Ah, so you made it after all.
I almost thought we were going to have to tell the story without you. What a shame that would have been!
You don't look too worried. Not sure if I should be offended.
Oh, never mind that. What's important is that you are able to enjoy this story. As long as that's true, my confidence as a storyteller shall never waver!
W-why do you look so unsure!?
I'll have you know that my mother is very proud of me, and that's all that matters.
So, shall we carry on?
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Fionna was sick, and she had been like that for a week.
Okay, Marshall relented, it hadn't really been that long, but Fionna was still bedridden, and she'd been that way for a while.
It all started after the incident with the Mind Weavers. Fionna's body had collapsed just as they were making ground, falling to the dirt floor in a very unheroic manner, and Marshall was forced to make camp. It was so sudden too, the way this illness emerged out of nowhere to engulf her form. She was hot to the touch but kept shivering as if she were made of ice, and no matter how hard she tried her stomach would only let her gulp down bits of mushed up apples and water. She didn't talk much either, muttering in her sleep meaningless words strung together in her delirium. It was hard to watch.
But what else could he do? He was no doctor. The only comfort he could provide for her was in the form of his red-flannel shirt (which his mother always told him was not very kingly) that he draped around her like a blanket. He made a campfire too, hoping it could provide her with at least some warmth.
More than confused about the matter, Marshall was worried, because no one got sick in the Night-O-Sphere.
Ever.
It was thanks to their above-average immune systems. Blame it on the raging surplus of B and T cells (B meaning, a healthy diet of blood, and T meaning too many mortal souls to suck on, so little time to waste) but demons didn't get sick. Maybe it was the fact that many demons in the realm were immortal, their vitality invincible. Sickness would slide off of them as if they were waterproof. Whatever the reasoning behind it, the fact was that Marshall Lee was clueless about this topic, and without the fundamental knowledge, Marshall had no idea how to help her.
So what else could he do? Currently, he was sat staring at Fionna in her state of unrest, watching as she muttered nonsense and rolled around in her sleep. She looked terrible. Her pale face was even paler than normal, and her lips were chapped beyond belief. Shakily, he felt her forehead, only to have his hand come back clammy and slick with her sweat. She was absolutely burning. Her face pinched in her sleep, and she rolled to her side, muttering something about cats and candy.
Marshall sighed in defeat. Fionna was out of it, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. After all, maybe her sickness had stemmed from her gash: the one he had given her. Thinking for a moment, Marshall thought better of it. No, they had been applying the medicine to her wound regularly, and even though it was far from closing, it was no longer blistering an angry red. It seemed to be healing, even. So, what else could it have been?
It's the fault of those glob-awful Mind Weavers, Marshall thought angrily, pulling absentmindedly on the string of his axe-base. The strain they put on her mind must have been huge, so much so that it made her fall ill. So much so that they were unable to leave their make-shift campsite for almost two days (fine okay he was being over dramatic before). It was annoying, mainly because Marshall needed to show her what he had seen. He needed to give her evidence for why she had to trust him, and fast. Dropping ill was not a part the agenda.
So excuse him for saying that it had been a week (because it probably would be, maybe longer if he didn't find a way to cure her), and excuse him for saying her head felt like absolute flame, but he was worried! While he already had a position of power as the Vampire King, he wasn't privy to the position of Drama King either, and glob-damn it! If he wanted to worry he would! Just, shut up!
Marshall began to pout.
He looked at Fionna's sleeping form with a scowl. Stupid human, getting sick at the worst possible time. Her body clearly wasn't adjusted to conditions in his realm, and she just had to push herself so hard, didn't she? She was hopeless.
Feeling especially angry, Marshall decided to shake her awake. Gently of course (because sick or not she was capable of gut-busting him into oblivion). Besides, they could no longer afford to wait around. They were losing valuable time.
Marshall's hands snaked themselves over Fionna' shoulders, rocking lightly. Her eyes quickly fluttered open, blue pools of curiosity casting a tsunami over Marshall's form, and suddenly all of the anger he previously held seemed to wash away in an instant. Her calming aura had to be some form of black magic. How else could it cause his frustration to fade away so easily? It took him a moment to swallow down his unease. "Come on," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "we need to cover more ground. Don't worry about moving though, I'll help you; you can climb on my back."
She blinked owlishly at him. Marshall stared back, his eyes sweeping over her form. Her bunny hat was askew, and he couldn't help but trace the waves of her blonde hair escaping in curls underneath the white fabric. Freckles bloomed across her cheeks. Glob, he thought.
The vampire coughed for no real reason. "Well, are you coming? Or do you need me to pick you up?" he asked, gruffly. He forced his head away from her with a scowl.
She spoke in a scratchy voice,"M-Marshall? How long was I-"
"Sleeping? A long time kiddo. Don't strain your voice though, just hop on. Wrap my shirt around you. I know you're cold."
Wordlessly Fionna did as he said. Pulling her arms through the sleeves proved to take a lot more energy than she thought, and Marshall watched as perspiration accumulated across her forehead. He sighed. This sickness must have been bad, because it managed to tear down one of Aaa's greatest warriors. Worry settled deep in Marshall's bones. "Are you ready?" he inquired. She nodded, shakily stepping toward him.
"Marshall, I can walk if you want. I'd hate to make you carry me."
"Oh come off of it, Fionna. I don't mind. Besides, you need to conserve what little energy you have."
She huffed, her cheeks turning rosy. Marshall didn't know if it was from frustration or the sickness. "Fine, but only because I have no choice."
Fionna knew that a good warrior understood their strengths and weaknesses; a good warrior knew when it was time to call it quits. And Fionna, despite her obtuse personality, knew that it was smarter for her to focus on her health rather than her image, so she decided to take Marshall up on his offer.
She slowly closed in on his back, tentatively reaching out for his shoulders. Her hands clasped around them, her legs lifting themselves until her thighs rested snugly on either side of his torso. Marshall looped his arms around her calves. "One, two, three," he announced, heaving her body up and beginning to walk. Even though Fionna had rippling muscles, she was surprisingly light. He guessed that the whole piggyback thing wasn't as bad as he thought. Perhaps the only uncomfortable part of the arrangement was the heat radiating from her body.
She was actually burning.
"Glob, Fionna!" Marshall complained.
"You're like a heater." He readjusted her, inadvertently pulling her closer. The vampire groaned.
Fionna buried her head in his back, her words muffled, "Not my fault."
"You know, I'd like to think the heat is from your cheeks. Most girls would be embarrassed to be in a position like this: we look like a couple."
"I'm too tired to slug you."
Marshall grinned cheekily. "I guess this is my lucky day then." He felt her adjust her arms, which were clasped around the base of his neck. Her breathing became slow, but even, and Marshall could feel her calming heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. She must have fallen asleep. "Aaaand, she's out," he whispered. Marshall trudged along, feeling something tug at his chest.
There was a blooming kind of heat curling throughout his body, settling in the spaces between his bones and rendering his frozen exterior toasty. There was something special about this sudden feeling. It made him want to sing - made him want to play stupid songs on his axe-base for hours on end as if he were sixteen all over again.
It's just body heat stupid, he thought, and then, it has nothing to do with the pretty girl on your back. It has nothing to do with this quirky, kick-ass human.
Honestly.
He felt her stir, her princess breaths hitting the back of his neck, chills running down his skin in their wake. Marshall groaned.
He was such a liar.
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There wasn't any greenery in the Night-O-Sphere.
Call it bleak, or dim, or even lifeless, it didn't matter to the Abadeers. This realm was their home, and they couldn't help the fact that it was void of that particular color. Even if it was the only color uncharted in the sphere. Lack of natural sunlight and bad growing conditions tended to do that to a place. But Marshall missed Aaa for that very reason: there wasn't the color green here. There weren't big grassy fields to run around in (for no other reason than to just run), there weren't great puffs of fluffy foliage and trees that bore fruit and flowers and moss that hugged its bark like a lover - there wasn't that sense of vitality.
From a primal point of view, the color held importance: it signified a lack of drought, plenty of food and resources, and good weather. There was balance in this color that represented nature. With its absence, there was room for worry or unease. It reminded people of remnants of a world washed away in snow, one that glazed over in darkness and burned slowly with destruction steaming towards the heavens.
But Marshall didn't quite have a grasp on this information, or rather he didn't know. Not that one could blame him. He was just one person. Still, maybe he should have noticed the tug in his gut. Should have realized that leaving Aaa and surrendering to the Night-O-Sphere was a bad call. In a realm that fed off of uncertainty and anxiousness, you would think he'd of picked up on it.
No, but Hana did. Marshall's mother always knew these things. It was why she was running the show - why her fingers played a tune to summon the dead and dread and everything saturnine and dark. It was why, even now, she was plotting. Marshall knew it. He also knew she was waiting for him.
He would be ready for her.
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Marshall Lee trudged through the Night-O-Sphere, Fionna snoring peacefully on his back. The sky above them was awash in maroon: a deep lulling color that marked the realm's transition from evening to night. Dark clouds began to roll in, almost as if they wished to swallow the sky whole, and they blotched in patches against the red red pool above. Marshall looked up to see great bursts of astral bodies that flashed across the horizon in the place of stars and gusts of wind that blew and howled and sliced through the still air. It was beautiful in a haunting, end-of-the-world kind of way.
He made his way to a field.
Now, like I said before, the Night-O-Sphere had no green. This field was grey. In the wake of the red sky above, it looked almost purple, blowing every which way that the wind took it and curling around Marshall's frame. The vampire slowly began to lower himself to a squat.
Fionna stirred. "Marshall?" she murmured against his back, slowly focusing her eyes and surveying her surroundings. Her hands wrapped distractedly around his neck. Marshall felt his heart pick up. Vampires died the sunlight, and Fionna was the sun incarnate. He felt as if he needed to carry around an umbrella when she was near.
"Sorry to wake you, Fionna, but I'm afraid it's time," Marshall apologized. "I told you I had something to show you after all." He gently set her down against the grassy ground. The blades went up to her nose when she sat.
She sneezed.
"Ugh, I hate being sick. What do you want to show me exactly anyway?" she asked through her stuffy nose.
"You're so impatient."
"You're so...dumb," she countered, albeit lamely. Marshall stared at her for a good two minutes, before he ruffled her hair in retaliation. "H-hey!"
"Calm down bunny, I'm trying to find something." Indeed he was. His hands groped their way along the grass floor below them, sinking into old dirt untouched by the citizens in this realm, and subjected to only Mother Nature's hands.
Or so, one would think.
Because after a while, Marshall's hand was met with metal: he struck a cold, rusty trapdoor.
Marshall turned toward Fionna excitedly, his red eyes glowing. "Finally," he cheered. His smile was toothy - er, fangy. "When I first came here, I thought that this area was one of the few untouched regions of this kingdom. It looked beautiful, and the field was the closest thing to the land of Aaa's terrain that I could find."
Everything else was dead or cursed and to see this slice of land so untainted, it was the first bit of solace Marshall had had in years. But then he found the door, and he realized that the field wasn't as untouched as he had thought.
Fionna came to stand next to his frame, peering over his shoulder at the metal. "Where does it lead to?" she asked quickly, curiosity bleeding through her words. Marshall met her eyes, and a flash of something crackled between them.
(Trust me. I can show you things you've never dreamed of. I can lead you to a world unexplored by the likes of our kind. Let me guide you. Let me be your senses).
"Do you want to find out?"
(More than anything. I'd travel the moon and back just for a glimpse of your world. I want to see things. I want to live).
"Yes."
Marshall stifled a laugh at her sick-induced voice. The wind began to pick up, and the vampire felt a sudden press for time. He decided to challenge her. "Then go down it." The wind blew powerfully, pushing their frames toward the metal door.
"...Have you been down there?" she asked. Excitement rippled through her frame, and Marshall was almost convinced that adventuring was the best remedy for her - was convinced he could shy any medical practice for just this bit of fun.
"Yes," he breathed, red tongue sliding across his teeth, "I have." Her trust for him was no longer in question - she had made that clear after the Mind Weavers - but Marshall knew even if she didn't trust him, she would go down that door anyway. Fionna's weakness was her love for danger.
She smiled, shakily stepping to where Marshall stood.
And then, she opened the door, and they both jumped down.
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The room was warm.
It was most likely, Fionna deducted, the fact that underneath the Night-O-Sphere's soil was literal fire (Fred most certainly hadn't been lying). If that was the case, then the metal room they stood in was an actual oven. Fionna was sweating buckets, and she was grateful for the hardy soles of her shoes (if it hadnt been for them her feet would of melted off).
"Marshall," she coughed, eyes blurring together from the waves of heat. "What is this place?" She barely made out the shape of his form as he walked over to her. He held out his hand. She took it, but felt something strange in his palm. Looking down, she found that he had given her some kind of berry. "What is this?"
"Eat it," he answered. His red eyes were preoccupied with searching the room. For what? Fionna hadn't a clue. She busied herself with the fruit instead. It was a strange thing: coated in a swirled blue and purple color, it was the size of a blackberry, and looked spiky. She shrugged and popped it in the back of her throat.
And suddenly the heat disappeared. Fionna looked down to see her body coated in blue. What the-
"Your body is heat resistant now," Marshall said, as if reading her thoughts. "Hopefully this helps with your fever as well."
"Where do you even find these things?"
"I have connections."
Fionna's eyes swept over the room. It was pretty bare, almost like an underground bunker, and was dimly lit by the glow of a few sketchy-looking candles in each of the four corners. If he brought her down here to summon some mythical beast, she was going to regret trusting him.
Then her eyes caught something unusual: there, hidden in the pattern of the floor was an image - an image of a skull. Fionna's heart thumped widely against her chest. There was a green twinkle of light emitting from its forehead, and Fionna stood mesmerized by its glow.
"Fionna," Marshall spoke, breaking the trance, "you have to step on it."
"I - what?" Fionna spluttered. Despite every warning sign that pointed toward that action, she really wanted to do it. She tried her best to suppress a grin; it was just too exciting! "Are you kidding?" she laughed. Fionna was giddy. She was drunk off of her sickness and off of the sheer adrenaline that came with the package of exploration. She wanted to see the unimaginable.
Marshall floated a little in the air, almost lying on his back. His hands rested behind his head as he assumed a position of relaxation. "Go on," he pressed.
Fionna slowly made her way to the skull. Her black polished shoes (which were surprisingly easy to run in) hovered a mere centimeter from the skull. "Here I go." She sniffed loudly, clearing her sinensis, before ever-so-carefully stomping on the image. Her breath hitched.
Nothing happened.
"Marshall!" Fionna cried, offended that he would lie to her. "What the stuff?"
Marshall coughed, and pointed down to her foot. Confused, Fionna followed his fingers, only to find a small sliver of light protruding through her foot.
She had been covering the surprise.
Flushing, Fionna moved away from the light source, quickly shielding her eyes from the bright flash of light that followed. It engulfed her surroundings; made her blind and dizzy with its power. She reeled back, falling down on her butt in the process.
And then she saw it: the skull was actually a kind of projector, casting an image against the metal roof above them. She sat in awe.
A film was playing.
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Long, long ago...this realm began as a whisper.
Darkness manifests itself in vicious self hatred. It takes the thoughts that muddy your mind, that make you feel cold and empty and worthless: the ones which are teeming with distress and hate and endless wishes of end it all. These thoughts have to go somewhere, right?
There's nowhere to go but down.
Once upon a time a voice whispered words of darkness, and these whispers grew heavier and plentiful. They stuck together like liquid black glue, collecting more and more cries until suddenly, what was once nothing became something.
When the explosion hit the great world above, radiation seeped into the ground below. It bled into spaces of cracked dirt that crept along Aaa's soil and dripped into the nooks where these whispers of darkness lied.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Life was born; the Night-O-Sphere opened its eyes for the first time.
You, listener, you poor misfortunate soul. There will be a time when this realm falls straight into the hands of another: someone cunning and quick, one who has lived through eons and flirted with death to the point of exhaustion - this person will know what the whispers taste like.
They will lead this realm into darkness, at least...a darkness darker than this.
You may fret.
You may frown.
But there is hope.
(Hope...what a funny word. What a lovely, wonderful idea so unaccustomed to this dark and dreary realm. Maybe you'll be relieved).
A hero is coming.
The film showed a darkened figure standing against the Night-O-Sphere's solferino sky. They appeared to be laughing. Around them, there were flames everywhere, emerging from the cracked earth unhinged from the ground and splitting open as lightning struck it in two. Creatures of various sizes stumbled across the sphere's surface; they screeched in pain as hordes of insects devoured them alive. Acid rain filled the heavens with a yellow hue.
The figure's laugh grew louder. There was something pink and powerful glowing their hand. It looked to be an amulet of some sort.
The scene changed and suddenly, there was a new figure added to the picture. They were glowing and held tightly in their hands a sword.
A hero is coming.
The two figures met. There was a clash. And suddenly, everything gave way to bright and burning light.
Fionna looked at the film; her figure stared back at her, glowing with power.
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.
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She will be small, this hero. Do not doubt her power though: this is a warning I will only say once.
Fionna watched as her figure swept along the cracked earth. She was cut and bruised; she was battered and beat. She was not down for the count.
The overhead voice seemed to be addressing her.
The Night-O-Sphere will fall. You must stop the madness. You must rid the amulet from wrong hands. You must stop her.
Suddenly, the original figure emerged into the picture: a blue-skinned demon of a lady smirked back at them. When she opened her mouth, white flame poured out of her throat. Fionna's heart leaped.
And what was the next image, you ask? Easy. Fionna saw Prince Gumball stepping toward the demon.
He handed her the amulet.
Stop the madness.
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Fionna was silent.
It was hard to take everything in, hard to breath even. The images she saw were too vivid. Too real. In the end, Marshall was right: he needed her.
In the Night-O-Sphere's darkest hour - he needed her.
Fionna slid against one of the metal room's walls, tucking her knees under her chin and staring off in thought. From her side, she felt Marshall Lee's presence. He slid against the wall beside her easily, not saying anything, giving her time to think. Fionna didn't know what to think.
"So, in a nutshell," Fionna concluded, tilting her head so she could rest her eyes on his regal face, "this place is going to go bat-crazy, I'm going to have to fight this demon lady, and...and.." She didn't want to say it. Glob, she didn't want to say it.
"And?" Marshall pressed. His eyes were blazing. She swallowed hard.
"And the cause of all this madness is that stupid amulet, which I might add, Prince Gumball is going to give away."
"In a nutshell? Yes."
Silence.
"How long have you known?"
"A long time, Fionna."
"How long have you been trying to find me?"
It was hard to read the emotion on Marshall's face. She realized he was guarding himself. "Even longer," he said cryptically.
"Well then, why did you kidnap me? Why did you fight me? I would have gone with you if you just," Fionna sighed in frustration, "asked!" She was getting herself worked up, which was certainly not good for her condition. She turned to him sharply. "Don't you think it would have been so much easier?"
"Would you have really believed me? Honestly?" His red eyes flashed dangerously. The demon inside him threatened to spill over. "If I hadn't dragged you down here through force you would have never joined me! You'd never travel through this sphere, you'd never let me take you to this room, and you'd certainly never believe me when I told you Prince Pinky was the cause of this madness. I did what I did because I had no other choice."
"And fighting me was the answer!?"
"You started it, trust me."
"Well, can you blame me? You're a-"
"A what?" Marshall interrupted. "A demon? A vampire?" He laughed bitterly. "I know that. How could anyone look at such a monster and think, hey, this guy looks amiable - let's be friends!" Marshall scowled. "Ridiculous."
"I never said-"
"Well you implied it."
Fionna sighed. Angry tension filled the air in place of the growing silence. "I'm sorry," Fionna relented. "I'm just...on edge." She rubbed angrily at the tears filling her eyes. She would not cry. "In case you hadn't realized, my family back home is most likely worried about me. I miss Cake, okay? I'm in some strange place with someone I barely know, and...I'm sick." Fionna sniffled. "My chest hurts like heck, too."
She didn't ask, to be brought down here; she didn't ask to be some...chosen one. Marshall knew that, right?
The vampire sighed, anger subsiding from his face. "I'm sorry too." He hesitated, before his hand awkwardly reached up to the bottom of her face. He grabbed her chin and moved her head toward his direction. "For everything." He watched as her shoulders lost their tension, relaxing against his touch.
He was a demon. His teeth were sharp, his eyes bloodshot, and his skin ghostly. He could have slid her neck under his teeth and drained her essence in mere seconds, especially in her current condition.
But he didn't.
Instead he was beside her, his touch gentle and undemanding. His black tresses fluttered against his pallid face, danced across his eyelashes and tickled his nose. His red eyes glowed a soft rosy color. And he smiled charmingly. He was an enigma - ready to ignite in a mere second but easily disarmed. His voice was deep and resonating - music etched into his very being, enough to lull her to sleep. He somehow cared for her.
And Fionna? Fionna wanted to drink his features up, wanted to stare at him forever as if he were a painting to be admired. She wanted to unravel what made him, him. She wanted...she wanted...to be by his side.
The worst part about it all was she didn't know why.
"I don't understand you," she admitted, still perusing him thoughtfully. Her eyes flashed from his face, down to his neck, toward his torso and back up. She was just so...curious.
Marshall's eyes flicked toward her lips and back up to her eyes. "Fionna," he warned, his voice strained, "you're checking me out." His breath ghosted across her face.
Her cheeks flushed immediately. She reeled her head out of his grasp, livid. "I was not! You were the one who grabbed me!"
Marshall Lee chuckled. "There's the Fionna I know."
They were on good terms again, it seemed.
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.
.
"By the way, Fionna...the woman you have to fight? She's my mother."
"W-what!?"
Thanks everyone for reading! Hope you didn't mind the wait. Shout out to the reviewers: An Amber Pen and Deathstarling556. Your words mean a lot :)
Hope you all have a wonderful day!
