Hearts and Heroes: The Fall of a Hero

I.

Gone. Everyone was just... Gone. It had finally happened, after all the build-up, after fuck-up after fuck-up on his part. It had been a long time coming; he had known that for a while now. Known that the growing darkness whispering in his ear and seeping into his bones would drive everyone away. And yet, when the time had finally come and he was left standing here all alone, he could only feel shock. Shock, mingled with the deepest guilt he had ever known.

He had tried, Mark thought as he stared blankly at the spots where Blue's team had been just moments before with wet eyes. He had slaved away in this strange world night and day, adding in sleeping pills to his daily vitamins and taking frequent naps. He all but forgot about the waking world in his mission to save this sanctuary of his he had built from the ground up. Videos, chores, eating and drinking, even Chica, had all been moved to the back burner the past week. The things those pits of darkness had done to him... The panic and constant fear that they would grow bigger and bigger until they swallowed him—or, even worse, somebody else—whole had consumed him. He had burned Mount Massive Asylum to the ground. He had went toe-to-toe with Stefano and his grotesque creations. He had even wandered the halls of Kraven Manor, and yet it still wasn't enough. For every damn hole he closed off, weary and beaten, two more formed. Nothing would fix this. Not the blood, sweat, and tears he had sacrificed. Not waking up in the real world expecting relief, only to find the paranoia following him like a cloud of toxic gas. Not plastering on fake smiles and putting on a show whenever a friend was near to distract them from the dark bags under his eyes and the numbness in his gaze. No; no matter what he did, how hard he fought, how much he gave up... Red was right. He still wasn't doing enough.

Mark started slightly as his own choked sob echoed through the empty, silent Hub. Gasping for air as it suddenly seemed to be sucked out of his lungs, he lifted a trembling hand to feel the inky tears dripping down his cheeks. Another defeated sob escaped as he clasped his palm to his mouth, and his shoulders, usually pulled back tall like a shield, slumped lifelessly. He knew what the tears meant, knew what the raw, ugly taste of grief and self-loathing was from. The lone man wrapped his arms around his body and really looked at the place around him. Though the absence of illumination other than the artificial skylights dimmed the Hub, there was another, deeper layer of darkness that contaminated everything as it bled out from the numerous parasitic rifts. Though he could have left, something compelled the YouTuber to remain there and watch in revulsion as tendrils emerged from the black fog and eagerly snaked towards him. The awful energy seemed to seep into the very marrow of his bones, and Mark swallowed thickly as his heart sank.

He was finally all alone after a whole week. Now, the dark could feed off of the most powerful soul in this realm in peace. Mark lowered his head in trepidation and squeezed his eyes shut tight, gritting his teeth against the bubbling despair in his throat. He hadn't been strong enough, just like everyone said; had been too weak to protect this one place from things that weren't even real.

Who is "everyone"? The internal voice of reason ingrained in the back of Mark's head questioned his spiraling thoughts dubiously, and for a split second he became skeptical. Red was the only one who had suggested that, and even then lots of people got angry and lashed out when they were upset. It didn't necessarily mean anything—

But the thought had to be there in the first place for him to come up with it,he realized, and his hopeful heart plummeted back down again as he curled in on himself. And Bob and Wade and Amy were all trying to get through to you for days, telling you to be careful, but you're so reckless you just didn't listen. Instead you bowled on ahead and ended up putting everyone in danger! Purple. She was just a kid, only fourteen, the youngest of Blue's team. And he had stood by and done nothing as she was forced to sacrifice herself to save Blue from the Terrorlings that he could have easily beaten. The monsters that he did easily beat, when he finally came after it was already too late. The knowledge of what he had put all those kids through and what had happened to Purple because of it made Mark sick to his stomach. As nausea crept up his throat, he shuddered against the rush of more tears and pressed his palms to his wet eyes.

It was over, wasn't it? It was over, and he had failed everybody. Again. Out of nowhere, Mark stiffened as the temperature dropped jarringly. His fingertips tingled from the sudden chill, and he coughed at the way the icy air stabbed at his lungs when he inhaled. He shivered as he watched goosebumps slowly gather along his muscled forearms, then started when a random sense of dread pierced his thoughts. Something's wrong, something's wrong—why is there something wrong, what's happening?!

Mark whipped his head up from his palms to look around the abandoned Hub, and his hair rose when he saw that the phantasmagoric shadows had swelled while he was rooted in guilt. They pulsed out threateningly from the walls and swirled over the blue carpet like a gentle tide waiting to drag some unsuspecting swimmer under. Only one of the overhead lights remained on, and it had shifted from its usual warm glow to a cold white one that practically screamed, "You are not welcome here."

Mark had known that there were dark spots in a few corners of the Hub, but looking around now he saw an eruption of tears plummeting down into nothingness. Oh… Oh God. Abrupt horror slammed into him with the force of a train. His heart thudded jerkily and his eyes widened at the slap in the face. This place was teeming with darkness just waiting for the opportunity to emerge and take hold, and he had let everyone in. He had allowed his fans and loved ones to train here for hours at a time every night, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. Worse yet, he had known that it was dangerous and let them in anyway. Sure, he hadn't realized just how bad it had gotten until today. But that didn't really make a difference, did it? Regardless of how many holes there were, he should've evacuated everyone the second he found out how far the Terrorlings had infiltrated into the Hub. If he had gotten them out in time, then maybe Blue wouldn't have fallen into her nightmare, and Purple wouldn't have been taken out, and...

And, and, and. The possibilities and what-ifs spun around and around in Mark's head. At any other time, he would dismiss them. He was a firm believer that the past was in the past, and all one could do now do better in the future. But it was so dark, so empty, and the very air he breathed was thick with sorrow. Each whisper roared louder and louder until Mark's hands lurched up mechanically to hug his arms and dig their nails into his skin harshly enough to draw blood. The YouTuber stopped trying to stifle his cries and started to gasp with every other breath as tears, both his own and the inky dark ones, poured relentlessly down his face. His jaw hurt from clenching it so hard, but he couldn't help it. Mark shook his head subconsciously against it all, regret weighing him down like cement in his bones and only growing each time he tried to fight it. He had been so foolish, so stupid, so incredibly callous. He didn't know how he could have possibly disregarded all those people under his care just for his own peace of mind, and it cut him up inside.

You want to know how? The shadows were brushing at his ankles now, and he shuddered and stumbled back towards the vacant weapon shop, frost appearing where they had touched him. Because you got bored. You grew used to having so many adoring fans, millions on millions on millions, and you forgot why you ever cared in the first place. You let them go, Mark; out of sight, out of mind, right? You grew into everything you hated—ignorance and arrogance, apathy and carelessness, greed and selfishness.

Greedy... Arrogant... Selfish...

"No..." Mark whispered brokenly in a poor attempt at denial. Even he knew it wasn't convincing to anybody, least of all him, but he didn't want to accept otherwise. He pulled sharply at his hair, trembling. "God, no... That... I..."

Even if you didn't notice the change in yourself, Mark, they all did. "Mark"...? He lifted his head, the fog of guilt starting to dissipate. Was he even the one thinking this anymore? It sounded like someone else—something else—was speaking to him. The words were starting to separate into another voice in a mockery of a conversation. You saw the fear and worry in their eyes. The frustration with you, the disappointment. But his doubts were swiftly dismissed as he was reminded that even if it was the dark talking, what was being said wasn't any less true. Mark grimaced and looked away from the pulsating shadows before him, struggling to stop the flow of inky black tears. Now, all those people couldn't just be wrong about you, could they? They are not cruel, they would not unfairly judge you. And yet, they are repulsed. Rightly so; anyone would be, after finding out what you kept hidden from them for so long.

"I wasn't..." Mark's voice, his real voice, echoed emptily in the enormous Hub. He broke off with a sniffle, daunted by how small he sounded in that moment. The bombastic, confident YouTuber wiped a hand over his face, lost for words, before clearing his throat roughly. "I was never lying. I wouldn't do that." Mark paused, and frustration boiled up in him. "We both know I wouldn't… Dark."

Ah, but lying by omission is still a crime, the Dark hummed back lazily. A cold panic gripped Mark as he abruptly was forced to stumble back even further by the shadows as they climbed up towards his torso. He swallowed thickly and suddenly realized how much the darkness had grown since everyone left. It blocked up half the main hall, making it out to be an endless, chilling void, and was still seeping closer by the second. For the first time in a long time, the leader of the Hub didn't know what to do. Craning his neck to see the rest of the giant wall of darkness, Mark felt helpless.

"Stop." He didn't even realize what he was saying until it tumbled from his lips. His chest clenched and the oxygen around him seemed to thin. "You don't belong here. Get out."

I belong just as much, if not more, than you do, Mark. The breath caught in Mark's throat jaggedly as the darkness ate up the last of the main hall, leaving him only the space between the training room and the abandoned weapon shop. His brown irises shone with dread behind his glasses, shadowed by the entity before him and framed by the dark, disheveled hair falling into his face. Remember, I have been here for all of humanity... You are merely a gnat, an intruder in this realm. A small, helpless gnat against a deity.

"Deity?" Mark choked incredulously, staring, appalled, at the Dark. "You're no god. All you are is a parasite." But a parasite could still prey on people, and despite the truth of his words Mark knew that this one had swelled beyond his control. He discreetly slid his gaze left and right. The training room would only stall the inevitable confrontation, and the weapons shop was useless without Wilford there to supply any weapons. All that he could escape to other than the two rooms was another one of the Dark's holes, this one the biggest out of all. Mark scrutinized the spot on the left wall where it was stretched out large enough for a person to fit, and his heart chilled a few degrees. Somehow, Mark knew what was going to have to happen, had known for a while now. Escaping wasn't his only option; he had one more chance, one that could actually masked a difference.

I can enter easily, he mused with a dry throat. Enter... and find the root of the Dark. So what if he didn't come back? At least he would've tried, unlike before. A lump in his throat swelled up to the size of a golf ball at the thought.

Strangely, the Dark didn't respond to Mark's retort, and Mark immediately went on guard. He was well accustomed to the calm before the storm, the moments of false security before it all came crashing down. After years of fighting the Terrorlings and making horror Let's Plays, he had come to recognize silence as ominous and dangerous; more dangerous, even, than when the monster was staring you right in the face. Any moment now, he reminded himself. Mark forced his body to relax, then straightened up a little. I'll go, and I'll fix this mess I made.

Yes. Mark froze as horror suddenly coursed through his veins like a deadly poison. No. The Dark wasn't replying to those thoughts, it was impossible. You face the impossible every day, Mark. But he still couldn't accept this. Throughout all the nightmares, all the deadly fights, all the loss and torment, Mark had been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that his mind was still his own. He was able to sleep soundly knowing that no matter how many scars, both mental and physical, that he bore from the Terrorlings, they would never actually touch his heart. He was in control, and they couldn't change that. Oh, but I already did.

"No!" Mark yelped. The YouTuber reared back and clutched at his head, vision spinning nauseatingly. "Get out, get out get out get out of my head!" He knew it was too late, but he had to protest like this; had to do anything but accept losing this final piece of his freedom. As if all the air had been sucked out from the room, his breaths gradually started to grow shallower and shallower. He knew that the slight rattle to his breaths meant he was hyperventilating, but he couldn't bring himself to care much when he felt the presence of the Dark curling around the edges of his thoughts like thick tar.

Pathetic! It hissed spitefully. The venomous word swirled around in his head like an echo, firmly taking root there. What is this stupid temper-tantrum? A bid for mercy? A vain attempt to sate your self-pity?

Snap out of it, Mark begged himself. But it was like his body had been detached from his mind; all he could feel was the fear and anxiety that had been building up over the past few days, finally coming to a head at this last invasion of himself. He gritted his teeth as he all but forced himself to actually take in what was in front of him amidst the fog of panic. The darkness was only a foot away now, and there was only one skylight remaining lit. It's light was far too dim to be reassuring, and it only served to magnify the threat of the whole Heartscape plunging into darkness. There was only one way out of the rapidly disappearing Hub, and that was the gaping tear in the wall leading to the void. It wasn't so much as two feet away from him, and he unconsciously backed up closer to it, even as his skin crawled and his dread of what lay beyond solidified. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as stale air from the void drifted out. It's cold, he acknowledged numbly.

His frantic breaths puffed out into the empty space in front of his nose and collected over his glasses.

You aren't even strong enough to control your own body, the Dark remarked in an incredulous manner. Still, it could not manage to conceal the glee underlying its words. And to think that the Heart chose this! If you are all the world has to offer, then what is the point of trying to defend such weak, meaningless lives?

"Shut up…" Mark hissed. Suddenly the dull terror and dissociation parted for a new emotion. The passion that had been dulled over time by the Dark's growth inexplicably flared once more inside of him in the form of anger. The memories of the millions of people that stood in the foyer, willing to fight for those who couldn't with their hearts glowing bright as a thousand suns, appeared in the Hub leader's mind like a spark. Meaningless, the Dark hissed of all those souls, all those radiant heroes. He had never heard such ludicrous naivety. Bullshit. "They are worth... five fucking tons of your gaseous ass, and we both know it." Mark slowly pushed out words from his mouth between gasps. The panic had not left, but he was gradually shoving it back. "You're just scared… Scared of being the weak one instead. That's what's pathetic. You're… nothing compared to them."

Mark refused to regret his words, refused to regret the moment that finally warmed his blood after so many days of being numb and cold. But when the voice in his head suddenly screamed in rage, the YouTuber succumbed to it, seizing his head so hard and fast it hurt.

"Graahg—!"

IAM NOTHING? I AM?! LOOK AROUND YOU! LOOK AT MY WORK! WHERE DO YOU SEE YOUR HEROES, MARK? YOUR FACADE IS OVER, I'VE PURGED IT! LOOK AROUND, AND YOU SEE ONLY ME! YOU—FEEL—ME!

Mark didn't care that he yelped upon his knees hitting the carpet, didn't care that he was kneeling on the floor like he had been defeated. In this moment, there was neither room for pride nor shame. He looked at the carpet brushing his pants and saw bottomless drops into blackness. The scent of blood and death hung thick in the frigid air like smoke. Bile itched at the back of his throat, the nausea spurred on by fear. It was so cold that his teeth chattered, and the tendrils of darkness had solidified to the point that he could feel their weight as they lashed out viciously at his body. Mark felt the venom in the ancient entity's wrathful explosion rattle his very bones from volume alone, obliterating the memory of what it felt like to be surrounded by his friends and fans. It was so dark in the room now that he could barely make out the rift beside him.

Mark gasped for air as his hands began to shake. Looking up and seeing the wall of darkness a mere foot from where he kneeled made him feel smaller than he had ever felt before. Frustration—at the dark, at the terrorlings, at himself—burned in him until he could no longer sit still. He wanted to run from the Dark's fury, wanted to get so far that it couldn't stay in his head anymore. But it was now or never. He had to do something, anything, to combat the monster sending its energy crashing down over his head like a hurricane. Even if his efforts were futile, he could find some solace in knowing that he tried. Besides, they all deserved it. Hell, they deserved it a million times more than he did. He forced himself to peel his gaze from the terrifying emptiness enveloping him to the hole in the wall. Big enough for a grown man to fit in it. Mark felt his face go blank and his lips press together tensely.

No. He wouldn't succumb to the darkness' will. He would not go gentle into that good night.

"Not for long." His voice was hoarse but firm, something he was quite proud of despite it all. The Dark shifted around him and his head pounded sickeningly as its annoyance permeated his own thoughts. Mark wondered briefly if it knew what lengths he was about to resort to, then dismissed his questions. It didn't matter at this point, he would've had no choice anyway.

The Dark's voice chuckled lowly at him.

Are you planning an escape, then? Some grand plot to win the day? Cold rushed in on Mark's hunched form so fast that he barely had time to brace himself before it enveloped him. His lungs burned and his vision clouded, but despite the fear thrumming through his body, Mark ground his teeth together and slowly pushed himself up to a crouch.

"Maybe, what of it?" This is awful, this is terrifying, I just want Mom and Amy and Chica… But they weren't there anymore. Nobody was, and it was all his fault.

All your fault…

Mark stood.

Oh, nothing, nothing. The oily hum the darkness had adopted made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin crawl. Only, you're too little, too late, Mark. If it was playing hero that you wanted… Well, then you should have done it when there was something to save.

Mark swallowed thickly, throat knotted into a ball of regret, and quickly squeezed his eyes shut. This plague didn't need to remind him of what he had done. He knew full well how badly he had screwed everyone over. There was no way he could fumble his way to victory by pure luck, not anymore.

A few steps away, the rift rippled.

What did he even want then? Mark desperately needed to know. Was this just an exercise in futility? If he was aiming to make progress, then yes. But now, for all his vim and vigor, Mark finally knew it was over. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do; he wasn't going to fix something that he had broken from the very start. Entering the source of the terrorlings wouldn't resolve all the wrongs he committed, but what it would do was give him the chance to at least try to atone for them. He had nothing left but the blood on his hands, and nothing to wash it out but a different kind of red. After all the hurt he had caused through his own ignorance and callousness, it was only right that he face the monster that he had created. That he try to keep at least one of the hundreds of Terrorlings from haunting someone. Mark entered tunnel vision as the hard facts set in. He stared at the hole in the wall, and took one step.

"I'm not… not arguing." Mark replied to the taunting dark in a voice so quiet it startled even him. His heart broke a little more at his own assent, but he barreled on as he took another step forward. It's right, anyways. "And that's why I'm going to keep fighting you. Because even if this Hub was doomed from the start… There are millions of people who aren't, and I'm not gonna let them deal with your shit anymore."

All the lights in the Hub were out, and there was nothing to illuminate the grim glare that had settled across the hero's face. And yet, despite the absence of lights, the hole in the wall still seemed to be darker than all the rest of the room to Mark.

"See, the thing is, I can't leave; I have a promise to keep, and I don't like breaking promises. I just can't… so you're stuck with me."

And the emblem burned into Mark's sleeve glowed bright as the Heart's chosen one lunged into the rift to his nightmare and fell into blackness. In a second he was gone, and with a monstrous laugh of glee, the shadows darkening the halls coalesced into an impossible figure and followed.

The lights flickered back on.