts that rose and floated in our presence.

My heart was thumping in my ears before I even recognized the device, but maybe my mind was trying to block the image from my head.

I knew this machine. I knew this machine intimately, every detail fried into my head down to what the wood felt like under my hands. What it felt like to be pinned against it, mauled hand jacked high above my head by a knife through the palm.

I couldn't breathe.

Wilson cursed under his breath and I flinched away from the sound. I couldn't help it. My sword fell from my hand and I scrambled helplessly away from the scientist, spiderlike growls rising in my chest as panicked images assaulted my mind.

Glimmers of light shining off of a knife.

White-hot pain.

Blood and tears pouring out of a gaping wound, tearing viciously into skin and chitin and then through eye-

I was going to die. I was going to die. I was alone with Wilson, with nothing stopping him from finishing the job that was started so long ago.

Someone said something, but I couldn't hear it. All I knew was that someone else was there and then there was a hand on my shoulder-

The scream that was building in my throat suddenly tore out, raw and terrified. I fought them away, striking out with every ounce of force I could produce and hitting true, blood painting my claws but the memory of where it came from fled the second it happened, and all I knew was that my head was on fire and my hand was painted with blood and the floor was slick with it so any attempt to run was thwarted when my knees gave out and I couldn't get the traction I needed to stand back up but even if I could I couldn't breathe and I couldn't move and I wanted to beg for my life but why would they grant my wish they were here to kill me I was going to die I was going to die I was going to die IwasgoingtodieIwasgoingtodieIwasgoingto-

“Breathe.”

I didn't want to die.

And then, suddenly, I wasn't there at all anymore. I was somewhere else. Floating aimlessly, disconnected from my body and the locked muscles and incoherent thoughts. It was like I was watching myself from several feet away, but I couldn't even recognize the panicking boy as myself. Numbness had spread over every inch of my body, emotions dulled to a point that they were insignificant.

Wilson had grabbed both of my hands and wrenched them away from my face, his eyes huge with terror. A set of bloody claw marks tore across his cheek, but he seemed to be paying very little attention to them, instead focusing entirely on keeping me from moving. I curiously watched his mouth move as he spoke, saying something, but the words were muddled as if we were underwater. Tiny jewels of blood welled up on scratches all over my face and upper arms, and after another moment of observing, I noticed that Wilson was restraining me to prevent me from clawing at my skin any further, and had apparently taken a hit himself from it.

I didn't think I was screaming anymore, but it was impossible to tell. My mouth was still open, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe trying to catch the air that I had lost already? Even as I watched, I was losing the will to fight, instead going limp and pliant under Wilson's hands. He hesitantly released me, wincing at every twitch and jerk of limbs that couldn't remember how to move quite right.

When Wilson tried to pick me up, he was met with little resistance. It was like all the bones in my body had suddenly melted, leaving behind a body that could barely keep its shape. That was a suitable description, I thought. Like a snowman that had melted in the summer heat.

I was surprised, though, when the tiny (so tiny, was I actually that small?) form in Wilson's arms jerked again, nearly kicking him in the nose as something fell into place. Glazed eyes cleared, trembling whiskers stilled, and bones spontaneously reformed proper. I knew immediately that it was not me snapping back into reality, for I was still here, paces away from my body and the action. Which meant that Webber was taking advantage.

Which was fair. It's not like I needed a body right now.

He struggled out of Wilson's hold, and the scientist relinquished it without much trouble. He did frown though, as Webber shook himself furiously, scattering tiny drips of blood across the polished floor, then stretched his whiskers until they quivered. He turned around to look at Wilson, then gave him a wide grin.

Wilson's words were still muffled, but I could hear his just fine.

“Much better, don't you agree?” Webber asked in a borderline cheerful manner. His voice was distinct from mine; lower, with hissing emphasis on 's' sounds and harsher intonations on consonants. He held himself different, with a slight hunch in his back as if he couldn't quite stand up straight and a certain wobbliness of his knees. More than that, though, he moved much more than myself. Even just standing there, looking at Wilson, his whiskers were twitching and moving and crossing across his face to hit against each other with dull clacks of keratin on keratin. His eyes, sans the ones that had been gouged out, all focused on the scientist. Five in all, with the scar tearing through two accessory eyes as well. Even though Wilson had sworn that the glow from my chest and eye had highlighted my pupil, his eyes were all white, with no hints of humanity in sight.

Wilson said something, and even though I couldn't hear him, I could see the uncertainty on his face. One hand raised as if to reach out to the spider in front of him, but he stopped before touching him.

“Really, just in time for you to finally start using that name.” Webber rolled his eyes. “You've worked him up a bit too much. He's taking a little break for now. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be functioning in a halfway decent manner before too long.”

Another question from Wilson. This time, he took up the sword I had dropped and leveled it at Webber's chest. I could see his hands shaking. His fingers, once red with cold, now turned ghostly white as he grabbed the hilt with so much pressure it was restricting blood flow.

“He's still in here,” Webber said. His voice had sharpened, the growl a little more prominent than before as his irritation leaked through. “Trust me, if we could get rid of each other that easily, we wouldn't still be in this situation. Besides, I believe we have something else to worry about. For example, this beauty right here.” He flourished his arms towards the machine and marched towards it with purpose. “I didn't expect to see one of these here. Although if His Majesty,” mocking filled his tone as he made sarcastic quotation marks in the air. “led you here, I'm assuming this is what is supposed to lead to the next world, right? Of course I know about your desperate attempt to move on. I live in this head rent free, remember? I know everything he does. Weren't you supposed to be the smart one?”

Wilson said something else. My ears rang when he spoke.

“Why are you so eager for me to leave? I have just as much right to this body as he does,” Webber snapped in response. “I figured you would be grateful to have someone with a steady head right now.” He placed one hand on the device, letting his fingers run gently over the finished wood as he paced around it. “The Teleportato, it's called. Hilarious name, I know. Maxwell was tired when he named it.” Webber barked a laugh as he said this. “Yes, Maxwell. I know who he is. I'm not an idiot. They've been my only allies for years, you know.”

“Webber,” I said out loud, catching the spider's attention. He rolled his eyes and waved one hand in the air. He didn't look at me, which made me wonder if I was actually present or simply a voice in his head. When I prompted him again, he threw his head back and groaned loudly.

“What, Tyler?” He demanded to the air. Wilson flinched hard, but his words were still lost on me. His face was creased in fury and fear, and I could only imagine what he was saying. “Give me a few minutes, okay? If I didn't step in, we would be unconscious at best right now, or dead at the worst, assuming our buddy reared his ugly head again.” He pointed towards Wilson with his thumb. Wilson took an uneasy step back, his features wavering slightly at the edge of my perception.

“What's going on?” I prompted. I tried to get closer, but I couldn't move. I was simply a third party observer, without even a body to interact with the world. He rolled his eyes, but didn't immediately react. “What's happening?”

“You seriously have to ask that?” He scoffed. “You went out of commission. Again.” His whiskers flicked to one side as he said 'again', keratin claws clacking against each other. “Really, you're becoming quite unreliable. It's honestly a wonder you haven't entirely given up before now.”

“Given up...?” I struggled again, but found myself still entirely bound. “What did you do?” Despite the frantic energy of the words, I was still eerily calm. Unconcerned.

“Are you kidding me?” Webber's claws dug into the wood and he slammed one hand into it. “What did I do!? I am not the villain, no matter what you seem to think, Tyler! I want to survive, and the longer you have control of this body, the more likely you are to kill the both of us!” His fur spiked out and he glared harshly at the wood beneath his hands. “Just now, if you had fallen unconscious, who knows what would have happened? I stepped in. I stopped your panic attack. I am sane and stable, and you are not!”

Movement in the corner of my eye. Wilson was inching up closer to the angry spider, sword uneasily held in front of him. He looked deeply conflicted, pulling an almost impressively tragic hero face.

Do it. The thought of being stabbed by Wilson didn't even shake me in this state of numbness, but with no emotions in the way I was left with just my rational thought. I wasn't sure if Webber would pull away again, but even if he did, the risk was too high to keep me alive now. This was more than a moment of unconsciousness spearheaded by Webber. Our consciences had entirely flipped. I didn't want to know if it would be permanent.

“I've never hurt any of your 'friends',” Webber growled, unknowing of the situation unfolding behind him. “I've never done anything malicious to cause you to hate me as much as you do. I've helped you!”

“You work for Them,” I said calmly.

“Because to follow anyone else is lunacy!” His claws twitched, splinters cracking until his hands.

“Then what would you do? If you had full control?”

“What would I do?” Webber bared his fangs and hunched his shoulders. “I would be among my own kind. The spiders have long since abandoned me, but They would be more than happy to take me. And, you know Tyler, I never had any intention of hurting your friends as long as they stayed out of my way. But truthfully, you're starting to make me very angry, and I'm thinking that it might be fun to torture you a little bit. It wouldn't make up for the years you had me trapped under your thumb, but it would be a good start. To kill them while I forced you to watch.”

“You never had any intention of letting them go free.”

Webber scoffed. “Maybe I did. You wouldn't ever know.”

“But you wouldn't. You hate me.”

“You know what!?” He shouted. “I do hate you! Queens below, I hate you so much! I want you to die just as much as you want me to die! I've tried to help you countless times. I gave you the fighting edge you needed when you fought the Giants. I pulled you together when your robot was destroyed. I potentially saved your life minutes ago. And you've only ever repaid me by torturing me and hating me and blaming me for everything. Have you ever thought, Tyler, that this is all your fault? Have you ever considered, even once, that I am the victim!? So yes, I despise you Tyler. I hate you so, so much. And I will take fantastic pride in wiping out all of your happiness. You will never have control of this body until you know what it's like being trapped for years with no companionship other than the one who hates you more than anything else! You did this to me! This is YOUR FAU-” The spider suddenly jerked forward as Wilson struck him in the head with the blunt end of the sword. I only had awareness for another second, noting that Wilson had used his opening to incapacitate rather than kill me, before I blinked out of existence entirely.

…

I came to with a violent start.

Icy water dripped down my face, falling from my whiskers and pooling on my shoulders as I jerked into a sitting position, breathing heavily. Immediately, fight or flight kicked in and I jumped to my feet, only to sway and nearly collapse a second later.

“Whoa, whoa, steady,” a voice called out, gripping my shoulders and stabilizing my stance. I reared back to face the voice, instinctively growling as I blinked water out of my eyes to see.

Winona was the one holding my shoulders. Deep lines of worry creased her face and she reached one hand out to brush the water off of my face before it could drip into my eyes. Wilbur was a few paces in front of me, pacing back and forth and somehow managing to prevent walking into anything despite keeping his eyes on me. Wilson was next to me, wavering uncertainly with some sort of weapon in one hand- I couldn't be bothered to care that much.

I relaxed substantially once I recognized everyone and spat some of the water out that had accumulated in my mouth. “What's with the impromptu bath?” I snapped, rubbing my eyes. “Do I have to remind you that it's winter?”

Winona looked back at me, once again brushing a hand across my forehead. “Tyler?” She sounded hesitantly optimistic, and I was suddenly very aware that I was missing some crucial details.

“What?”

Wilbur stopped his pacing, releasing a long breath as he gripped his chest. “Oh thank me it's you.”

“Yeah it's me. What's with the... faces...?” I looked around between my companions, worry creeping in my chest. “Did something happen?”

“You don't remember anything about yesterday?” Winona asked uncertainly.

“Yesterday...?” I looked down at my hands, noticing scratches of all sizes and severity creeping up my arms and onto my chest. Strangest of all, though, was the wrappings around my claws. Pale brown and spongy in texture, I couldn't help but wonder if it was made from some sort of grass or bark. It didn't feel like they were concealing any injuries, so their presence confused me. “Um... this isn't about the food thing, is it?”

“Webber took control of you,” Wilson said glumly.

“What!?”

“Well, way to rip off the bandage,” Wilbur muttered.

“Do you remember leaving camp with me?” Wilson asked, eyes flickering across my features as if looking for something. When I nodded, he continued: “And finding the... the machine?”

That part came back to me as he said it. The wooden machine that the sensation in my chest lead me to. I definitely remember immediately panicking, but it was the details after that that became blurry. “He took over?” I demanded. I snapped my gaze towards each of the others in turn. “How much? How long?”

“You were gone,” Wilson whispered. “Entirely. It was all him.”

I found my fur bristling, but whether it was from anger or the chilly water still in my fur and freezing at the tips was to be determined. “And you let him?”

“Oh no, he clobbered you,” Wilbur supplied helpfully as Wilson violently shook his head.

“He was distracted. I knocked him out.”

“I told you that if he ever took over like that to kill. Him.” The words rumbled in a growl, deep in my throat.

Wilson swallowed audibly and looked away, rubbing one arm.

“We... would've,” Winona said quietly. “But we wanted to give you some time. To come back to your senses.”

“Which you did,” Wilbur added.

With little else to do, I sighed deeply and leaned against the tree we had taken shelter in. I looked up into the branches and tried to come up with something to say. Webber had taken over so absolutely that I had to be neutralized. I would have to draw more of the story out, but none of them seemed too willing to talk about it. I would have to wait to get any decent details. “Okay. That answers some of the questions. That doesn't answer the ice bath and what you did to my claws.” I showed my hands as example, still wrapped tightly with bark or grass or whatever it was.

“Well, cold water in the middle of winter probably wasn't a good idea,” Wilson admitted. As he spoke, Wilbur seemed to take the unspoken command and added more wood to the chiminea. He beckoned me forward with his tail, an invitation I only accepted because I was beginning to shiver and ice was forming on my whiskers. “But... I was hoping that a cold shock would help to kind of... factory reset your brain, in a way. Whether it worked or you just needed to rest off the panic attack, who knows. I figured the threat of being possessed by an angry spider was bigger than the threat of freezing next to a fully stocked chiminea.”

“And the claws?”

“That was my idea,” Winona said after a moment of silence. It was now her turn to fiddle uncomfortably. She reached towards me and gripped my cold hands, flipped them palm-up to show some of the scratches decorating them. “You hurt yourself. Quite a bit. At first, I wanted to blunt them, but none of us knew if we could do that without hurting you more, so we just... wrapped them. At least you wouldn't be able to hurt yourself by accident in your sleep or anything.”

I stared down at the wrappings. I was extremely unsure how I felt about them. I didn't like the way they felt on my hands, but at the same time, I couldn't deny that it was a brilliant idea. Like painting someone's nails to prevent them from biting them. I folded my hands into fists (to the best of my ability) and pressed them to my chest.

“What was so important that you had to go out, anyway?” Wilbur asked as he sat beside me. His tail lazily flicked against my leg as he settled himself. “You could've gotten seriously hurt, especially going out by yourself like that.”

“I had to,” I said simply. “You don't understand. I know you guys care about me, but I... I needed to go. It felt like I was trapped.”

“And...? What did you find?”

I ignored him for a moment, gazing into the shielded fire of the chiminea and watching as the flames licked around the hardened clay and struggled to reach towards the sky. “Well, I guess I'll just have to show you guys.”

There was much protest from both Winona and Wilbur, but they had seen now what I did when told no. Wilson said nothing against it, though. Likely, he understood the significance of the machine (“Teleportato” came to mind...?) as much as I did. After all, I had been very clear with him about listening to me here.

“Don't you think it's a very bad idea to go directly back to the place that freaked you out so bad you were literally possessed and incapacitated?” Wilbur said. He looked deeply concerned, but slightly irritated as well as if I had inconvenienced him in some way. “You're not acting smart here.”

“You'll understand when you see it,” I responded cryptically, because I honestly had no other idea how to explain it otherwise.

Despite going along with me, I noticed that the other two kept Wilson as far away from me as possible. I should have been annoyed, but I actually appreciated the sentiment. I knew that Wilson wasn't going to hurt me, but I had no doubt that Wilson's presence had been part of the triggering experience. As such, I took the front of the group and Wilson willingly took the back, both of us with fresh torches burning bright enough to encompass the whole group. Wilbur grumbled the entire time, but Winona was being surprisingly supportive despite her reservations. She was the one who helped me over the log this time, keeping a steady grip on my hand even after we left the obstacle behind.

Wilbur sniffed the air and shuddered with an exaggerated gag. “It reeks of Nightmare Fuel.”

Sure enough, the scent had become almost overpowering. Sharp and metallic and bitter, all at once, like vomiting up blood. It hurt to breathe, a sensation building up in my sinuses similar to the sensation of having inhaled water, or having been hit in the nose. I hadn't smelled it before, which I pondered for only a moment before stepping into a puddle of the gelatinous liquid.

I reeled back with a childish squeak, kicking my foot in an attempt to get the fuel off of it. Wilbur let out a similar sound of distaste.

“This wasn't here before,” Wilson muttered.

The once pristine checkerboard flooring was now coated in thick puddles of Nightmare Fuel, congealing into clumps towards the center of each one. It was almost impossible to walk forward without stepping in any. Wilbur didn't hesitate to crawl onto Winona's shoulder and stick his tongue out.

Wilson and I shared a look of concern, but pushed forward nonetheless.

The source of the Nightmare Fuel became clear as the wooden machine came into view. The metal in the center shifted and rose again in our presence, leaking the foul fluid from every crack and crevice. I flinched at the sight, inching backwards until Winona gripped my shoulder and squeezed it gently. I closed my eyes tightly and took a deep breath.

“That's it,” Wilbur said. His voice pitched with wonder as he moved from Winona's shoulder to mine. “That's it! That's what we needed!”
“This... mess of parts?” Winona asked dubiously. She raised one foot, wrenching it away from a particularly viscous puddle with an unappetizing sclorp. “Needed for... what exactly?”

I took a deep breath and walked right up to the machine. I placed one hand on it, expecting another painful flashback or some kind of panic attack to come over me, but I was only met with overwhelming sadness. This stupid device marked one of the most traumatic events of my life, and now it was one of the most important things in it. It seemed to welcome my presence, lighting up once more and bathing the four of us in a gorgeous golden light. The buzzing in my chest hit me tenfold, and I didn't have to look down to know it was glowing in tandem. When my gaze landed on the blood red runes in the center, the color shifted and the entire mechanism hummed as if pleased.

“That's what Maxwell means by 'survive and thrive',” I said calmly. Something about the Teleportato felt warm and familiar to me now. The panic had been stripped away, replaced with that overwhelming kinship I had experienced at Wilson's earlier questions about integrity. “Thrive. Improve. Become better.” I turned to face my companions, grinning. I didn't have to be able to see myself to know that something looked odd about me.

Later, when I would ask, the others would not be able to pinpoint my appearance either. The best answer I ever got was 'regal'. And, somehow, regal is how I felt. Like coming home to a throne made for me. I had no crown, but no King really needed something so garish to show he was a King. I had no robe, no cape, no palace. But I needed none of those things. True power came from aura. And my aura was shining impossibly bright, warm and golden, through the machine and through my heart. Bathing my eyes and scars and even my teeth in its glory.

“Are you guys ready?”

“Ready? Wait, are we going? Did we win this world?” Winona was clearly confused, and I knew for certain the others were too. “What did we do?”

Wilson nodded once, his face set in a determined frown. “Do it.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to the Teleportato. I placed one hand on the wood again and this time, it warmed up in response to my touch. I found myself smiling as though welcoming an old friend as the machinery buzzed and sparked into life.

Shadowed hands sprouted from the small hole in the center, twisting and writhing around each other as they shot towards the heavens before barreling back towards the ground. Now familiar with them, I closed my eyes and didn't fight as they grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides in the process. I heard Winona let out a small yelp of surprise as she was grabbed as well, and even though Wilbur and Wilson didn't make any verbal signs of being taken, I knew very well that they were.

I opened my eyes just for a second, before I was pulled into the ground entirely, to see the figure of a woman watching me. Tall, graceful and beautiful, flickering with fire and wavering under my eye.

And then, we were gone once more.

Also extra little drawing I finished :3 I'm almost done with this art series I just have to pick and choose which ones I can post because..... spoilers
Here's your daily dose of Tyler and Erika art 

 

Edited April 13, 2023 by Pokemaniac7000

[Dr.Webber]

Good story

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 74. Intermission - In the World Between

“COME AND GET IT YOU WORTHLESS BEAST!”

Charlie heard him before she saw him. Her companion had vanished hours ago, but he often did so. She had been banished to Darkness, after all, and she didn't really expect the stubborn robot to want to stay there much. She had expected him to be in the Prison, or wandering aimlessly through the halls of Checkmate.

She never expected him to be in the World Between Worlds.

When she first stepped into the World Between, there had been a calm silence, save for the gentle ambient hum she was used to. After all, she had genuinely believed that she and Nightmare were the only ones capable of traveling here.

But clearly not. WX was here, sitting in front of one of the orbs and watching it over and over.

She said nothing for a long moment, simply content to observe. She wasn't entirely sure what scene he was watching, why he was watching it so intense on repeat, or how he even managed to get here.

The world memory contained in the orb was nothing but fast-paced movements and piercing crunching sounds. Even from Charlie's distance, the volume made her ears ache. WX seemed unaffected. As it faded into silence, he raised one hand and pressed it against the orb, causing it to restart all over again. And again, all she could see were flashes of colors. Thumping, crunching, crashing, and above it all a furious voice shouting “COME AND GET IT YOU WORTHLESS BEAST!” followed by the awful shriek of tearing metal and the rattle of metallic scraps against stone. WX didn't even wince despite the piercing intensity of the scene. Instead, he leaned forward as it got louder and louder, before fading once more into silence and static nothingness.

And again, he restarted it.

Breaking out of her haze of confusion, Charlie moved closer to see exactly which memory the robot was watching with such intensity. She could recognize his voice easily enough, being the one doing the shouting in this world memory. It wasn't until she got close enough to see the details, though, that it dawned on her what exactly it was he was watching.

“CHARLIE,” the robot said stiffly in greeting without looking her way.

“You shouldn't be watching this.” Charlie gently touched the orb and lifted it away from WX, casting it to drift a couple of feet above her head. At first, he simply stared after it without moving from his position. Then, he turned an irritated gaze towards her.

“I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO WATCH THAT,” he snapped. He eyed the world memory, but seemed to know well enough that it was too high for him to reach without making a fool of himself. “THAT MEMORY BELONGS TO ME.”

“It belongs to the world,” Charlie corrected calmly. “Watching yourself die over and over again will not stop it from happening, WX. It's a memory.”

“I AM WELL AWARE.”

Then why are you watching it? She left the question unasked. She knew she wouldn't get a real answer from him anyway. She sighed. “Stronger people than you would go insane watching these.”

WX scoffed, but finally dragged himself back to his feet. Charlie winced at the screech of jagged shards of metal scraping against each other as he moved. Despite being so different from the rest of the dead Survivors, he still carried the wound that killed him. Charlie had learned to ignore the gaping hole that tore him nearly in half, but she was suddenly very aware of it now and how terribly it clashed with the relative cheerfulness of the seashells around his neck.

Charlie shook her head to dispel the thought. “How did you even get here?”

“I WALKED.”

He was clearly in a sour mood. Then again, most people probably would be after watching themselves die on repeat for what Charlie could only assume to be hours on end.

Charlie forced herself to give a slight smile that she really didn't mean. She beckoned him forward as she walked further into the empty space. Orbs gently butted against her hands and legs as she moved with flashes of voices and memories echoing in her head. “If this was my first time in the World Between Worlds, I would be a bit more curious.” She considered a cluster of memories, before choosing one and drifting it towards the robot. He gave it a wary look before setting it to start.

“Depressing backstory, then? Drop it on me, Spider Boy.”

“...My brother...”

“The Martyr.”

A slight intake of break that wobbled at the ends. The tiniest of stifled sobs.

“He meant a lot to you, didn't he?”

“He saved me. In so many ways.”

WX watched it with renewed interest as it went on, his 'eyes' wide. As the memory faded, he raised one hand to touch it as if he could reach through it. Instead, it simply restarted, and he let out a rough growl and pushed it away.

“That's all he calls you, you know.”

“HE SHOULDN'T,” WX said quietly. He shook his head. “I AM NOT HIS BROTHER.”

“I don't think he particularly cares about blood relation.”

His hand flicked slightly, brushing away Charlie's words. He reached towards a new memory, one that didn't seem to contain the boy at all. His fingers brushed against it, and the sound of soft voices suddenly started up.

“I don't know what to do. Is he safe to be around?” A female voice asked.

The response wasn't in English. Not even in a human language. But it seemed to be good enough for her.

“I can tell you agree with me. I just... I don't know. I want to trust Wilson so bad. But then there was the whole Nightmare thing and... and I can't stop thinking about when I first met Tyler and he... God, Wilbur, Wilson was the one that did that to his face, wasn't he?”

WX let out another growl of frustration as he pushed that one away as well. “WHY DO SO MANY OF THESE INVOLVE WEBBER IN SOME WAY?” He demanded as he waved apart a cluster.

“Well, the world is quite interested in him,” Charlie responded. “A lot of his actions might have some sort of impact in the end. And while the world stores just about everything that happens in it, it tends to have a fondness for the heir and gives up those memories more often. Not to mention he's a native, which sets him up to have more of a spotlight on him in general. Many of these involve Wilbur, too.” She opened her arms to motion towards the great expanse of memories. “The world likes its natives.”

WX pointed to one that was slightly out of his reach that featured an entirely different group. Charlie hesitated with one hand poised to bring it down.

“...are you sure? The fates of the other Survivors aren't... happy.” That's why they're all in the Prison and suffering just as much as they did the day they died, she added silently. When he didn't budge, she brought it close enough to touch.

Immediately, scratchy sobbing assaulted her eyes. Charlie decisively looked away, unwilling to watch. She remembered this bloodbath all-too-well.

“Run, Worm!” A girl shouted.“'Tox shall be safe! Freedom shalt remain in thy grasp!”

“No! No no no, friend! Can't leave friends! Friend still back there! Let go!”

“Foolish, Worm!” She cried, but any further conversation between the two was cut off by a violent roar. She let out a pig-like squeal of terror just before the awful sound of tearing meat could be heard, followed by a wet thump.

“Wilba! No, no friend!”

Charlie instinctively swiped the orb away before it could continue. She had seen this memory enough, and she was sure WX had seen plenty to understand how gruesome of an ending that group had. Surprisingly enough, that group was made entirely of natives, a trio of outcasts. She remembered Maxwell finding interest in them before Wortox got them too deep into magic best left untouched by Survivors. The imp had been crushed to death, Wilba had bled out, and Wormwood had starved to death after refusing to leave either of their bodies even after the beast had fallen back unconscious.

In the corner of her eye, she saw WX shiver despite his face being kept carefully neutral. Without even looking towards Charlie, he went to another orb, this one with a duo of people.

“Wigfrid succumbed to a mixture of freezing, starvation, and blood loss, and Wes's body gave out on him since he was only being kept alive by the cage he was in,” Charlie said breezily before WX could even touch it. He drew his hand back and scowled deeply at it. “In case you're trying to figure out how everyone before you died.”

He shook his head and marched further on. He brushed memories aside as he moved, blatantly ignoring anything that showed his group at all. Charlie silently followed him, prepared to list out causes of death for every Survivor here if that was what he was looking for.

It wasn't a Survivor's death he stopped for this time, though. Instead, the memory was something fairly recent, within the past couple of weeks or even days. It was the first of the memories to feature Maxwell.

WX touched the orb, and it sparked into motion.

“I'm tired of this, Maxwell. You expect me to just twiddle my claws and casually wait? He's becoming so weak that it would be nothing to take back my sentience. Why do you keep telling me to wait!?” The voice was furious. Recognizable and unfamiliar at once, tinged with a slight natural growl and noticeable emphasis on consonants. It would be impossible not to recognize the scraggly black spider visible in the memory though, especially considering it was speaking English, pacing back and forth as if irritated.

“You would think biding your time for this long would have taught you patience.”

“Well, I'm running out of it. Give me one good reason to not throw this kid off of the nearest cliff the next time he starts panicking over a piece of wood.”

“The robot has a life-giving amulet.”

“Good for him. Why should I care?”

“Because they plan on coming to Checkmate, and you have to go through Darkness to do that.”

A moment of eerie silence, punctuated by a low chuckle. “Maxy~ are you really suggesting what I think you are?”

“I am simply stating the facts that might interest you. Maybe inspire you to get a little further before murdering any children.”

“Maxwell, you sly hound!”

“Whatever your plan is won't work if you keep losing your temper, though,” Maxwell continued. “You don't need any more reasons for him to hate you. Maybe next time don't threaten to murder the other Survivors? You're quite terrible at keeping a poker face in this game.”

The scene faded, leaving WX in a state of sort of shocked silence. Then, he snapped towards Charlie with fury lighting his expression. “WHEN WAS THIS?” He demanded.

“Recently.”

He shook his head fiercely and started to pace, glaring down at his hands. “HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN ABOUT THIS?”

“Were you not aware that the spider wanted to take over?” Charlie replied incredulously. “Honestly, have you not been watching him at all?”

WX didn't answer. Instead, he removed the amulet from around his neck (careful to avoid damaging the seashells even in his fury) and gripped it tightly in front of his face. “I CAN'T LET HIM GET THIS.”

“You're right, but you also can't just throw it away. The Ancient Guardian gave it to you for a reason.”

“HOW DO I KNOW THAT THE ANCIENT GUARDIAN IS NOT WORKING WITH HIM?” He snapped.

“Because the Ancient Guardian would never bow his head to Maxwell, let alone some random spider with a superiority complex. Why do you think Nightmare had to corrupt him?” Charlie placed one hand on the amulet. “Keep it. I'm sure you will need it, or else he wouldn't have given it to you.”

WX hesitated for a long moment and Charlie found herself worried that he would throw it to the ground and smash it. Then, he slowly bobbed his head in agreement and replaced it around his neck. The seashells clinked softly as they resettled around it.

“Here, maybe we could look at some of the less... miserable memories.” Charlie picked one from another cluster and passed it to the robot. He nodded again and placed his hand on it, playing the world memory for him to see.

She took him through some of the brighter ones, careful to keep track of the passage of time. Nightmare would have her head if it found out that she was here instead of roaming in Darkness. But still, she couldn't find it in herself to leave behind the happier moments. She started with ones unrelated to WX or his group – Woodie and Wolfgang celebrating after defeating a tree guard together, Wortox pulling harmless pranks on his companions – but she gradually shifted it to feature the robot's group more and more until she was simply pulling memories that he would have been there for.

One, WX rewatched multiple times with a nostalgic smile on his face. It was something very mundane and slice-of-life, just himself and Webber arguing over a game of Chess. Charlie felt a pang in her chest as WX's grief and sadness showed itself clearly for the first time. Despite arguing with her about whether the two could be considered family, it was quite clear that he missed his friend dearly.

She often tried to help the Survivors who had failed. The ones who still suffered from their dying blow, even after years had passed. She couldn't save them, but she could give them some relief from their pain.

She couldn't do the same for the robot.

He wasn't trapped, and Charlie could not figure out the reason why. He was free to roam anywhere Charlie could go, be it Darkness, Checkmate, or the World Between. He was free.

But he didn't want to be in any of those places. She could see it on his face as he picked another memory to watch, this one of the rest of his trio playing in the snow while he watched them. He didn't want to be able to access information that mortals could only wish to know. He didn't want to be able to access the brain of the world, bringing memories to life with just a touch.

He wanted to be with his family again.

It was something Charlie understood more than anyone.

“They get along well,” Charlie said quietly as her eyes skipped across the silent images on each of the orbs.

WX startled, as if he had forgotten she was there. “WHO?”

“Our siblings.” She found the memory she was looking for and passed it to him. It was another fairly recent one- Winona fretting over the boy while Wilbur looked on. Charlie tipped her head slightly as she watched it. Winona seemed so much... older since the last time they had met. She had always been mature, but her eyes seemed bright with something new. Something like purpose.

“SHE IS MAKING HIM ANGRY,” WX observed.

“Which we know from experience means only good things,” Charlie pointed out with a smile.

WX chuffed out a laugh, his gaze alight with fondness. “THAT IS TRUE.”

With that, she took him further and further into the room, picking out memories here and there to present to him. The last one before she had to leave was the most recent event. He leaned forward so intensely at the sight of black tentacles swarming from the Teleportato that it was a wonder he didn't fall over. Afterwards, she took him back to Darkness. As they walked, she noticed a certain heaviness to him that hadn't been there before. It surprised her, given his display of interest rather than horror at the Survivors' deaths and the amount of light-hearted memories they had gone through.

Then, he spoke.
“WHERE ARE THEY GOING TO GO NOW?” He asked. He sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Charlie thought for a moment, humming. “The second world,” she finally answered.

He seemed displeased by her answer. In fact, the look of sheer disgust on his face had her chuckling.

“What were you expecting?”

“HOW MANY WORLDS ARE THERE?” He asked instead of answering her question. He looked twitchy, a physical betrayal of the irritation simmering beneath his metallic skin.

“Six, technically.” WX gave her a look, a silent invitation to elaborate. She sighed, then tried counting them out on her fingers. “Well, Maxwell gave them all names when he first made them. The first one I believed he named A Cold Reception. And, yes, all of them have names like that. Then it's... I believe The Game is Afoot? Then it's King of Winter, then Two Worlds. After Two Worlds, you end up here.” She opened her arms wide as they stepped into the plains of Darkness once more. “Darkness.”

“AFTER DARKNESS?” He prompted.

“Checkmate,” Charlie said with a half-smile. “Maxwell's Domain. That is where Webber will take the Throne, assuming he survives to reach it.”

“WHY THE GAME IN THE FIRST PLACE? IF THE WORLD IS SO DETERMINED TO MAKE A LITERAL INFANT ITS RULER, WHY PUT HIM THROUGH THE RISKS?”

“First off, I'd love to see you call Webber an infant to his face. Secondly... well, the Constant doesn't just need a King. It needs a good King. A Pure one. And, in case you haven't noticed, Webber has been tainted and corrupted beyond use.” She shrugged, trying to keep her tone light to offset the heaviness of what she was explaining. The thought of such a tiny child being considered tainted and corrupt was enough to make her want to cry. “So it's... I don't even know how to put this. It's purging him. Of the corruption.”

“TRIAL BY FIRE,” WX muttered. He kicked a clod of mud, face hardened into a furious scowl. Charlie dipped her head slightly in a nod. “AND THERE'S NOTHING WE CAN DO?”

“No. I did what I could, bringing Winona into this world. The rest is up to them.”

“I SEE...” He shook his head. Without taking the time to properly excuse himself, he turned on his heel to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I HAVE THOUSANDS OF YEARS OF MEMORIES TO SORT THROUGH. DO NOT BOTHER ME.” He didn't look back at her as he spoke, and Charlie got the innate sense that he was mad at her for whatever reason. She could only imagine what he wanted her to say or do. So, instead of trying to convince him to stay, she let the robot leave.

This left her alone with her thoughts, which were currently running a mile a minute. Despite what WX seemed to think of her, she wanted them to win just as much as he did. She had seen so many innocent people and creatures alike die in horrible ways to Maxwell's game, and she had to stand by helplessly and act as clean-up crew for their understandable obliterated mental states. With only one group left, she could only pray for their success. She could see the past in the form of a room filled with floating orbs, but she couldn't change the future.

A few steps and a world away, pieces moved on a board. And while Maxwell gazed upon the new set of circumstances, watching the game unfold as if it was going exactly as planned, he failed to realize that someone else was manipulating the pieces. It was his curse, after all. The price of a false idol. The nightmare of being the imitation of a king.

The true puppet master lurked in the shadows with a satisfied grin. One claw lifted lazily with a spark of black magic, showing the Nightmare Captor exactly what he wanted to see. It was falling into place quite nicely, it had to admit. But... perhaps things could be made a bit more interesting for their next round. The last round had bored it.

It would make this next challenge much more fun.

[Pokemaniac7000]

Chapter 75. Tenacity - Part 1
 

 

Chapter 2 of 5

The Game is Afoot

Webber's POV

My entire body hurt.

I don't know why this fact surprised me, or why I spent the next few minutes laying still on the ground instead of trying to push myself to my feet, but I did. I was hyper-aware of the breaths leaving and entering my lungs.

Finally, I gathered the strength to push myself to my knees. I shuddered as icy air crept through my fur, so much more obvious now that I was exposing more of my body to the chill. There was a crisp silence, broken only by my too-loud breathing. I coughed lightly to dispel the scratchiness in my throat before turning my gaze up to my surroundings.

The world we left behind was in the early stages of winter. This world, however, was deep in the throes of such. Spindly, leafless trees dotted the area around me, every twig and branch encased in frost and laden with snow. In fact, there was snow almost everywhere, as deep as my ankle. The spot I had ended up was the only circle without snow as far as I could see. The ground was far from comfortable, though, as it was still soaked and muddy with snowmelt. A moment of further investigation showed a nearly burnt out fire a few paces away from me. The only thing surviving in it was a few stray embers.

But there was no sign of my companions.

“Guys?” I called into the world. My voice was rough with thirst, and my stomach was cramping with hunger pains that had returned full force. I looked back at the burnt husk of a fire with a frown. Someone had built a fire to keep me from freezing to death before I woke up, so they had been here. Or at least, someone had.

“Wilbur?” I tried, forcing my voice to raise higher despite the protests of my dry mouth. “Winona? Wilson?”

And again, silence. Emptiness. My enhanced senses gave me no information, with the snap of ice covering all other smells and whatever few sounds that made it out into the air being muffled by the snow.

I was alone.

Why was I alone?

Prickles of concern rose in my chest, and I immediately recognized that my body was trying to panic again. I had to force myself as still as possible and focus all of my attention on my breathing. The memory of Wilbur's exaggerated breathing while trying to calm me down was fresh, and for now at least, I was able to keep the terror at bay. It still rumbled deep in my chest, curling around my lungs like a vice preparing to grip, but I could choke it back for the moment. For good measure, though, I absently tried to dig a claw into my thigh. With the wrapping my companions had done, there wasn't any wound or blood, but the prick was enough to keep my head a bit clearer.

The others surely wouldn't have completely abandoned me, right?

Right?

So if that was the case, maybe they went somewhere but will be back for me? Or they left some sort of note or clue...?

A quick examination of my surrounding area showed no evidence of them.

I swallowed back the whimper threatening to rise in my throat, though that didn't stop the audible shudder from taking its place. In the previous world, I could sense the threat of an impending freeze easily enough, but I hadn't really felt any of it myself. Sure, logically, I knew that it was cold, but I had been kept plenty warm by the pressure in my chest that pulled me along. It stamped out feelings of cold and hunger for the most part.

That pressure was entirely gone though. And in its place, crippling starvation and piercing cold.

With a huff of displeasure, I inched towards the dying fire to peer into it. The embers were starting to scatter in the wind, so if I wanted to try to build it back up, I would have to be quick about it.

With the goal in mind and the determination to not fall back into terror, I started to dig for the dry bark hidden under the outer layers of the nearby trees. The wood itself was surprisingly soft, almost mushy under my claws. I growled faintly in disgust as the cold seeped through the wrappings on my claws and against my skin. Nonetheless, I kept up the task until most of the useless wood had been thrown aside and older, dryer wood started to peek through the gaps. By now, though, the embers that had been left to me where already long died out. Even the deeply rooted knowledge of fire building could do nothing for it.

With still no sight of my companions, I decided to risk setting off to find better shelter. Even if they were coming back for me- which they had to be!- it wouldn't help anyone if I froze to death before then.

I took my meager collection of wood with me and nearly tripped over an object lying on the ground seconds later. It was my sword, glowing faintly and a shade darker than it had been before. I took a moment to question whether I had it with me going into the portal before adding it to the top of the pile already in my arms.

From there, it was quiet and empty. There was only a spattering of trees around me, which left me completely exposed to the wind. Snowbirds chirped from the top of creaking branches, alerting all others of their kind to the presence of a stranger, but their panicked song was the only noise outside of my footsteps to be heard for miles around. I curled my whiskers closer to my face in a feeble attempt to keep them from freezing. I was trudging through snow, and as such, my feet had long since gone entirely numb.

My first choice was to find some sort of proper shelter – a cave or a rocky overhang that allowed me freedom from the immediate elements, but I was well aware that that was wishful thinking. At best, I might be able to find a copse of trees to block the breeze.

It quickly became apparent that even that was out of the question. There were far too few trees to provide any real protection from anything. Once the numbness started to climb up my legs and arms, I knew I would have to settle for anything. Especially when a quick check of the wood scraps I had gathered showed that they had turned mushy and wet as well from the snow. I discarded them, replacing my hold to be entirely on my sword and nothing else.

Which led to me huddling against the chilly bark of a leafless birchnut. Like the last one, the bark was noticeably mushy beneath my back, but it was all I could do at the moment. I just needed to warm up a bit and I could continue searching. The sun was still up, hovering uncertainly above the horizon almost as if it wanted to sink but knew I had little chance to survive through the night without it. I let out a small huff of wry laughter, somehow finding amusement in the idea of the heavens trying to give me more time.

It had been so many years since I was alone. It wasn't as if I hadn't survived by myself before- much smaller and younger than I was now, in fact- but I had grown impossibly soft. Back then, I had time to find my footing before the last bit of body fat burned off and I really had to go into survival mode. With almost four full years of nothing but fighting and hunting with just enough calories to retain muscle, I had no body fat to act as a buffer between me and freezing to death. Even then, prior to my little stunt that had lasted the past several days, I at least had enough muscle to hold on to warmth.

Turns out almost a week of fasting would cause a dramatic loss of muscle density.

Curled up as I was in my meager protection, I still shivered violently. I was hyper-aware of the state of my body in a way that I hadn't been prior. Little but swathes of atrophied muscles stretched tight over bones and barely hidden by chitin and fur. I closed my eyes tightly and let out a long, deep breath as the terror surged back up. I couldn't panic now. That would be the most surefire way to die a terrible, frosty death. Exhaustion swamped over me and held me in a vice grip that grew tighter every second I had my eyes closed. Falling asleep would be a terrible idea, but it would be a decent escape. Maybe permanent, if nobody found me before hypothermia set in.

A gentle stirring in the back of my mind roused me from the edges of slumber. A twinge of frustration, a thin web of resigned detachment.

A trickle of tears fell from my good eye, freezing moments after touching fur. How embarrassing. Starving and freezing to death worlds away from my home. Abandoned. Alone.

I was always meant to be alone.

No self-respecting creature would dare call you their own, human or spider alike.

When the surge of willpower suddenly ripped at my conscience, I didn't have the strength- physical or mental, to push back. Fury that was not my own overwhelmed my senses as Webber dragged me back to my feet, growling under our breath all the while. I felt disconnected from the growing cold, but the stabbing hunger gripping our abdomen rose in prominence as it went unchallenged by the other source of misery. Webber did not take full control. He didn't push hard enough to force me into peaceful apathy, but he was forcing our freezing limbs to move. When a shock of pain tore through our stomach, it was me who curled instinctively into a ball to lessen it, and it was him who forced us to stand straight up again.

Contesting minds. Both exerting will over the same body.

“I have no intention of dying here.” The words slipped through our mouth, rough and angry. The spider's voice. When I responded, it was light and soft, almost impossible to recognize coming from the same mouth.

“I don't want to either.”

We took a step forward, frozen joints locked and cracking in protest. The movement was jerky and unnatural, and immediately negated by a hasty step back to keep balance. Another frustrated growl rumbled in our chest as the step was attempted again. We were nearly thrown forward for the effort, both minds attempting but refusing to work together.

“Queens below, Tyler, are you wanting to freeze?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then move. Or let me move.”

“Last time, you attacked Wilson.”

“On the contrary, last time, Wilson attacked me.”

“You threatened to kill him.”

“Because I was angry.”

Another uncomfortably unsteady half-step. Our balance finally gave out and we collapsed to the ground.

“You felt what it was like when you had no control! Couldn't you feel how dull your emotions were? How soft and insignificant they felt? That's how I've lived for the past four years! Imagine what it feels like to suddenly have the full force of your emotions back! Of course I got overwhelmed and lashed out! You should know!”

“When I get overwhelmed, I don't try to kill people!”

“Oh ho, yes you do Tyler. Don't even lie about that. You and the monkey have already bonded over this.”

An irritated huff puffed into the air, and Webber's leash suddenly grew all the more tight.

“I don't want to die,” he growled.

“And you think I do?”

“You seem like it! Get. Up!”

Our body moved desperately to cling to the tree, padded claws sinking in easily to the mushy wood. An uncomfortable shudder ran through our body at the movement. The hunger in our stomach spiked pain through our abdomen again, and another audible shiver forced its way through our chest even though I wasn't feeling the cold anymore- Webber must have been taking the brunt of that, while I was taking the brunt of the starvation.

“We need to find spiders. We'll have everything we need if we can just find a den,” he muttered.

“They won't have any food!” I protested. “It's in the middle of winter!”

“You haven't spent any time in a spider colony,” Webber remarked dryly. His will finally won out enough to drag us into a standing position. Exhausted, I fell back, curling inwardly to protect from the hunger pains even if we couldn't physically do so. I kept careful control of him, thought, lightly tugging on the strings just enough for him to know that I wasn't going to let him take total control without a fight. To his credit, he didn't seem interested in taking complete control. The ability to walk and move seemed enough for him at the moment.

I could tell that he wasn't immune to the cold. Like me, he kept his whiskers curled in close, both hands pressed against his ribs with the mangled one held protectively between his right hand and chest. He kept his gaze low, his eyes shielded from the wind only by his own head.

It was dusk now. The sun had finally decided to relinquished its hold on the sky, and the nighttime creatures were starting to wake up. Or, at least, the ones capable of dealing with the cold. I heard the distant hiss of spiders before him, and it was my own will to jerk us towards the noise. I was desperate for warmth and food, and if Webber was telling the truth about a den being able to solve those issues... well, who was I to risk our lives because of doubt?

He growled at me and I hissed back, noises mingling into a choked snarl coming from the same mouth and chest.

“Den,” I said shortly. He only nodded in response. My mind was sluggish, almost painfully slow. Higher thought had fled, leaving nothing but the words 'warmth' and 'food' to spin a rut in my brain. I couldn't be sure, but I believed he was the same way considering his lack of protest. We were past shivering now, plunging into the icy cavern of hypothermia. Cold calmness. Blissful.

Everything after that was sort of a blur. Images flickering in and out as our minds flickered and overlapped. Moments of awareness were sparked when our claws were dipped in something warm. Salt and metal assaulted our nose, but at the moment, it was the sweetest scent we had ever smelled. We eagerly dug our claws in deeper, more warmth following until we were up to our elbows in beautiful heat.

The smell awoke something else, the starvation rearing its ugly head and demanding to be satisfied. And so, we tore our arms from the warmth with handfuls of something clutched in unwrapped claws. We didn't care what it was or even if it was edible. We shoved it into our mouth without hesitation.

It was sour and tough, but the blood and juices that ran down our throat were more than enough to force us to grab another handful. It was the most delicious thing we had ever eaten. Tough and sour, yes, but every bite brought more juice and every drop of juice sent our body alight with bliss. We chewed very little, instead opting to swallow as much of the meat as possible. Soon, there was no more meat to be found, and we had to move to the next one.

Warm liquid felt like lava against our skin. Our nerves tingled in awareness as they were reactivated by the heat, and the roaring fury of our empty stomach soothed into a calm grumble. The ground was warm and soft. The hot liquid was quickly cooling on our fur, but we took care to freshen it with more still-hot blood. Our body was warm and soft. Fangs shredded tough meat with ease, claws free from their binding and ripping apart bone and chitin without difficulty. Our mind felt warm and soft.

The next time I woke up, I was standing a distance from my body once more, mind a peaceful, silent hum. I could barely recognize myself, twitching and growling as if plagued by nightmares. I was wrapped in swathes of torn silk, shreds of the material littering the ground from a destroyed den. The most notable part, though, was the blood that stained the silk maroon and the scraps of desecrated spider corpses littered the ground, each one ripped into pieces with much of the meat stripped from their bones.

“Ready for another day, Tyler?”

I swallowed hard, staring in disdain at the horrible scene in front of me. I couldn't remember any of this. My memories faded entirely after Webber had dragged us back into the cold. Any hope that this massacre and cannibalism was unrelated to me was inevitably crushed when I saw the blood that matted my fur. The wrappings that had blunted my claws had been discarded at some point, and my arms all the way up to the elbow were crusted and mattered with so much dry blood that the original fur was hidden entirely. My fangs were stained purple-red, and furred meat was stuck between my incisors.

“...No...” I said in response, quietly twirling my claws together as I saw my body stir, white eyes opened to stare ahead as Webber woke up. “I don't think I am.”


Image Spoilered For Gore
 

Spoiler

 

[Pokemaniac7000]

 

Chapter 76. Tenacity - Part 2

Chapter 2 of 5

The Game is Afoot

 

Wilbur was already in full-blown panic mode when he woke his companions. Winona and Wilson blinked at him in sleepy confusion, unable to understand the words that he was frantically bombarding them with. He settled with simply pacing back and forth, tail flicking in agitation as the other two got their bearings.

Wilson was the first to notice Wilbur's issue.

“Where's We- er, Tyler?”

Wilbur glared at him and furiously motioned, knowing full well neither of them could understand his actual words. Still, he found himself talking out loud. “Absolutely no idea! Thanks for asking the obvious question!”

Until this moment, Winona had seemed fairly calm. As soon as the question was posed, though, fear pooled in her eyes and she started bouncing her foot with frantic energy. “It's freezing. It's so cold right now. He wouldn't have run off, would he?”

“He absolutely would've,” Wilbur responded glumly. Wilson seemed to agree with the notion, even if unaware that it was posed.

“You act like he hasn't run off multiple times before,” the scientist said with a sigh. Wilbur noticed him picking at his cuticles with a scowl. “To be honest, right now, that's kind of my last priority.” He motioned towards a fire on its last embers, just a few feet away. “My current priority is finding something to keep that alive.”

Winona blinked several times before nodding quickly. “Right. It wouldn't help if we froze to death, huh?”

They got lucky in location, at least. A dense evergreen forest surrounded the three of them, keeping the ground relatively clear of snow and the wood to be found fairly dry. It only took a few moments of stripping bark for Wilbur to find something better burning, and before Wilson and Winona even had the chance to try he was already working deftly on building the flames back up. It was a skill he had all but mastered in his four thousand years, so he was able to let his hands go on auto pilot as he ran over the scenarios in his head.

Scenario One: Tyler just stepped away for a moment and would be back before they knew it. Preferred scenario. Possible considering his intense need for independence and guilty desperation for approval. He would certainly sneak off to try to gather materials to bring back when everyone else woke up. Unfortunately, even as Wilbur looked, he couldn't see any footprints in the frost, and nothing seemed to be disturbed.

Scenario Two: Tyler stepped away for a moment and immediately got himself in deep trouble. Extremely likely, for many of the same points as the previous. Tacked on to those points is his aptitude for getting into the worse of situations with no effort and the fact that it was extremely cold right now and he had eaten nothing for five days, a fast broken only by a scrap of meat the day before. Again, no footprints.

Scenario Three: Tyler ran off after waking up first. Also extremely likely. Wilbur loved him, he really did, but the kid could be a total moron and absolutely had a Messiah Complex. There was a very good chance he woke up and decided for whatever reason that the rest of the group would be better off without him and fled without waking anyone up. If that was the case, it was almost certain he would perish to a mixture of freezing and starvation simply due to the fact that he barely cared for himself anymore unless someone else forced him to. In Wilbur's opinion, the worst situation, considering even if they found him again, if this was the case, there was a good chance he would fight tooth and claw to prevent coming back. The fire also bought in to this theory, with the idea of him trying to save them in some backwards way. But again, no footprints.

Scenario Four: Tyler had been kidnapped by something while asleep. Most unlikely. No signs of struggle or anything bigger. Immediately thrown out.

That left one last scenario... Scenario Five: Tyler was separated from the group as part of Maxwell's game.

No footprints. The fire could have been left by Maxwell. It would be preferable to him running off by himself, but the chance of him starving and/or freezing to death was still so high Wilbur felt sick to his stomach. It wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself. It was that there was a good chance that he wouldn't because of that same stupid Messiah Complex.

Wilbur jumped to his feet as soon as the fire started back up, fully prepared to march off in search of their missing companion. It was as though Wilson could read his mind, though, because the scientist immediately gave a stern: “No, Wilbur. You're not leaving.”

They knew he could say a couple of words, and luckily, one of them in his available library was a perfect one. “Stupid,” Wilbur snapped at him. When Wilson narrowed his eyes, Wilbur wasted no time in baring his teeth angrily.

“Wilbur, stop. He's right.” Winona sounded tired. “We got no food and no furs last world because of Tyler's... ah...”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, daring her to continue. Guilt? Youth? Apparent eating disorder?

“...issue,” she finished, although the word was definitely not what she had originally thought. She looked like she had bitten into something foul.

“He's a big boy.” Wilson drew himself closer to the fire that Wilbur had reignited, ignoring the angry prime ape standing a few paces away. “He can take care of himself. We need to take care of ourselves first. Wilbur, you're the only one with natural fur. How well could you handle the cold, do you think?”

Wilbur simply stared back at him. How stupid was this guy?

“He lived on a tropical island. I doubt he has any cold resistance,” Winona pointed out. At least she had a few working brain cells. Honestly, he was beginning to think that himself and the mechanic were the only ones with functional brains at all. “How many winters did you survive through? How did you get through those?”

“We had a robot who could handle the cold better than us, and Webber, who couldn't but did anyway out of spite. Even then, they weren't... this bad? I mean, it was cold and we all definitely nearly froze to death, but this is somehow worse.”

Wilbur felt lead pool in his stomach at Wilson's words. They nearly froze to death in winters that weren't nearly as bad as this? What did that mean for them?

“Well, considering human nature, it would take about two weeks for us to starve to death,” Wilson said. He was counting something on his fingers. “Of course, that wouldn't be very ideal. And there's always the likelihood of not being strong enough to hunt. The longest I would say without food without becoming too weak is... maaaybe two days?”

Wilbur scoffed. Imagine having to eat every day to keep full strength. When Wilson and Winona turned confused looks towards him, Wilbur held up six fingers. Six days a prime ape could go before weakening from hunger.

“I wouldn't stay in one place for too long,” a voice rose from behind Wilbur. His instincts kicked in before he even fully registered the voice, and if it weren't for Maxwell's incorporeal form it was very likely the prime ape would have successfully mauled the man. As it was, he passed through the shade in the same way he had before. Maxwell quirked an eyebrow towards him, and Wilbur bared his teeth in response.

“Oh, come off it,” Maxwell scoffed, waving one hand as if brushing it off. “It's been years, aren't you over it by now?”

Wilbur was, in fact, not 'over it'. He lashed his tail threateningly.

“Nevertheless, I'm here to welcome you to the second world.” The Nightmare Captor opened his arms to motion to the landscape. He wore a long, frustratingly perfect fur coat that hung on his lanky frame. The furs of the collar shivered in the breeze. “You completed the previous challenge rather quickly, hmm?”

“Do you mind, William?” Winona snapped, rolling her eyes. She hadn't look in his direction at all, instead giving her full attention to clearing snow away from the fire before it melted into mud. “Can't you just let us starve to death in peace?”

“I'd prefer you didn't fail this early,” he pouted. He made a circling motion motion with one hand and a burlap bag appeared in the air in front of him. It hovered uncertainly for a moment before landing with a dull thump. “If you're smart about it, that should last you a couple of days.”

Wilbur's nose twitched as the scent of fresh meat touched his nose. He didn't move towards the sack, didn't even consider it. He simply kept his eyes focused on Maxwell, who was clapping his hands together as if dusting them.

“I'd rather starve to death than take hand outs from you,” Winona said with a growl. Wilbur nodded in agreement and lashed his tail again.

Maxwell simply gave them a shrug and a smirk. “I won't take it back. If you want to let perfectly good food to go to waste, that's your issue. Although, I would suggest you keep your strength up and move quickly. After all, there's a hunter hot on your trail.”

Confusion sparked in Wilbur's chest, but he didn't try to ask for any elaboration. That didn't stop Maxwell from giving it.

“It's been awhile since he's had a good meal. You might want to try to escape before he catches up.”

“The Deerclops?” Wilson guessed. He rolled his eyes, seemingly unbothered. “Did you skip the part where we killed the other Giants? I think we can hold our own against it, even if it 'catches up'.”

“Did I say it was the Deerclops?” Again, the smirk. Surely nobody would protest if someone tore this man to shreds. Who said it couldn't be Wilbur to do that? He might just be a projection now, but that didn't mean he couldn't get lucky one day and find the real thing. Every single freaking time he saw that smirk, the only thing that went through his head was the way he gave the exact same freaking smirk-

“Whatever it is.” Winona waved one hand as if brushing him off. “Are you done? Can you go back to not existing?”

“You know, I was going to leave.” Maxwell tapped his chin with one finger, humming thoughtfully. “But I'm only counting three faces here. That's peculiar, unless I missed something.”

Wilbur's claws curled into the ground and fury burned hot and low in his chest. What twisted game were they playing at here?

“Oh well. I'm sure I've simply miscounted.” He snapped his fingers, the fire burning a few paces away settling with smaller, more controlled flames and meat rising from the sack. Sticks and rocks followed the order, settling into a decent cooking set up, with fresh slabs of rabbit and beefalo roasting over it. The entire process took only a few moments without any physical effort from Maxwell's part. “Good luck, you three.”

The second Maxwell vanished, Winona launched into a flurry of curses aimed at him. Wilbur and Wilson remained silent, although in Wilbur's case he was living vicariously through Winona's rage.

“So...” Wilson started when Winona's tirade fizzled out. “Are we all in agreement that Webber is hunting us?”

“Not really!” Wilbur protested.

“First off, stop calling him that.” Winona pointed stiffly at the scientist. “Secondly...” She let out a frustrated shout and threw her arms in the air. “YEAH. Absolutely. Of course. That's absolutely the case.”

“Even if that is the case, we kind of want to find him, right? Hunting is a very vicious term to use!”

Of course, neither of them could understand Wilbur. He wanted to snap. Of course, rage had been boiling beneath Wilbur's fur for the past several minutes, and he already felt quite close to exploding. Wilson and Winona hovered around the fire, debating among themselves about whether the food was safe or not. Instead of, you know, talking about the missing member of their group.

Wilbur wanted to rip his fur out. Nobody could understand spider or hound or dragoon or prime ape or anything useful.

“Wilbur, you know your speech is getting a lot better. I can't even remember the last time I couldn't understand you.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Well, how am I supposed to bond with my buddies without speaking the same language?”

He hated this.

“Better than to have loved and lost! Ha! What a joke! I'd rather have never loved at all!”

This is what happens when you break your promise to yourself and let yourself love again.

Especially when your soft spot happens to be extremely stupid children. Stupid stupid stupid Wilbur. Next time I decide to adopt a child, I'm choosing one who doesn't have so many issues that everyone believes he would become a savage hunter.

He continued his low growling as he marched up to the duo by the fire. Wilson poked at the meat with a stick, and it dripped red juice as he did so. Winona looked significantly more concerned, her eyes focused more on the fire than the food. After a moment of consideration, Wilbur grabbed her hand and tugged on it.

“Huh?” She looked away and blinked several times as if chasing away the floaters formed from staring at the fire. “Wilbur?”

He pointed over to a tree.

“Um...”

Wilbur sighed in frustration and decided to just drag her. She let out a yelp of surprise as he overpowered her easily.

“Okay, okay, I'm coming! I'm coming!”

Wilbur released Winona's hand and sat on the other side of the tree, out of Wilson's view. She furrowed her brow as she settled in front of him.

“Sooo... what's up?”

Wilbur cleared his throat.

“Don't say anything to Wilson,” he said immediately. “I will fight you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. She stared at him, mouth half-open, as if incapable of comprehending what he just said. Really, though, it was the opposite. After all, they had only ever heard him speak a couple of English words before. Hearing two perfectly grammatically correct sentences in a row was probably similar to hearing your pet parrot tell you the quadratic formula and how to solve it.

“Okay, either I magically gained the ability to speak spider or-”

Wilbur quirked an eyebrow at her.

“...or you've been able to speak English this whole time.”

“Well. Spider is a very hard language to learn. Took me fifteen hundred years to finally stopping mixing up the words 'food' and 'baby', which are very unpleasant words to mix up when spiders are well-known cannibals and will gladly eat their children if you even suggest it.”

“So you...”

“Are you surprised? Wilson's been trying to catch me slipping the whole time.”

She nodded slowly, almost unsure. Wilbur would've laughed if he didn't already want to scream at someone.

“You two aren't seriously believing this, are you?” Wilbur demanded, jerking his thumb back towards Wilson. “Like, are you seriously just going to not look for Tyler at all? You actually believe that that kid would be hunting us? What makes you think that would happen in any universe?”

“Let me get this straight. You've been going out of your way to make us think you couldn't speak English,” Winona started. “And then you decide to reveal yourself to convince me to look for Tyler?”

Wilbur huffed. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No!” She immediately protested. “Not at all! I just... I didn't realize you cared so much for him.”

“He's my boy,” Wilbur said. “And apparently I care very much about preventing small children from dying because nobody wants to look for them.”

“I never said I wasn't going to look for him. It just so happens I'm also in the business of trying to protect small children.”

“Lemme guess. You're the older sister between yourself and Charlie.”

Winona chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well... yeah. That obvious?”

“So then wait. If you were planning to look for him, why did you say that you believed he was the hunter?”

Something uncomfortable passed over Winona's face. She sighed and shook her head. “Wilbur... that probably is the case. No, don't give me that look-” she immediately snapped when he started to scowl. “Listen to me. Tyler is... he's not okay. He's a good kid, I know that. But that spider... isn't. He's getting worse, Wilbur.” Her voice cracked, and Wilbur felt his heart crack in turn.

“I know,” he whispered.

“They're breaking him even more.”

“They are,” he agreed quietly.

“He's hanging on by a thread. I've seen how dependent he is on us even if he doesn't want us to see. If separating him was on purpose, which I'm sure it was, then it's very possible this will be the final nail in his coffin. I don't know if he will be Tyler if we find him.”

“I've met Webber before,” Wilbur said hurriedly. “I've met the spider. He's not evil. Even if he takes control, he wouldn't hunt us down in the way Maxwell is suggesting.” Wilbur grabbed his wrist with the opposite hand, gripping tightly. His claws left tiny imprints in his skin. “I don't know how long he would survive on his own, Winona. He's going to die unless we find him soon. He's going to freeze to death and we'll find his body but we'll be too late. They've gone too far this time. They keep pushing and pushing and pushing but there's only so much one person can take until you snap and then terrible, terrible things happen. People die. Everyone always dies so what was even the point-”

Hands suddenly grabbed Wilbur's arms and pried them away from each other. His breathing was shaky and uncertain, and when he turned his eyes back to his companion, he barely felt like he recognized her.

Darkness was threatening the edges of his vision, beckoning him into a deeper state of panic. Ugly, ugly thoughts swirled through his head, of betrayal and murder and hatred. His hands twitched, desperate to pull at his fur, but Winona held a firm grip on his wrists.

She released him for just a moment, and as she did, something cold was pressed into his hand. Grounding pressure on his shoulders. When the icy chill started to fade, melting into drops that trickled through his fur, more replaced it. He let out a long breath.

“What are five things you can see?”

He blinked hard, several times. His mouth was painfully dry, causing his throat to spasm with every breath. He had no idea why she was asking him that, but he forced himself to answer nonetheless.

“Snow,” he finally settled on. His vision was so blurred he struggled to name anything, so guesses would have to suffice. “Bark. Trees. Um... you. My hands.”

“Four things you can hear.”

What is she doing? “Breathing,” he choked out. That was a pretty obvious one. “Talking. Fire.” He gripped his chest, melting ice seeping into the fur over his heart. “Heartbeat.”

“Good. Three things you can feel?”
“My heartbeat again. Water.” He transferred his touch back to the ground, feeling fresh powder seep into his fur. He released another shuddering sigh. “Snow.”

“Two things you can smell?”

“Ice.” His breath was evening out. He raised one arm to rub his wrist against his eyes. “You.”

“Last one. One thing you can taste?”

Wilbur thought on that one for a moment. There wasn't much to taste, especially with a dry mouth. He settled on, “Dry.”

Winona gave him a faint smile and waved one hand. “Hey, you back?”

He pressed the ball of his hands into his eyes until he saw colors. “Yeah. Didn't fully leave. Sorry, I...” He sighed. His head was spinning and he felt quite close to simply passing out. Or maybe just dying. Instead of doing either, he remained standing and conscious. After a moment of silence, he scooped up a handful of clean snow from nearby and licked at it in an attempt to rehydrate. He had been through much worse, and honestly, Winona's strange questions had worked fairly well in preventing him from slipping into a full-blown panic attack. The snow was cold and wonderfully refreshing when he swallowed it.

Winona waited patiently, clearly curious but unwilling to press. Instinct told him to remain quiet, but he knew she deserved some sort of explanation for the impromptu attack. “Stress,” he croaked. “Um...”

“Hey, don't worry about it. I've had my own fair share of breakdowns just from stress. I'm just glad you snapped out of it before it got worse.”

Wilbur gave her a wry smile. Despite having only just woken up, he was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep for an extra ten years. He scrubbed at his face, groaning at the feel of drying fur. “Thank you. I... um... sorry. Yeah, it wasn't bad.”

There was a sort of pitying look in Winona's eyes that he didn't want to try to puzzle out. He didn't really need her pity, after all. It was such a minor thing. “No need to apologize. Let's get something to eat, and then we can see about what to do next, okay?”

“What about Tyler?” He asked in a mutter.

“We have to think about ourselves first, Wilbur,” she reasoned. “Or else we'll just get sick or die, and then everything will go wrong and that would be the opposite of good, right? I promise, we're not forgetting about him.”

Wilbur pressed his mouth into a thin line. He hated to admit that she was correct. He kicked at the ground and sighed. “Okay,” he said softly as he turned to go back.

“Wait, can I ask you something?”

Wilbur tipped his head in her direction.

“Why did you hide that you could speak English this long? Why pull me aside to reveal it instead of just saying something to both of us?”

“Well,” he responded sourly. “I didn't want to get attached to either of you. It was easier when I couldn't interact with you.”

“Then why me?”

“I was worried that you were just going to let him die out there.” Wilbur flicked one hand out, tossing a look back the way they came. “And I greatly dislike Wilson, so you were my best bet.”

Winona's laugh seemed entirely unintentional. It was a quick, sharp laugh, and she seemed surprised by it herself. It inspired a much more genuine smile to form on his face.

“Let's eat something- or at least spend a few minutes debating whether or not handouts from William is safe- and then we'll see about what we can do, okay?”

Wilbur nodded in agreement. “Let's be quick, though.” A shiver crawled up his spine, and it was only partially from the cold. “I'm not sure Tyler is strong enough to survive by himself for long.”

Edited June 8, 2023 by Pokemaniac7000