brand-new Dark One Killian Jones. something that I've been picking at for the last few days (obviously prior to the amazing sneak peek that just came out). just my take on what might have happened, and whether or not the darkness would win him over. 1.5k words.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Killian was at peace. The air was sweet with the scent of middlemist, their lush foliage a cushion under him. He could still feel his Swan's tight grip on his hand, though her voice was fading with his consciousness. Truly, he hated to be leaving her, but he knew her parents and son would keep her going.
And so, calmly, he slipped into the dark.
But the dark was not kind. His life hadn't been easy; why did he expect death would be?
The inky blackness wrapped its tendrils around him, invading every pore and leeching into his bones. It twisted and contorted him as it saw fit, ignoring his protestations and cries of agony.
Whispers started invading his thoughts with all manner of wicked ideas; things he may have done once, but he wasn't that man anymore.
Yes, you are, it told him.
No! he cried. I've changed. I changed to be a better man. I changed for her.
Is that so?
Of course. I love her.
But does she love you? It was feeding on his deepest doubts and fears, bringing them to the surface and poking and prodding them until he reacted.
Yes, she does.
Then why did she do this to you?
What?
He opened his eyes. He stood in a forest—the Enchanted Forest, he recognized; he hadn't gone far. But it felt different; somehow cooler and edgier than before. Was this Hell? Or was it he that changed?
He took a deep breath—still somewhat shocked he was taking any—and took quick stock of the situation, his well-honed survival skills kicking in. He was cloaked in a thick black robe from head to toe, a hood hanging over his eyes, with rough spun clothes underneath. An odd, shiny, ink-like ooze was quickly evaporating on the ground around him and the metal plate he stood on.
Wait, what? That shouldn't be here.
Frantically, he jumped away and inspected the platform.
No. No, it can't be. He crouched to run his fingers over the runes covering the gate; it seemed to hum in reaction to his caress. It was impossible to spend so much time tracking down and researching a way to kill the Crocodile without knowing what this was: the Dark One's vault.
And he'd just emerged from it.
No no no. She didn't. Not when I begged her not to.
"Oh, yes she did."
He stood, faster than he thought humanly possible (though evidence suggested he wasn't entirely human anymore) when he heard the voice that haunted him for centuries. There in front of him, looking the same as the day Milah died, was the Crocodile.
"Hi," he greeted with a cheeky wave.
Something sparked inside Killian in reaction to the image before him, building like a storm in his chest and spreading. "Get out of my head, demon." His voice was low and menacing in a way it hadn't been since he hung up his revenge. So why did it feel so natural, so right?
The Dark One circled him as if to take stock, its beady eyes scanning up and down in assessment. "Oh yes, this will do just fine."
"What will? Are you going to make me your plaything, too? Like you did Emma? Like all the others? Shall I stake my hook in you, too?" He was nearly yelling.
"Ahh, there's the temper I remember." The Dark One smirked. "How well did your weapons work on me then, eh? Not as good as that sword you took a bit ago, I'd wager." Killian's neck stung in response, but when he reached for it, the skin was smooth and flawless. "Good as new, you are. The new and improved Captain."
"I was fine to begin with," he said defiantly.
"No you weren't. A one-handed pirate? Please. I'm surprised she didn't suck you into the darkness sooner."
No; it never bothered her. He's lying. Dark One tricks…
Killian knew what was happening—this spectre was trying to draw him in. And, just like he told Emma, he was proving too weak to resist its trap. "She just wanted to save me," he shouted, more for his own reassurance than anything.
"So she turned you into thing you hate most?" The Crocodile tutted. "Some love that is."
He wasn't going to hear this drivel anymore. With a shout, Killian ran at the Dark One, hook raised, and dived at the man, only to find himself face down on the forest floor with rage simmering under his skin.
"Hm, we're going to have fun with you," came the taunting voice that was now behind him.
Killian quickly sprang to his feet, hood falling back, and glared at the imp. All the anger and hurt he was feeling were sparking within and, he suddenly noticed, without: a blue ball of energy was swirling in his palm, a small storm of its own to match the tempest brewing in his heart.
"This is gonna be easier than I thought." The Dark One gave him an evil grin and seemed to be waiting for something.
"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Killian could feel his emotions rising, dangerously close to spiraling out of control.
The Dark One just smirked back.
"Answer me!" Killian commanded.
But nothing; just the same wicked smile.
Something snapped inside, and Killian couldn't bear to look at that smug bastard anymore. With a hurt, angry howl, he unleashed the magic brewing in his hand at the Crocodile, who promptly dissolved, only to reappear seconds later at Killian's side.
"Killing me's gonna take a lot more than that, dearie."Those words stoked an already-roaring fire at Killian's core with the awful memory he thought he had finally moved past. Even demons can be killed. I will find a way.
"Yes, but who's the demon now?" the sinister voice teased.
Killian collapsed.
He stared at his hand, which was shaking from the force of the magic he'd used…and the truth it revealed.
I'm the thing I hate most. I'm the Dark One.
Everything just felt wrong, yet, somehow, familiar. His senses were heightened by adrenaline, making him all too aware of the world around him, and he could feel the power spiraling uncomfortably through his veins. The darkness was making its way to his rapidly beating heart, which was pounding harder than ever in an attempt to beat back the encroaching blackness.
"She couldn't even resist it; how could you?"
He looked up, staring the Crocodile—now back in front of him—in the eyes. "No." She's strong enough, she didn't fail.
"Twu love for two Dark Ones; how poetic!" Rumplestiltskin cackled and squirmed in glee.
"NO!" Killian shouted again, this time firing another ball of energy at the spectre.
Rumplestiltskin disappeared, but another force knocked Killian's magic away.
A rigid figure stood ahead of him and his new senses could feel the dark magic rippling off of it.
No, not an it—her.
Emma. He was speechless as anguish drove an icy path down his spine. It can't be—she didn't—she couldn't…
It was Emma, but…it wasn't. Gone were the golden curls like sun, replaced with a severe, bleached-white bun. She wore all black; a terrifying contrast to the soft white gown she'd had on earlier. Bright red lips stood out against pale skin. But her eyes…the color hadn't changed, but the warmth that he'd so often sought refuge in from the cold loathing in his soul was gone; only a steely hardness was left, along with a grim determination that matched the straight set of her mouth.
All that they'd been working towards, everything that everyone had been fighting for since they arrived in Camelot was for nought. The battles, the quests, dealing with all manner of obstacles…all shot to hell. An immense sense of failure washed over him, feeding the gloom swirling around his soul.
If it phased her, it hardly showed; the hint of regret in her demeanor seemed more targeted at him.
Slowly, he stood as she stalked toward him; and as he watched her, something settled within. The chaos calmed, the darkness stilled.
Emma, too, stopped, her eyes growing wide as she observed whatever change was going on in him. He didn't know if it was physical or magical, and, frankly, he didn't care.
"How could you do this?" he snarled. "To me, to us, to everyone?"
It was subtle to anyone else, but he could clearly see her grow sheepish, and almost scared. Good.
He glanced down to the blade she held in her grip, where Killian Jones was engraved bold and black. But that wasn't him anymore.
He sneered, with fire in his near-black eyes. The darkness had easily slipped on, like his old leather jacket.
"Bad form, Swan."
Captain Hook was back.
Hello, darkness, my old friend.