AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, first of all, I am so super sorry for taking so long to update this-and I don't really have a good excuse other than writer's block. It isn't as long as the others, but I hope it's still good and I do plan on keeping writing! Please enjoy!
Sam came to, gasping for air, ropes of agony pulling her from the deep black waters of unconsciousness.
What the fuck happened to me? she thought wildly, thrashing around, trying to find some way to relieve the pain. Unfortunately, her struggles were hindered by the manacles that bound her wrists to the wall above her, and her violent movements had caused them to dig into her skin, reopening her cuts. Blood started to trickle down her arms alarmingly fast. Oh my God. That's a lot of blood, she thought, trying to quell the panic that was rising in her chest.
To distract herself—and hopefully find a means of escape—she looked around. She was in some sort of dimly lit room, chained to a rough stone wall. She thought she saw things dangling from the ceiling, but couldn't quite make them out. As she shifted her gaze around the room, a large, table-like structure towards the front of the room caught her eye. It was too far away for her to focus in on it, but the setup of the room vaguely reminded her of a church. She started breathing deeply, noticing the odd, musty odor of the room—along with a faint metallic smell, like old blood.
"Stop struggling," a deep voice commanded her from the shadows in front of her. "You can't afford to lose more blood—I need every drop." Sam whipped her head towards the voice.
"Yeah? Well so do I, to keep on living." She was so, so glad her sarcasm hadn't left her when she was kidnapped.
"Funny that you should mention that," the voice said, its owner stepping slightly closer to her, and into the slight light. His eyes were all that she could see of his face, and them only because they glowed red from beneath his cowl. Unlike most ghosts she knew—because that's what she was assuming he was—he didn't emit a faint, spectral glow. If anything, in fact, he seemed to suck the light towards himself, away from everything else. In place of that, however, he emanated such menace that Sam, stoic as she was under most circumstances, nearly wet herself in terror.
"Oh yeah?" she challenged, trying her best to be brave, and keep a quiver out of her voice. "Why's that?"
His eyes crinkled, and she realized he was smiling. "Because your life is very low on my list of priorities right now."
"It would seem we have rather conflicting interests then," Sam retorted, ignoring the current of fear that had begun running through her.
"Indeed," the specter said darkly. "And I'm afraid that mine supersede yours."
"Well aren't you all high and mighty?" she said, glaring at him. "What with your lack of respect for other human beings and all."
"Why should I care about you pesky mortals? I never was one." His voice was deep and disdainful, the words trickling from his lips like grave dirt from a shovel. "You see, I used to be a god, a few thousand years ago. I was worshipped far and wide—and still am, in some senses, today."
"Some god," Sam scoffed. "I've never heard of you."
"Of course you have. Perhaps not my name, but there is certainly a part of you that instinctively knows to fear me. I am the reason the dark is ever feared. I am the reason fire was invented. I'm the end of the world that has been feared by all religions. I am nothing, the Void. I am what every evil, every bit of depravity, every darkness in the human soul spawns from." As he spoke, the shadows themselves seemed to swarm around him, crawling up his shoulders until they formed a cape that flowed like lightless flame down his back.
"So what's your name?" Sam asked. "Surely you have a more impressive one than that."
She knew mocking this Big Bad was probably not a wise idea, but, the way she saw it, she had two choices. She could either cower in fear and die, begging for her life—or she could be a smart-ass, and piss him off, and get killed for it. He had already established that there was no third option—unless Danny came and rescued her.
Danny. The thought pierced her heart like an arrow. Surely, he'd come to save her—right? They were good friends, and there was no way that he would let a ghost kill his friends. Plus, he'd said he loved her last night—that still applied, right? Just because he hadn't called….
Yeah, and he probably doesn't even know I'm in trouble yet, she realized with a sickening lurch in her stomach. I could die before he found out.
It was odd—if you'd asked her a day ago, a week ago, if she wanted to keep living, there was a good chance she would have said no. The way she kept cutting certainly made it seem like she didn't—and yet, when faced with the possibility of a death outside of her control, she was rebelling against it with all of her will.
"Weren't you listening?" he snapped. "Those are all my name!"
"Wow. Seriously, that helps explain your anger issues—I bet you got picked on sooo badly in school. Tell me, did you have any friends, Mr. Big Bad?" Okay, so maybe she still had a little bit of a death wish.
"Friends? Why would I want friends when I have sycophants?" He seemed genuinely confused, and for the first time, Sam felt the stirrings of pity for him.
"Oh, I don't know, to have people that you could come to with anything you needed? Or to have someone that truly understands you? Someone that actually cares about you—isn't just terrified of you, or interested in your power? Someone that you trust?" Sam may not have had a lot of friends, but she knew that Danny and Tucker definitely had her back—and that she could trust them.
"I…can see how that has some merit. But who could understand—or care for—someone like me?" For the first time, Mr. Big Bad was realizing that there may have been more to this world than power, death, destruction, pain, and blood.
"Someone who's also dark? Or at least, who understands darkness? Who gets that pain exists, and that it isn't always bad—but that knows that you need balance as well? Someone who isn't afraid of you is always a good place to start," Sam advised.
"Like you," he said, pleased to have come to a solution.
"Me? How so?" Sam asked, shocked.
"You haven't cowered in fear, you've mocked me—a first, I might add—and you are dark. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here. Never in my life have I met a mortal like you, Samantha Manson," he said, becoming more confident with every word.
"Thanks? I guess? But I won't work—you planned to kill me, remember?" Sam said, and then mentally kicked herself. Why did I have to remind him about that? I don't want to die!
"True," he said, disappointed. "But, perhaps, I could find another sacrifice? I could make you my Queen."
"Queen?" Sam asked. "Just what exactly are you planning to do?"
"Didn't you realize?" he asked, surprised. "Come now, you're a smart girl."
She quickly thought over their conversation. The rising of an old, dark, evil, powerful god; a virgin sacrifice; the ritualistic nature of this room…With horror, the pieces fell into place. "You're going to start the Apocalypse."
"Exactly! See? You are smart enough to rule eternity with me!"