A/N: Not much to say here, beyond the fact that i actually wrote way more for this oneshot than i originally predicted that i would write. I was aiming for about 2000 words, but came out with almost 5000. I don't know if that means that i sacrificed quality for quantity, but i'll leave that to you to decide.

Jawson Bog, oh Jawson Bog,

What a terrible place to die!

Every step countered by fog,

So cloudy, you can't see the sky!

Well, they said the Bog could be tamed,

So Jawson ventured into that pit,

Only for him, by The Bog, to be claimed

To insanity, he had to submit.

So don't approach that Bog, we implore,

Insanity isn't the worst thing you'll find,

Death's knock may be heard at your door...

Can you leave your curiosity behind?

-A popular cautionary poem sung to explorers venturing into The Wilds

Zia fiddled with her fingernails, pulling at the skin surrounding the keratin, digging into the edges and making the ends jagged and sharp.

Soon enough she was going to start biting them, and she knew undignified that was. She always did things like this when she was nervous. She didn't deal with waiting very well. Patience never really came naturally to her, and that was partially the reason she took up music.

It was the only time that she ever felt some semblance of calm, distanced from the world and all its worries. She would normally bring out her harp when she was waiting for The Kid to bring home the next Core, but recent event has set her on edge more than usual.

Zulf's breakdown, his destruction of the monument and the momentary fight between him and Rucks had caused her companions and herself, to become much more high-strung than they were normally.

She'd pleaded with the diplomat, and tried to reason with him, to no avail. She thanked The Duke that The Kid arrived quick enough that the diplomat hadn't done something unforgivable to Rucks. The former ambassador had sprinted towards the skyway, and its light flashed while he was shot up into the skies above, and they hadn't heard from him since.

But now, The Kid wasn't here.

Rucks had declared that he could no longer pinpoint The Kid's Caelondian Crest with the monument. The old man stated that he didn't know if it was due to Zulf's barrage upon it, or due to Jawson Bog itself.

"Either way." He bowed his head, defeated. "There's nothing we can do. He's probably lost in that Bog by now. Swallowed him up whole." Zia started shivering, crossing her arms to conserve body heat. Whatever Zulf had done to The Bastion had cut off the heat radiating out of the ground from the machinery underneath.

"But he'll come back, right? We need him!" she pleaded, hoping for some of the reassurance, like the old man had always provided to her when The Kid had gone out on his expeditions.

This time, however, there was no consolation in sight.

Rucks shook his head solemnly, placing a hand on Zia's shoulder. "It's not that simple anymore Zia. Even Slinger Jawson and His Boys lost themselves in that swamp, and they were able to tame the rest of The Wilds with ease." He tapped his cane in thought, choosing his words carefully.

"Survival in that place isn't governed by strength or skill, like The Kid's previous excursions. The Bog is… intoxicating. Only the mind has power there. The plants, the animals, everything, it mixes into a concoction that can't be found anywhere else. They say that it drives even the most self-assured man insane."

Rucks looked at Zia with a quick eye. "Have you ever taken a drag of Zulf's smoking pipe?" Rucks pointed over the possession of their late friend. "It's a million times worse than that. And that pipe knocked The Kid out with just one drag. Who knows what the potent mix of the Bog will do to him with it all around him, entering his lungs with every breath?"

Rucks pointed over to The Memorial, their reminder of what The Old World use to be like.

"Back in The Old World, anyone who even got near to that place… well, they never recovered. Had to be carted off to the nearest asylum. But now the Kid is travelling into the heart of the swamp…" The old man shuddered.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat it Zia, he could fall asleep, maybe for the last time. No one has ever crawled out of that Bog. Do you understand? That place will eat your mind." He tapped Zia on the head lightly.

"Imagine every single memory you ever had, twisted and broken into an inescapable nightmare. Every guilt and insecurity transformed into literal monsters before your eyes, slicing and stabbing you. Everyone you ever loved becoming undone right before your eyes. And then, at the end, when all is silent, and you only have the background humming of your mind to accompany you, you wake up to the end of the world. Everything you hallucinated had come true, and there's nothing you can do about it. If by some grace of the gods that he survives… He'll never be the same. He'll be… different. Not the same Kid we know now." Rucks grunted momentarily in depression.

"And there's nothing we'll be able to do about it."

The only thing that Zia was sure of was that The Kid would make his way back to them. Beyond that, she didn't know what to expect.

Would he be sobbing in fear? Laughing in insanity? Twitchy and nervous, paranoid about her every movement?

She hoped not.

Secretly, she was praying that he would be the same stoic Kid. He would saunter up to the centre of The Bastion, smirk at her mischievously, and place the shard in the monument, chuckling and waggling his eyebrows as he saw her blush and look down.

He would then jog over to the plantation that the new edifice had just been constructed on, bringing out his hammer and finishing the building process off with finesse that The Bastion was incapable of achieving by itself.

Despite all the warnings from Rucks, and all of the things she had been praying for, when The Kid did finally return, Zia's heart broke in two.

Heralded by a high pitched whistle, The Kid shot through the skies and face-first into the floor at a velocity Zia had never seen before. She winced in sympathy at the way that his body bounced and skittered across the grass like a ragdoll, before looking to Rucks for an explanation for the abrupt entrance.

"The skyway Plate in Jawson's Bog must have malfunctioned a little, causing an increase in momentum." He mused. "Who knows what foul, toxic liquids leached into it, wrecking it's wiring..."

Running a hand through his white hair aggressively, the old man struck his cane against the ground, knuckles white from his grip on it. "Hense prick me." He growled, invoking the goddess to punish him. "I shouldn't have sent him over there. Gods know what happened. I shouldn't have done it."

He mumbled furiously to himself, leaning back against the monument to help support his weight. Zia shook her head with fervour, attempting to keep positive. "You did the right thing. Zulf screwed everything up, and this was our only option. As for The Kid..." She glanced over to his figure struggling to his feet in a daze.

"Well, he seems okay, see! He's coming over here!" Zia straightened up, and jolted Rucks to attention with an elbow to the ribs.

Zia ran over to The Kid, and hovered around his addled state, unsure if they were close enough friends to warrant a hug. "Welcome back! I missed you!" The Kid didn't acknowledge her, staring blankly into the middle distance, almost as if she didn't exist. Unsettled, Zia rested a feather-light finger upon The Kid's shoulder, hoping to illicit a reaction.

"Are you alright?"

Rucks, noting the uneasy tension forming, stepped in quickly. "Do you have the shard? We can start to get this place fixed up in no time." The Kid didn't respond, reaching deep into his pocket like a machine, dragging out a glowing pink stone and dropping it absentmindedly onto the dirt below.

Unclipping his back harness, he let his Trusty Shield and Lifelong Friend fall, landing with a deafening clatter. Unfazed by the noise, The Kid turned about face, disappearing into the depths of The Distillery, leaving a whisper of tainted fumes in his wake.

Rucks coughed on the foul air, waving his hand to clear the area around him from the smell. "Zia, would you be a dear and pick that shard of the floor for me? I'm afraid that if I lean down, I won't be able to get back up again."

Disturbed by his lack of concern for The Kid, Zia did as Rucks asked, handing the warm crystal to him, which he then fed into the monument. Zia started to hear the cogs and gears beneath the ground initiate a sequence, heating up the air around them.

The heating was back on. Thank Jevel.

Setting the construction cycle to random, Rucks turned back to Zia, a grim expression drawn on his face. "Now, about The Kid." Zia interrupted quickly, voice breaking in worry. "What's wrong with him? It's like he didn't even notice us!" The old man put up a hand, cutting off anymore speech. "I don't know Zia. I warned you that it would be bad. I might be a relatively accomplished medic from my years in the army, but I know nothing about the mind."

He rubbed his brow and frowned, glancing at The Distillery, where there was a ominous lack of noise. "We should be rejoicing that we got even this piece of The Kid back, even if his mind does turn out to be broken beyond repair." Rucks reasoned, attempting to find the silver lining on the cloud.

"The Bog has never let someone escape its entanglement, we should be thankful for the miracle of his return." Zia flinched at the words she didn't want to hear, gritting her teeth at the defeat in The Mancer's tone.

"No. You're wrong, you have to be. We can help him, how many times has he helped us before? We can't just give up before we've even tried!" Her pitch rose in desperation, head held high.

Rucks stepped back in shock, eyes flashing in recognition before he furrowed his brow and pinched his nose, taking a deep breath.

"For a moment, I could have sworn…"

He adjusted his cuffs to keep himself occupied, shaking his head "But no, it's not." He smiled sadly at her.

"You're a fervent girl, Zia. No wonder Acobi is your patron goddess. You never give up on your friends. Stubborn, just like him." Sighing in defeat, he gestured towards The Distillery, which, alarmingly, was now ringing with indistinguishable screaming.

"Go ahead and try. But don't get your hopes up. That Bog turns even the most steadfast of people insane. That husk of a person might be the only thing that survived the mental punishment."

Zia strode forward with purpose. She would bring him back. She knew that she could! She just had to remind him of their connection, and the good times they had together. He had saved her from Prosper Bluff. Now she was going to save him from Jawson Bog.

She caught a few words from Rucks, muttered to himself, seconds after her departure.

"Just like her father."

It was you.

The Kid swirled around in a panic; reaching for a weapon that was absent, tears forming in his eyes. Where was he? This place was like a twisted nightmare. He was running along the perimeter of The Walls, with phantoms and lifeless statues chasing him. He couldn't shake the voices ringing through his head, no matter what he tried to do. Was he dreaming? Had he taken another drag of Zulf's smoking pipe?

He watched as the walls crumbled into dust before his eyes, decades of work, undone in an instant.

You did this.

Surely this couldn't have been his fault? He couldn't do something that destructive, surely? He turned around slowly, coming face to face with the grey statues that had been pursuing him for as long as he could remember. Their faces frozen in horror and grotesque screams.

You killed us.

The whispers issued out of their open mouths, swirling around The Kid's body, wearing him down with fatigue. He looked up into their faces, and saw everyone he had ever cared about.

Nacie, clawing at her eyes in pain.

Temper, The Head Marshal, clutching at his throat in agony.

Rucks, hunched over, clenching his ears in suffering as blood poured out of them.

Zulf, mouth open in a silent shriek as crossbow bolts pierced his chest.

And Zia, a dreaded finger pointing accusingly at The Kid.

Shivering, The Kid straightened his back, and reigned in his thoughts. He was the master of his own dreams.

I didn't kill them.

You killed them.

I didn't kill you.

You killed me.

I'm just hallucinating, I'm just dreaming. They're alright. They're alive.

YOU MURDERED US ALL!

The Kid yelled in anger, charging at the statues, when they exploded into ash, clouding his vision and choking him. Coughing violently, The Kid tried to gather his bearings again, surveying his surroundings.

He was home.

What was he doing again?

Don't you remember, Kid so silent?

He needed to get some more sleep. He couldn't zone out like that when he was about to see his mother for the first time in five years! Pushing the door to the house, he stepped inside, and frowned in worry at the sight he was presented with.

Things haven't being going so great while you were away.

The house was as silent as a grave, a ghost of what it once was. Dust layered the kitchen, cobwebs made their home in every corner. The Kid could taste the stale air suffocating him while he inspected the curtains, the lack of light fading their colour. What had happened? The house was falling apart.

Surely you remember, Kid so violent?

Remember? Remember...

He felt like he'd been here before… Gone through the same motions...

Creeping up the stairs softly, The Kid stepped over the loose step he always trod on when he was younger. He didn't want the creak to wake his mother from her slumber. He approached the door to her bedroom, his hands trembling. It was open.

Well, I don't want to sound too cliché...

There was a sliver of light peeking through onto the landing, illuminating The Kid's hand as it latched onto the handle. Opening the door, The Kid was assaulted with a sickly stench.

Her health has been going rapidly downhill.

A light breeze was wafting throughout the room from the open window, lifting the curtains up and allowed them to waft in the wind.

A lone candle sat on the windowsill, its flame flickering in the air, casting an unstable glow upon the room. His mother's bed was half shrouded in shadow, the candlelight passing over his parent's figure briefly.

As he got closer, the stench increased in power, almost stopping him dead.

Is it now that you understand?

The Kid could hear the voices in the background, singing to him in rhyme, taunting him. He snapped his head behind him in search of the source, but they seemed to be coming from the walls themselves.

What were they talking about?

The Kid shook his head, turning back to his mother. She needed him. Inching his hand closer to her figure, The Kid's body shook with anticipation.

You were not there to care for her while ill.

The Kid laid his hands on his mother's wrist, stroking the palm gently. It was okay, he was here now. He could take care of her now.

Her hand was cold and stiff, limp in his hold.

Panicking, The Kid jumped up and shook his mother gently. Then, more vigorously.

There was no movement.

Breathing in deeply to calm himself down, The Kid noticed something that had be bothering him since he had entered the room. The stench. It wasn't the smell of the sickly.

It was the stench of death.

Your mother has died by your hand.

His hand, his fault. It was all his fault. He wasn't there for her.

He was trying to help, but only ended up killing her. It was just as bad as if he had thrust a pike through her stomach. Bending over and resting his head against the wall, The Kid closed his eyes, letting tears stream down his face.

Wailing in pain, The Kid opened his eyes to see his mother standing in front of him, eyes and mouth open in shock.

What had happened? Why was she alive? The Kid shook his head. It didn't matter. She was free of her illness, and looked healthier than ever! This is all he ever wanted!

But why wasn't she saying anything?

He glanced down to see his hand gripping a Brushers Pike, which was plunged clean through his mother's abdomen.

Stumbling back in horror, The Kid watched his mother look sadly into his eyes, clutching her wound.

The voices, coming from the very air around him, seemed to speak in tandem with her when she spoke.

You killed your mother.

No, that's not how it happened.

It was... How did it happen? He didn't know. He couldn't even trust his own memory.

He twisted around, and sprinted out of his childhood home, only to stumble not into the street, but his tent from The Wilds. Standing over his bedroll was an extremely familiar Figure.

What is your name?

The Figure opposite The Kid was a perfect replica of himself. Only the doppelganger was holding an Ura Machete. The Figure struck the blade clean against the floor, shooting sparks in all directions.

What is your name?

The Figure's face smiled wickedly, bringing the blade to his own throat, hovering it a breath above his skin.

What is your name?

The Kid could feel white noise increasing in volume in the background, filling his ears.

They call you a Kid in a Man's world. But you're just a murderer in a world full of victims.

The Figure pointed the Machete directly at The Kid, making him flinch with a sudden headache.

What is your name?

The white noise was painfully loud now, and The Kid clapped his hands around his ears to block it out.

You are no longer The Kid. You are The Killer.

The Figure laughed a high pitched cackle, and quick as a flash, slit his own throat, shouting one last sentence before crumpling onto the ground, blood spurting over The Bedroll.

So, take your last life!

The Killer rushed over to The Figure, who was choking on his own blood, a sadistic grin on his face. Then, he and the surroundings dissolved into green mist, leaving The Killer alone.

You killed yourself.

The noise seemed to burrow its way into his vision, causing him to see static, the mist flickering sinisterly before his eyes.

WHAT IS MY NAME?

Was he dead? Was this his punishment from The Gods for his misdeeds? To live through all of his mistakes? The Killer buried his head in his hands, crying softly. He felt 6 years old again, distraught with all of the bullying.

He just wanted it to end. He'd had enough.

Kid?

Nacie.

Nacie was here. It was going to be okay. They always protected each other from the bullies. The Killer looked up to find his childhood friend, only to discover that his surroundings had changed once more.

He was in his old schoolyard, with Nacie directly opposite him, looking down at him with a hard, disapproving face.

Oh, I see. The Kid stopped existing the moment you left. You're only The Killer now.

Why would she say that? They needed each other. They promised to always protect each other!

You said you would come back. I begged you to stay, but you left me! YOU NEVER CAME BACK FOR ME!

He had to go to The Walls, for his mother!

But his mother died anyway, and the money he made, lost.

All a waste.

All his time, blown away into dust, with nothing to show for it.

I thought you loved me! We were going to stay together, protect each other!

He did! He wanted to! Everything just got twisted! He forgot!

The Killer blinked, and Naice was standing in front of him, gripping his throat, lifting him off the ground.

FORGOT? I never forgot you! I died, cold and alone, praying to The Pantheon that you would arrive in time to save me!

The Killer sobbed, his greatest fears coming true before his eyes. His mistakes, his fault. All his fault. Everything, his fault.

I wish I never met you! You betrayed me, falling for the next girl you met! I would have been better off if you had never been born!

Nacie squeezed his throat one last time, crushing his trachea for a second, before throwing him backwards onto his face.

My blood is on your hands!

The Killer got up onto his knees, attempting to recover, when he noticed the green mist form into The Marshal's Tent on The Rippling Walls.

Jumping up quickly, The Killer readied himself, attempting to placate his hysterical mind, but pain exploded from his left ear almost immediately. He'd just been sucker-punched.

Hey, Killer. Here to give me more trouble to clean up?

It was Temper. His face layered with scars, eyes wild with fury. The Killer cowered, attempting to reduce the area available to be pummeled.

Typical. A coward. How pitiful. Always looking for the easy way out.

Temper was wrong. He had always done what he knew was right. He was a good person. The Marshal stuck a fist forward into The Killer's nose, breaking it.

Good? What good have any of your actions ever done? You bring only pain and misery in your wake.

No. He saved people, stopped them from dying. Protected them.

Right?

Don't make me laugh. How many people died on The Walls because you kept quiet, never spoke out? You were never strong enough, never fast enough! You can't save anyone!

Temper was right. He had killed people, let them die. He was useless to everyone.

The Marshal seized The Killer's arm, smiling as he forcefully snapped the bone, causing The Killer to roar in anguish.

Of course I'm right. I'm better than you. Everyone is better than you.

Temper struck him in the side of the head, and spots danced before The Killer's eyes.

They would be better off without you. They hate you.

He punched The Killer in the gut, pushing him to the ground in disgust, and then dissolved into green mist.

Pathetic. He can't even help himself.

The Killer weeped into ground, curling up into a foetal position. The world had forsaken him. No one cared. It hurt so much. Wouldn't someone help?

Only silence accompanied him.

"Hey, Kid."

A new voice pierced his head, clean and melodic, warming him to the bone.

"It's okay. I know it hurts. I'm here for you."

Where was she? He had to find her. No matter how long it took. The Killer pushed himself to his feet, and ventured through the green fog with determination.

After a few seconds of walking, he came to a large structure, jutting proudly into the sky.

The Bastion!

Jogging up to The Monument, The Killer found The Ingrate. The old man was leaning on his cane, eyes white and piercing into The Killer. The Siren and The Surrenderer walked out from behind him, whispering to each other while glancing at The Killer, sniggering.

We don't care about you. You're just dead weight to us. Something to leave behind once you've done all the work.

It's not them. It can't be them.

We laugh at you when you aren't here. A mute idiot, trying to feel important.

This isn't real. IT'S NOT REAL.

We're going to die one day, and it's going to be all you fault.

The Killer clutched his head in pain, a buzzing ringing through the hub.

How many creatures have you killed now? Lost count? I'm not surprised. You never cared about anyone anyway.

NOT MY FAULT.

And then, like an angel, her voice pierced through the buzzing, clearing his mind.

"Don't listen to the voices, Kid. Listen to me."

I killed everyone.

"I'm here. I'm not dead. Come back to me. Let me help."

I killed my mother.

"You didn't kill her. She was sick. I lost my father too. I know how you feel."

You don't care about me.

"I'm here right now, aren't I? I care so much. Please don't leave me."

I should kill myself, stop myself murdering anymore.

"No, you shouldn't. The hallucinogens are messing with your head. You've only killed the animals you needed to. You sent the Gasfella's essence back to the mines, to be reborn again. They aren't dead."

I don't remember my name...

"I don't care about that. You're special to me. Open your eyes."

He did as instructed, and saw his salvation.

When he came to his senses, his and Zia's forehead's were leaning against each other, eye contact established.

The Kid slid his head down to her shoulder, brushing past her cheek. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck timidly, breathing deeply.

It was okay now. She was here to protect him.

Breathing for a few more seconds to replace the foul bog air in his sinuses with Zia's perfume, The Kid leant back on his haunches, smiling gratefully at his saviour. She grinned happily, and started tugging his shirt off, much to The Kid's confusion.

She blushed, and explained herself quickly. "Your clothes are retaining the fumes from The Bog. You've been breathing them in since you got back. That's why you've continued having hallucinations. We need to get them off before you breathe in anymore."

Acting quickly, The Kid threw off all his gear, flinging it all into the far corner of, which he was only just now noticing, The Distillery. How did he get in here?

Now solely in his boxers, The Kid sat down again, cross-legged. He wasn't embarrassed; he'd been in less clothing during his time on The Walls, but Zia was getting pink cheeks, so he got a narcotic-free blanket from his knapsack, and wrapped it around himself.

Zia, cleared her throat in embarrassment, took The Kid's hands in her own and pulled him forward to lean their heads together again. "Close your eyes, and focus on my voice." The Kid did as he was told. She hadn't let him down so far.

"There is rhythm to the world, an unnoticed song that the ground sings to us when we listen carefully. I couldn't hear it for most of my life, but then I met you, and I was suddenly aware of it." Zia breathed slower, pulling them closer together.

"For a moment, I thought I had lost you. You were shivering in fear, eyes unable to focus. I could no longer hear the tune, and I thought that meant you were gone, and had left me alone." She traced a hand across his shoulder, drawing indistinguishable shapes.

"But then you came back, and I could hear it again. Then, I finally understood its real meaning. It was singing for YOU. The Bastion, The Old World, The New World, they all want you to save them. You can rebuild them all, piece by piece." He could feel her breath on his lips, and forced himself to resist the urge to open his eyes. She was whispering now, so quietly that The Kid had to strain his ears to hear.

"I know that you've made mistakes, but you're not just sacrificing things for me and Rucks. You're doing it for everything else as well. I don't blame you, I never have, so don't blame yourself." She moved her mouth to his ear, speaking softly.

"Can you sense it?"

It was a low, rumbling melody, vibrating his bones, giving him goosebumps. How had he never heard it before? It energized him, chasing the weariness from his mind.

Laughing in delight, The Kid stood and lifted Zia up into a hug, spinning her around in a circle. Putting her down, he ran over to the shelves and brought out 2 Bastion Bourbons, handing one to Zia, who merely raised an eyebrow.

It was time to reward his hero for bringing him back.

Rucks didn't know much about children, but he was 90% sure that this wasn't normal behaviour. When he had let Zia attempt to help The Kid, he had expected Zia to come out sobbing a few minutes later, maybe with The Kid being dragged behind her, dead inside.

What he was faced with were two drunken teenagers, one of them only in his boxers, with Zia's scarf wrapped around his head. Zia had her boots on her hands, and was balancing various bottles on her head, much to The Kid's delight. They were both laughing, hands around each other, holding each other tight.

Mother only knows what happened in The Distillery.

They never much cared to speak of it.

Hey, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the story!
Yeah, so i kind of rushed that last part, maybe you can tell. I wanted to just get it finished, i'll be honest. If you want, feel free to check out my other works, and like always, reviews and favorites would be much appreciated, I would really like it if i could get some feedback and maybe some constructive criticism to try and improve on, but I'm not going to force you.