True
Power
Shall we move on? Shall we bring this madness to an end?
Yes.
xxx
Four long years ago, my granddaughter took the lives of individuals who accosted her ruthlessly and relentlessly for being a mere half blood. In accordance with the laws, she was sentence to the form of a child until she can atone for her crimes. In her eyes this is a permanent sentence. For, you see, there is no force in the world that is equivalent to life. Adding to her strife, she has numbed any guilt she felt towards her actions. Or so she has claimed. She advocates how she finds they deserved what they received, how she savored their cries. I know different. I know she mourned their loses; hears their cries every night when she closes her eyes. It is because of those screams she strive to control the gift passed unto her. And, as I sit in my workshop awaiting her return, I sense Cecelia's greatest test at hand.
But I do not fret. I do not fear. I do not worry. For you see, while Cecelia may be suffering at the hands of nightmares she's struggled to cast into the darkest recesses of her mind, I sense a light. A tender, loving hand striving to reach for her, to pull her back from the pits of despair. Though the monster's claws drag her down, trying to consume her entirety, she's prying herself free of its clutches, reaching for the extended hand. While the gap is lengthy, it slowly closes. The warm light shared between them glows brighter the closer they grow. And when their hands meet, their darkness shall vanish, and what they both have sought for so long will finally be theirs.
xxx
"Keep fighting, Cecelia…" Yensid muttered. His head bow and eyes closed, he sat at the table housing the Wasteland scape. He hovers a hand above the colorful world, moving it side to side in steady motions, sensing the turmoil plaguing the land. "Mickey, Cecelia...everyone. Keep fighting." He encouraged. "Where there is fear, there is courage. Plunge into it. Do not run. Only then shall you all be free."
xxx
"Whoa..." Big Bad Pete ogled in absolute confusion, a sledge hammer propped to his shoulder. "Whaddya know 'bout dat?"
Horace peered around him, holding a frying with the same boggled look. "Golly! Ain't that somethin'!"
Sweepers were melting right before their eyes, clawing at the air for salvation. It wasn't just the Sweepers. Ortensia and Gus were utterly dumbstruck by the Spatters and newly arrived Slobbers turning to puddles. Blotlings on the rooftops spilled down the buildings sides. Citizens on the roofs watched the liquified ink bleed, drain through the cracks of the streets and structures.
"What's happening?" Ortensia shivered, unable to decide whether to cheer or worry.
"I'm...not sure." Gus answered baffled.
All across Wasteland Blotlings were falling into puddles, spilling into lakes, grass, and the thinner ocean. From Tortooga to Mickey Junk Mountain, mixed emotions cast between the people. Some cheered, declaring victory for Wasteland. Others remains cautious, finding it all to be too easy. If victory truly belong to Wasteland and its people, why have the thorny vines not rescinded? And why have Mickey, Oswald, and the others not returned?
The storm circulating the castle spires was drastically losing luster. Thunderous clouds gradually decelerated. The rumblings no louder than a car engine. Lightning rarely flashed. When it did, it never struck the earth. It just lit up the dimmed sky, lacking any ferocity. A good sign? Or a false hope? There was only one way to find out. But would going to the castle jeopardize Mickey, Prescott, and Oswald? Or will it save them?
"Let us go, Ortensia." Gus decreed. Ortensia gaped at him in awe. Gus glowered with heated determination, boring holes in the castle - the beacon of their land. The Blot's poisonous hands have tarnished its sacred halls for long enough. "We have stood beside Oswald and the others this long, we shall see this nightmare to its bitter end."
"R-Right!" Ortensia and Gus ran for the Projector inside the train station.
xxx
"AAAHHHH..."
Cecelia twisted and writhed in Prescott's strong embrace, screaming in agony as her blistering skin oozed and bubbled, peeling off. Prescott was absolutely stricken with horror. The skin of her porcelain cheeks tore like a crudely applied mask, exposing searing pink flesh. Her wide, tear filled, terrified eyes pleaded to Prescott to make the pain stop. He could only hold her. He did not know what to do for her. Up and down her arms and legs pus welts inflating and popped, splattering a clear liquid that ate away at her. As acid it to metal so is this liquid to her skin.
"HELP...ME..." The agony whimpering in her voice was enough to tear Prescott in half. Her hand moved to Prescott, reaching for some sort of salvation. Prescott grasped the hand, holding it to his cheek. I have to help her! A meaningless gesture! There must be a way to help her! No true help! I can't lose her again! But what else could he do? Hopefully, he prayed, knowing he wasn't going to let go would ease her pain.
"HOLD ON, CECELIA!" Mickey begged, holding her hand. He flinched when he felt the skin heat and peel.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO HER?" Oswald pulled at his ears.
"I-I-I don't…" Prescott exhaled in defeat. "I don't know! It's like she's being dissolved by an agent!" Cecelia lied exhausted in his arms. Prescott felt it in his arms, she was becoming dead weight. Her chest rising and falling as her body putrified. Taking in a simple breath was arduous and exhaled as a rasp. A blank expression soaked by her prolific tears. She was no healthier than a worn doll. The brightness that returned to those crimson orbs of hers was fading again. She was fading. "Cecelia…"
"He's...dying..." Cecelia breathed the warning. Her strenght unable to bring her voice from a whisper. She squeezed her eyes closed, spilling tears over the exposed, sensitive skin. "He's...dying..."
"Who, Cecelia?!" Prescott pressed. The answer the key to saving her. He supported her head, bringing her closer. "Who is dying?" He shook her. Anything he could, he needed her to keep fighting. He wasn't about to let her lose. Not when it was because of her efforts they've made it this far. "Tell me, Cecelia! Who's dying? Who's doing this to you?"
Her eyes parted halfway open. Black rings started to form. Her cheeks sinking to the bone. Her lips parted. Oswald, Mickey, and Gus leaned in, lending her an ear. "The...Blot..." His name rang in their ears, casting ice to their spines. In their minds they knew they shouldn't be surprised. But in their hearts, they were enraged. What contingency had The Blot put in place that forces Cecelia to suffer like this.
"What has he done to her?" Mickey breathed shakily.
"The Blot...used...book..." She struggled to speak.
"Book?" Oswald quirked a brow.
Prescott glanced at Cecelia's hip. He gasped. "Her spellbook!" He was surprised he hadn't noticed it until now. Cecelia clung dearly to that book. It held her only happy memories from the past. "The Blot must be stretching his magical wings. He's using Cecelia's book as a guide."
"But what spell is doing this to her?" Mickey stressed. He found it hard to believe Cecelia would even have a spell like this in her arsenal. It's not something she'd ever use.
"I'm not sure." Prescott pet Cecelia's forehead.
"Chained...Fate...Curse." Cecelia rasped. She drew in a long breath, mustering any strength still lingering. "Pain...to Blot...pain to...me. Vice...Verse."
"By the spirits of Wasteland." Prescott trembled, gaping in horror. Oswald and Mickey were happy Prescott came along. Whereas they were confused, Prescott comprehended what Cecelia was trying to convey. It was so obvious it made Prescott tie himself in nauseated knots. Cecelia's deteriorating form - This was The Blot's failsafe. "The Blot has ensured if he perishes Cecelia will go with him."
"HE WHAT?" Oswald and Mickey held onto Cecelia, futilely preserving what remained.
"DAMN HIM!" Prescott punched the ground. She was falling to pieces right in front of their eyes. "THAT PATHETIC, MISERABLE COWARD!" Tears trickled from his squeezed eyes. His fingers wove within Cecelia's snow white locks, his other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. "Why...why does want to take you from me?" He quivered. A lone tear dripped to Cecelia's cheek. Light strobed in her eyes, feeling the overwhelming sorrow. "I'm sorry...Cecelia. I'm so sorry."
"Prescott…" She put a hand to his arm. Prescott couldn't stand it anymore. He was racked with grief, aching to the brink of crumbling. Were it he had a heart it would undoubtedly shatter. He wished it would just be over. No more fighting, no more Blot, no more pain PERIOD! Cecelia...She's dying. Prescott wished her suffering would end. And his. Cecelia was literally dying in his arms. And...and there was nothing he can do.
"We have to get to The Blot!" Mickey decreed. "We have to stop what's hurting him and maybe we can save her!" Hope returned to Prescott. Cecelia's demeanor brightened. There was one small problem.
"There's no way we'd make it to the Throne Room before...it's too late." Oswald carefully forged his words. Cecelia's life was hanging in the balance already. He didn't need team morale dropping any further.
Cecelia grunted loudly, gaining everyone's attention. Her fingers tightened to Prescott's arm. It was small, but he swore he say her condition improve. That look she gets when she's gained newfound confidence projected like a lighthouse beacon. "Get...close..." Cecelia motioned a languid hand. Prescott subconsciously held her closer to him. Mickey and Oswald huddled around her. Cecelia inhaled, lessening the burning pain, and squeezed her eyes closed, groaning animatedly. Oswald, Prescott, and Mickey were concerned when she broke out in a sweat. Then they gasped. Her entire body started to glow golden white. Her cat ears erected. Electrical streams shared between the tips. A circle of fire surrounded the tightly knit group, barely leaving an inch of space for Oswald to relaxed his toes.
"Cecelia! Don't!" Prescott pleaded. She couldn't possibly have strength left for this.
"Too late!" Mickey hugged everyone close around Cecelia. He nodded firmly.
Cecelia returned the nod. "Defla...grate..." She choked the words out, mustering strength in heavy breaths, "Muri et-" Dry itchiness in her throat cut the words into a cough. Saliva carrying skin from her throat dribbled to her jaw. Cecelia hissed venomously through grit feline fangs, shaking off her patheticness. "No...not...yet!" She wriggled in Prescott's arms, forcing herself to sit up straighter. The circle remained. "Once more!" Her body glowed even brighter, feeding the fiery circle. She took a deep breath in through her nose. Her brow knit sharply. The Blot's self proclaimed throne was her target, and she fully intended to abdicate him. "DEFLAGRATE MURI ET INTERVALLIA!" The fiery circle radiated. A glossy dome shaped over their heads and around them. Fire snaked the dome in every direction, until they vanished in a flash.
xxx
The Mad Doctor stood idly by, watching The Blot shamelessly try to cling to what little dignity had yet to melt with the rest of him. It was hard to tell whether the thinner bombs were making him melt, or if his body simply lost fortitude. On slopping messes of his hands and knees, The Blot heaved long, tired breaths. Well toned abs and a firm chest liquified, falling to his thighs, and spilling to the floor. He lifted ink mounds that were his hands to better prop himself. His arms oozed down a trail. His waist pooled to his legs. The Blot almost resembled a Spladoosh. The crown and trident he crafted dissolved into nothing right beside him. In minutes he had become a drooling mess. It was only a matter of time before he was nothing.
Something is wrong. The Mad Doctor squeezed his folded arms. It should have been glorious. The crowning point of The Mad Doctor's villainous career. The highlight of a year long plan. He, The Mad Doctor, would be remembered as the one who saved Wasteland from The Blot. Oswald, Mickey, and Prescott, succumbed to their fears, failed tragically in their pitiful efforts to save their home. It would only be a few words later - if he dared to say it - that he would be crowned the new King of Wasteland. He should be over the moon with joy. Savoring this moment. But...The Blot's holding smirk ruined it. That malicious, narcissistic smirk never faltered.
Since putting The Blot at the mercy of the microscopic thinner bombs, The Blot has done nothing but smile and laugh. Even as the pain became excruciating to where he would pass out, The Blot held on to a solitary victory. One The Mad Doctor remained ignorant of.
"What's...the matter...Doctor?" The Blot rasped, holding his sludging stomach. "You seem...disappointed." The Mad Doctor growled, gritting his teeth. The Blot's intuitive mind reading aggravated him. "Why are you not gloating? Rubbing salt in my dripping wounds? I thought you longed to witness my untimely demise? Savor my suffering?" The Blot purred sinisterly. Said salt was adding insult to The Mad Doctor's prideful wound. The Blot chuckled at his silence. "Were you hoping for begging? Pleading? For me to throw myself at your mercy and implore you to make it stop?" The Mad Doctor's fingers curled, digging into his prosthetic skin. Gears feeding pumps in his chest pounded, fueled by the Doctor's rising anger. The Blot dared to audaciously mock him. Ultimate victory over his most defiant of creations was being stolen from under him. "Do not fret, dear Doctor, you will be killing two birds with one stone before the night is over." Shimmers belonging to a strange light flooded the throne room. "Ahh, and here's the second bird now."
The Mad Doctor turned around. A familiar fiery dome appeared at the Throne Room's doors. The whisking fires extinguished, the dome vanishing in a puff of breath. Oswald, Mickey, Prescott, and a mortally wounded Cecelia emerged. Dagger filled eyes locked onto The Mad Doctor, frightening him into a nervous sweat. How like him to leave at the peak of a battle to settle his own debts.
"Figures you'd be here!" Oswald snarled. He may have been preoccupied, but he wasn't unaware of what was happening around him. He knew The Mad Doctor pulled a vanishing act. "So, what Doc? Thought you'd beat The Blot and claim all the glory?"
"It crossed my mind."
He wasn't in the spotlight for longer than a few seconds. Prescott's attention drifted to the mess that was soon to be the former Blot. The Blot's horrendous state turned his muscles to jelly. It was miraculous he could still keep a hold on Cecelia.
"Blot?" Mickey chirped, rising to a defensive stance. He kept the brush extended toward the side.
"Ah, Mickey...you are looking well." The Blot scathingly joked. "And here...I was worried...the little kitten burned you alive." Prescott protectively wrapped his arms to Cecelia. "You all seem to be in pristine health. Cecelia, love, you disappoint your master." Master rolled off his tongue, plunging like a knife to Cecelia's soul.
"Shut up, Blot!" Oswald joined Mickey, blockading The Blot from Cecelia. "She's not your anymore! Not that she ever was to begin with!" Oswald extended the remote, keeping a finger hovering over the button.
"Yes...so I sensed." The Blot spat thinner and ink at the floor. At the get-go The Blot's hold on Cecelia was merely superficial. Off and on his grip would waver. Her nightmares were riper than anyone's he's feasted upon. A shame her care for these fools of Wasteland rivaled them. To think he was so close to possessing her for the long haul. "No matter. The price for her defiance shall soon be paid in full!"
"What do you mean?!" Prescott snarled. "What are you doing to Cecelia?!"
"And there's that concern, Prescott." The Blot laughed derisively. "Perhaps you should confess your feelings before it is too late. Cecelia is running out of time, you see?"
"ANSWER ME!" Prescott barked. "What have you done to Cecelia?"
"I'm sure she's told you already. I've ensured that I will not perish without another in tow." Prescott, Mickey, and Oswald's worst fear was confirmed. Part of them, in the dankest delusion, prayed Cecelia's warning was derived from the madness of her pain. "But do not blame me for her passing. Blame the Doctor…" He slyly shifted the table. "Were it not for nano beetleworx he introduced into my body, she would not be falling apart at the seams."
"WHAT?!" Oswald, Prescott, and Mickey shouted.
"WHAT?!" The Mad Doctor cried. He glanced between Cecelia and The Blot. When one winced in pain, the other doubled over in agony. As a piece of The Blot melts, Cecelia's skin rots in turn. "By the spirits…" He quaked.
"You're doing this?!" Prescott snarled rabidly. If looks could kill, The Mad Doctor would be a stain. "This is low even for you! I swear...I will make you-"
"Pull your head from your grief and think for a second of your life, Prescott!" The Mad Doctor frothed at the mouth. "I knew nothing of their Romeo and Juliet ending!" Of course he meant their dying together, not the romance. It would probably be a bad time to mention he cared very little which one lived or died.
"Don't lie to us!" Oswald barked. "Mickey aside, Cecelia and The Blot are the only two who can put you in your place, no sweat!" The remote's trajectory leaned toward The Mad Doctor. "Your endgame involves them, and we aren't going to let it happen."
"My endgame changed as erratically as the weather in Bog Easy!" The Mad Doctor stormed, towering over Oswald. The Rabbit held his ground, puffing his chest. "My endgame involved Mickey! Your magical pet was a clog in my plans! She still is!" While the Doc has a vendetta against Cecelia, Mickey and his brush were by far the most damaging.
"STOP-LYING!" Prescott roared. He raised his gloved hand to The Mad Doctor. Kinetic energy flailed violently. The Mad Doctor felt tingles prickling his animatronic parts. He went stiff, panting as the ground parted an inch from the soles of his shoes. "This is because of YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE TAKING HER FROM ME!" Cecelia's eyes widened. Oswald and Mickey rooted in place, gawking in sorrow. "I won't lose her...not again...NOT-TO-YOU!" Slowly his fingers curled. The Mad Doctor's arms bound at his sides, his legs restrained by the ankles and knees. Pressure clenched at his neck.
"Stop..." A small hand delicately touched Prescott's. He broke free of the rage filled haze, following the hand to meet Cecelia's dimly pleading expression. "Please...stop...Prescott." The tension loosened around The Mad Doctor, but he was not placed back on the ground. "Not...a lie." She licked her dry lips. "He knew...nothing about...the spell. Nano's...were planted...by him feeding."
The Blot's means of feeding depended upon ghouls claiming victims. Fear siphoned directly from the subconsciousness of Wastelanders serving as the means of his rehabilitation. The chips the ghouls wore on their foreheads contained the beetleworx that were now swarming The Blot's diminishing form. Armor adorned by his own inky flesh was nothing but a puddle. With each new batch of fear consumed, The Blot gained strength and sealed his fate. That crown and trident he clung to melted in front of him.
"Be that as it may we have to shut them down!" Oswald pressed. "If we don't, Cecelia will die!"
"And if we do, The Blot will heal himself and everyone in Wasteland will die!" The Mad Doctor protested. Prescott and Cecelia reluctantly shared his sentiment.
"No they won't!" Mickey fiercely disagreed. "We can take care of The Blot before that happens!"
"How?" The Mad Doctor challenged, growing annoyed by their emotions clouding their judgment. "He dies, she dies! The very outcome you are unwilling to accept." Mickey grit his teeth. A rock and a hard place encroached. He looked at The Blot, then to Cecelia, then back at The Blot. Time was running out. "Perhaps you plan to put him in a jar again?" He dryly chuckled, sneering at Oswald. "We saw how well that worked last time." Oswald cringed. He never got over accidentally releasing The Blot. But it'll haunt him for the rest of his life if Cecelia died. Especially when she wasn't the cause for his rebirth.
"Are you truly standing there and telling me you'd rather sacrifice an innocent girl?" Prescott frothed, shaking uncontrollably under his welling rage. She can't die...she can't. Prescott refused.
"Are you telling me you'd sacrifice thousands for one?"
Oswald, Mickey, and Prescott just stopped. A pendulum swaying above their resolve cut it clean down the middle. In their pursuit to rescue Cecelia, they forgot the tire reason for this ascent. To stop The Blot and rescue ALL of Wasteland. And they swore nothing would stop them. Nothing.
Cecelia became the center of sad eyes. She was sleeping peacefully in Prescott's arms, too fatigued to keep her eyes opened. Oswald, Mickey, and Prescott dropped their heads in defeat. Prescott clenched his teeth, squeezing Cecelia's arm. He wanted more than anything to save her. But...the price of Wasteland...he...he couldn't.
"I thought so." The Mad Doctor rumbled.
The Blot chuckled victoriously, soaking up the agony in the air. "And that is precisely why you cannot win. When push comes to shove, the weakness of compassion always prevents letting what must be done come to fruition." Feeling him speaking directly to them, Prescott and the others huddled protectively to Cecelia. "That child shall be a martyr - forever haunting these hallowed halls as a sigil of guilt, and the mark of your ascension." He purred at The Mad Doctor. "Can you truly live with knowing you murdered a child?"
"Only if I end her suffering quickly." The Mad Doctor unsheathed the remote from his pocket, aiming it at The Blot. The red button was flipped up, opening to reveal two smaller buttons. "It will all be over in a flash." The Mad Doctor pressed the left button. Flickering red lights shown inside The Blot's melting body.
"Stop! What are you doing?!" Prescott shrieked.
"Putting an end to this prolonged madness once and for all!" The Mad Doctor bore his hateful gaze into The Blot, watching the pitiable being become disturbed. "From the time they were activated my beetleworx bombs have had plenty of time to circulate his system! Pressing this button will force them all to detonate in unison, leaving nothing - not even that horrendous core - behind." The Blot touched his chest. The core pulsated fervently.
"YOU CAN'T!" Oswald protested.
"Cecelia's heart's attached to it!" Mickey cried. Prescott shot his head up, drawn to the exposed orb. Cecelia's beating heart, trapped inside the tiny prison, wrenched at Prescott.
Cecelia's lead heavy eyelids bounced open. My heart...The thumping in her chest resonated with the heart beating in The Blot's chest. Her brow knit.The ties...
"What use does a corpse have for a heart?"
The Mad Doctor's words struck Prescott to the core. His went numb. Ice replaced pumping blood. 'Corpse' echoed in his mind like requiem bell. Cecelia a corpse, He repeated. Cecelia...dead. Tears leaked from wide eyes. You can't let that happen. But Wasteland is relying upon us. His mind fought with his heart. Cecelia's waited for you to save her! But she'll blame herself for Wasteland's destruction! She was too kind a child. She'd never put herself before a whole world. What should he do? What should he do? He can't lose Cecelia again! But Wasteland is his home! He'll never get another one. And I'll never have another Cecelia.
Cecelia was gently placed on the floor. The cold marble stung her open wounds, jolting her half awake. Her vacant stare monitored Prescott stepping over her. Were she not delusional by pain, she'd swear a demonic aura hung over him.
"Prescott..." She wept. White hot pain split his atrophic body in half as she flipped onto her stomach. She pushed up on her elbows. She bore her wincing eyes on The Melting Blot. "My...book..." She started to crawl.
Mickey and Oswald battled to stop The Doctor or to let him proceed. The Blot had to be stopped. Wasteland needed to be saved. But they couldn't risk losing Cecelia. Not after swearing - to Ortensia and Cecelia - that they'd save her. As the two remained deadlocked, Prescott sauntered past them, bobbing languidly approaching The Doctor.
"Prescott?" Mickey reached for him. Oswald stopped him, shaking his head. He pointed at the glove. Prescott turned a dial. A high pitch hum vibrated from it.
The Mad Doctor hovered his thumb above the right button of his remote. The Blot hissed animally, wanting nothing more than to snap that hand clean off it's wrist. "For your crimes against Wasteland," The Mad Doctor recited, "I sentence you to O-" A devastating gloved punch connected with the side of his head, sending him flying to a crash in the wall. The Blot, Mickey, and Oswald were dumbstruck. The Mad Doctor threw himself against the wall, rubbing the sore red fist mark. Pieces of the window behind him sprinkled onto him. He growled at the fool who dared to strike him.
Prescott clamped a hand to his elbow, driving his vibrating arm back to his side. Deadpanned rage glowered in his dagger filled stare. Energy escaping the glove flowed, running over him. The ground beneath his feet splintered with cracks. Oswald and Mickey jumped back. The Blot smiled, impressed by the gremlin's resolve. It was then The Mad Doctor saw it. Reason would no longer inhibit this gremlin.
"So..." The Mad Doctor placed a hand to the wall, staggering as he climbed to his feet, "You've chosen the life of a stranger over the lives of everyone."
"No!" Prescott stomped his foot, causing the throne room to rumble. "I've decided to stop allowing you and The Blot dictate our paths!" He swept the glove to the side. Oswald and Mickey were encouraged by him. "We've danced around your maze, played by your rules, and adhered to your demands for the last time!" Oswald and Mickey nodded, running to Prescott's side. "We're going to save both Cecelia and Wasteland! You and The Blot will be ones dying here!"
"Oh?! You think so, do you?!" The Mad Doctor slapped his chest. Four curved prongs ripped from his coat, clutching to his shoulders and around to his back. The Mad Doctor removed the hand, revealing a large red light pulsating like a heartbeat. Prescott, Mickey, and Oswald stood their ground. "Sorry, fool, but this scientist always has a plan C!" The Mad Doctor flexed his arms. Four larger prongs - spider legs - sprouted from his back, casting ominous silhouettes in the window's light. The talon legs planted in the ground, lifting The Mad Doctor. The red light on his chest whirred with immense energy.
"When the Heck did he find time to strap that on?" Mickey gasped.
"Before my first visit to The Blot." The Mad Doctor chortled. "I would have used it at the get go, but a certain magical kitten was capable of destroying my toys. And I could not risk her doing so again in the gardens." Prescott couldn't help smiling. Cecelia loved breaking things. "But hey, no time like the present. You should be honored," A whir of energy gathered to the red chest buckle, making the light glow brighter, "You shall be my first guinea pigs!" In a flash a beam launched.
xxx
A rumbling explosion brought Gus and Ortensia to a sudden halt. They felt the ground quake under their feet. Leaves from the trees clattered. The two gawked at the castle from the front gates. Mist and smoke were coming from the garden. Orange and red strobing glows flickered beyond the second wall's horizon. The stormy clouds spiraling the sky marring spires were behaving irregularly. Before they flowed in a steady groove. Blemishes and lumps bubbled the smooth condensed fog, zigzagging and driving the clouds in a rough flow.
"What do you think is happening?" Ortensia fretted. The trip to the castle was fairly easy. To be honest, she was slightly disappointed that Blotlings hadn't tried to get in the way. Judging by the damage they passed, they already tried to get in the way.
"Oswald and the others have reached The Blot." Gus reassured her. Ortensia went stiff, frozen with fear. Gus shared her sentiment. Oswald, Mickey, and Prescott were trapped in a confined area with The Mad Doctor, The Blot, and Cecelia who is being controlled by The Blot. The Mad Doctor can spew all the pretty speeches he wanted. Ortensia and Gus trusted him about as far as they could throw him.
"We have to get up there and help them!" Ortensia stressed.
"Agreed."
Gus was unsure what help they would be to anyone, but they had to be there for Cecelia. The Blot was only able to possess her because he put the notion in her head that she was uncared for. Feared. Hated. He and Ortensia fully intended to prove him wrong.
"Let us hurry!" Gus flew ahead.
"R-right." Ortensia and Gus ran for the gates. Dark Beauty Castle had their friends trapped, and at the mercy or two monstrous tyrants.
xxx
Pockmarks singed the walls and tapestries, smoke wafting from their tarnishing black charring. Broken rubble lay scattered across the scorched floor.
Oswald panted tiredly. Sweat dripped down his brow and over bruises. He kept a hand grounded and his feet spread to spring. Red shots burst near his hand and feet. Oswald danced around them, never letting The Mad Doctor leave his sights.
Another beam fired. Oswald split his ears. The beam hit a small statue, but left a smoking streak between Oswald's ears. "That all you got?!" Oswald licked his fingers, touching the streak. The smoke evaporated with a hiss. A long, thick shadow scrolled up the middle of his head. Oswald grimaced and back flipped several feet, dodging a spider leg that pierced the solid marble. "Apparently not." He mumbled.
The planted leg pulled The Mad Doctor. He slid and twisted, digging in his boots as he lunged a second leg. Oswald sprang. The leg whisked between his legs, impaling the wall behind him. Oswald landed on the leg, running along it to The Doctor. He held his remote at the ready, aiming for the chest buckle.
"Oh no you don't!" The leg easily broke free. Oswald lost his footing. The Mad Doctor snatched him by the ears, and propelled him face first into the floor. He added insult to injury by stomping on his head. "Not so lucky now, are ya, Rabbit?" He mocked.
A face full of paint splashed his eyes and nose. some made it in his mouth. Mickey approached the sputtering Doctor, pouring on the paint. The Mad Doctor stepped off Oswald, swatting fervently at the strong stream. Oswald shook rubble off. Grabbing his remote he launched an electrical stream, striking The Doctor's legs. The current shot through the animatronic legs, kindling them and forcing The Doctor to kneel on one.
The Blot chuckled under his breath. He was already dying at a painfully slow rate. Better to not incur the wrath being waged. "Yes, fools, pummel each other to your hearts content." He purred. "All the easier it will be for me to take you all with me." In his gloating, The Blot neglected to notice a hand pulling a spellbook from his spilled ink.
"GRAH! YOU-PATHETIC-FOOLS!" He growled heatedly. With a swing of his arms, two of the spider legs swatted Oswald and Mickey in the stomach, sending the two flying to opposite sides of the throne room. Granted the brief respite, he tried to regain some breath. It was an arduous task with paint clogging his airways. Function returned to his legs. At least he was able to stand. He used his arm and wipe paint from his eyes.
Just as his arm left his face, Prescott appeared out of nowhere and plowed a fist in his nose. The Mad Doctor stumbled, balancing on the spider legs. Stars clouded his vision. Prescott punched him again, then once in the stomach. He kicked his knees, elbowed his chest, cracked their foreheads together, and drove an uppercut in his chin coupled with a downward punch. the Mad Doctor wobbled in a daze, miraculously managing to stay standing. Prescott ended his barrage with a roundhouse kick to the stomach. The next thing The Mad Doctor knew he was sliding head first into a statue. A cupid homage of Ortensia. The arrow jiggled loose, shaving half The Doc's mustache piercing the ground.
"Grr..." The Mad Doctor glared daggers at the rage filled gremlin. "Years of being a miserable miser...never once empathizing for another's well-being besides your own..." The spider legs stomped, lifting The Mad Doctor to his feet, "A feline with bright eyes sprouts your conscience?!"
"That's the difference between us, Doctor!" Prescott shook the throbbing from his knuckles. "I've always cared for the people of Wasteland. I'm just not a people gremlin." The fine line defined itself loud and clear. "As for the conscience," Word were unable to describe the irony, "You're hardly one to lecture me."
"Perhaps not..." The Mad Doctor lurched to his hands and knees, "But I am the perfect one for THIS!" He flexed his chest. The red buckle charged and fired. Prescott threw his hands up. The beam struck his crossed wrists, sending him smashing through the throne room doors.
"PRESCOTT!" Mickey and Oswald cried.
"I WILL NO LONGER BE DENIED MY REVENGE!" The Mad Doctor roared, angered that his moment of triumph was soiled by these interlopers. He dug the remote out, aiming it square for The Blot and no one else. "FOR THE LAST YEAR I SPENT HOURS, DAYS, AND WEEKS OF MY LIFE TO BRING YOU TO LIFE! I WILL NOT ALLOW MY CREATION TO GET AWAY WITH DEFYING ME!"
"You jest, Doctor." The Blot groaned. "For without me, nothing you've achieved would have been possible."
"Keep that delusion." The Mad Doctor prepared to press the button. "It will be your only company.
"NOOO..." Oswald tackled The Doc, wrapping his arms under his.
"HEY! GET OFF!"
"HAA!" Mickey clamped onto his waist, wrapping his legs to the Docs. The Mad Doctor lost his balance toppling to the ground. The remote flew out of his hand, stopping by the smashed in door.
"NO! GET OFF ME!" The Mad Doctor twisted and rolled, wrestling the two rodents with remarkably grips. He stabbed at them wildly with the spider legs. The sharp ends breaking the floor with each strike. Oswald would weave one way and Mickey the other. The legs grazed them, but missed every time. Mickey hammered a fist on the leg joints. Oswald drilled his ears in The Doc's head. "YOU ANNOYING WRETCHES!" The Mad Doctor hovered all for points over the two.
Panicking, Mickey scrambled up the Doctor. He flipped the brush end up and jabbed the stick straight into the red core. The Mad Doctor screamed. Busted circuits flailed out of control, electrocuting him inside and out. Mickey and Oswald bailed, ducking behind the only tact statue, of Walt Disney, left. The Blot curled away. The Mad Doctor's agony didn't last. The surge traveled up the legs, then it died with a hiss. The Mad Doctor released a relieved breath, sinking limply. The spider legs fell limp around him. Mickey and Oswald cautiously poked their heads out. The Mad Doctor lied collapsed, too worn out to breathe.
"You...think...you've...won?" The Mad Doctor wheezed between labored breaths. "I've...still...got...my..." The moment was once again stolen. The Mad Doctor only realized now that he no longer had his remote. "Where...?"
"Over here." Prescott dusted pieces of door, standing beside the remote. He lifted his foot.
"NO!"
Prescott stomped the remote in the ground, shattering it to pieces. The Mad Doctor fell into horrified dismay as tiny whirls were heard powering down.
Thinner flooding The Blot came to a dead halt. The Blot waited a moment, comprehending the passing, searing pain that had been torturing him nonstop the last few minutes. He stared in awe of his palm, curling and uncurled his fingers. The ink had yet to firmly reapply itself, but was no longer falling off. Strength gradually returned to his slumping limbs. He lifted his planted hand, shedding molten ink, wriggling talons of a new hand. He grinned triumphantly, chuckling as he stood, parted from his shed ink. He stomped staring straight, refashioning a pair of knees. He was on the mend and ready to fight. And soon The Mad Doctor will be the one writhing in agony, only after The Blot is done pounding him into a fine paste.
"You have my thanks, Prescott." The Blot bowed at the hip. "You shall perish swiftly, and without suffering." Prescott curled a defiant fist, daring The Blot try. "As for the rest of you..." Oswald, Mickey, and The Mad Doctor staggered. Pillars touched their frozen backs. "I fully intend to savor your scream as I claw what little life lingers." The Blot closed his eyes, spread his arms, and drew in a deep, slow breath. As air filled his rehabilitated lungs, tempering an ominous green aura glow to pour from his solidifying shape. Wiry slips of ink spiraled his ankles and up his legs. Streams wove in criss-cross along his arms, pouring into his shoulders. The Blot released a drawn out breath, exhausting a green, gasy mist coating his body. Sinking muscles inflated, thickening as the power pulsing through his veins returned.
Ears contorted into curved horns. His lips parted in a nasty grin of razor sharp teeth. The glow in his eyes grew brighter. The crown he so favored bubbled from his scalp, capping his glory. A long flowing cape descended from the newly reforged armor capping his shoulders and chest. Gauntlets, leggings, and the trident - The Blot threw his head and arms to the sky, howling in a fit of glorious laughter. Nightmare King was, again, reborn anew.
"AHH, YES! HA-HA-HA..." The howling laughter echoed off the walls, vibrating the floors. Prescott, Oswald, Mickey, and The Mad Doctor mistakened the vibrations for the shaking in their legs. "Oh it never ceases to curl my toes or send chills rolling down my spine." The Blot lost himself in the ecstasy. To return to full strength after having one foot in his sure to be shallow grave. It felt even more euphoric the second time around. "And now..." The Blot purred, reaching for behind his back, "To finish the lot of you-Huh?" He was grasping at air. "The spellbook! Where is it?!" He frantically searched himself and the ground, swatting the ink mounds.
Cecelia's spellbook. Prescott and the group gasped in their minds. It just occurred to them. Cecelia's spellbook contains not only powerful spells, but also a guide to properly cast them. The Blot has undoubtedly been studying during the time he's had. But his magic pales to Cecelia's without it. Prescott and the others started to adamantly looking for Cecelia's spellbook. It was a long shot, but having the book just might even the odds. Where did it go?
"Ahem. Looking for this, Master."
Prescott's heart skipped a beat. That sarcastic, obnoxious trill brought warmth fluttering to his chest. All wide eyes shifted toward the throne. The sought after spellbook dangled mockingly by the throne; Cecelia seated comfortably on her victory. And looking healthy to boot. Fresh skin aged over the seared patches, sewing her ragdoll form to its original mint.
"CECELIA!" Mickey and Oswald cheered. Prescott cupped his chest, wanting to breakdown in sobbing joy.
Her smoothed cheeks stretched into a bold, sinister smirk made The Blot curdle. Her sunken cheeks were back to their soft, plushy texture. There was a glow about her. A thirst for vengeance She was ready for a long fight coming.
"Cecelia..." Prescott whispered her name. The adrenaline fueling his stunted body finally ran its course, crumbling him to his knees under the overwhelming joy tingling him. "Cecelia…"
"Hey, Prescott. Sorry for lounging around." She winked.
"That's...that's okay." He sniffled. "I'll take it out of your check." He smirked.
"Oh? Am I getting paid now?" She and Prescott playfully scrunched their noses. It felt good to share some funniness again.
"HOW...DARE...YOU!" The Blot roared. Cecelia's smile faded to a hateful scowl. The Blot shook the Throne Room trudging to her, boring dark, green eyes into the feline usurper. "How dare you take what does not belong to you!"
"That should be my line!" Cecelia stood brazenly on the throne, clipping her book on her hip. "Nothing - ABSOLUTELY NOTH-ING - in Wasteland belongs to you! Yet you claim it as if you have some right to it!"
"It DID once all belong to me!" He frothed at the mouth. He snuck a glimpse at Mickey. "That clumsy mouse spilling the thinner that caused the disaster which created me!" Mickey sunk in that shame. He will never live down what he had done. "For a long time I ruled this land. Even if that foolish rabbit trapped me in a bottle, my influence reigned supreme!"
"Notice the use of past tense! Meaning your time terrorizing Wasteland ended long ago!" Cecelia spat. "Mistakes gave you life, granted you power! Everyone - including me - has to live with that!" Oswald hugged his elbows, bearing that shame as she spoke. "But it'll rot us to the core if we allow your reign to continue!"
"What makes you think you have a say in the matter?" The Blot laughed. He drew a hand back. Lightning surged between his fingertips. He thrust the hand forward, sending a stroke of lightning crackling. Cecelia knit her brow, vanishing in a puff of smoke just as the lightning hit the throne. A small graze split his cheek. The Blot narrowed his eyes, rolling them to Prescott and Company. Cecelia stood amongst them. Prescott, Oswald, and Mickey kept hands to her, protecting her. Nevertheless The Blot smiled. The same graze was on her cheek as well. "And therein lies the rub." A wafting green glow emanated from his body. A similar glow resonated from Cecelia in tandem. Prescott, Mickey, and Oswald sneered at the leash. The Mad Doctor grit his teeth. "Regardless if you broke free of my control, your fate still rests in my hands! My pain will be yours! My death means yours!" Cecelia huffed through her nostrils, touching two fingers to her forehead. "By their own weakness, I will forever be allowed to lay siege to this land, and none may-" A bright yellow dot shined at the spot between her forehead and fingers. Another appeared on her chest, stomach, and shoulders. The tops of her palms, the tops of her feet, her knee caps, and on her waist. The same points showed on The Blot. He studied them frantically. "What...what is this?" Prescott wasn't sure why, but he was smiling in eager anticipation.
"By these threads our fates are bound; Pain and death, our bodies resound!" Cecelia chanted over The Blot's cursing. Cecelia's eyes opened, lit up by a white light. She swept the two finger forth. Flashes of energy traveled invisible threads, connecting Cecelia by the lit up point. "Cut the ties and sever the link, return our states to before the brink!" The flaring energy wrapped to The Blot's body, snaking from his neck to his ankles. The Blot roared angrily. Each time he tried to rip the ties or swat them away, the ties cut into him. Cecelia not receiving the same injury infuriated him. Energy gently coated her, rising calmly like flowing water. "Dimitte discute!" (release and dispel). A simple swipe of the fingers through the air; the threads binding Cecelia to The Blot snapped. The Blot clamped his chest, as if something broke in his chest. The threads and residual energy lifted from Cecelia and The Blot as tiny, fluorescent orbs, disappearing into thin air. Cecelia puffed her bangs, smirking proudly.
The Blot just stood rooted to his place, mouth and eyes gaping in absolute disbelief. His chest inflated and sank with long, hollow breaths. There was a place deep inside him that was reduced to a vast void. A gaping hole in his person that made him tremble. Touching his head, arms, and his stomach, The Blot tried to rationalize why he felt sickeningly light. Weak. Feeble. The cape was on his shoulders. The crown on his head. Armor emphasising his command still dawned him. Absent of his sense he took his nail and ripped a cut in his cheek. He glanced at Cecelia who was being closely monitored by her friends. The cut never appeared.
"No…"
"Yes!" Cecelia snapped. She lightly ran a finger over her cut, zipping it closed. "You've lost a puppet and shield all in one day. Stinks, doesn't it?" She wriggled her brow.
The Blot bowed his head with a growl, obscuring the brewing humiliation looming over that crown. Cecelia standing there, mocking him, disparaging him as he drowns in consecutive failures. The piling rage bounced his shoulders uncontrollably. His fists curled so tightly his talons drew green blood.
"This discourse has lost its charm." The Blot languorously extended the trident. Black wind spiraled the forks. Cecelia bravely stepped ahead of the guys. Her spreads arms created a small barrier between The Blot and her friends. "A death was expected. ALLOW ME TO GRANT THE FAVOR!" The Blot twirled his trident up and around, forging a torrential circle of wind. He slid one foot forward. He swung the trident with all his might. A black, crescent shaped wind shrieked across the throne room, slicing air and marble clean. Cecelia planted her spread feet, throwing her glazed hands up high and down low. Glazed glitters conjoined as a shield. The wind met the shield head on, the razor edge grounding shrilly, sending hails of white ribbons bursting in every direction.
Prescott, Oswald, The Mad Doctor, and Mickey threw their arms up, pushing in retaliation of the fierce backlashing current. Cecelia never faltered. She dug the ball of her feet, overlapping her palms as she pushed. She stared the unabating attack down, impassive of the intensity gusting her white locks, ethereal light reflecting in her crimson orbs. Her arms waned under the enormous pressure, elbow bending as it intensified. Her brow knit when she felt her shoes slide. Steam burned her palms. The Blot's power had grown in a short time.
Cecelia spread her arms open. The shield widened with them. "DEVORO!" (consume, absorb) She wove her hands, crossing them at the forearm. The shield folded and wrapped the wave, shattering it to a fleeing breeze and The Blot's confidence along with it.
Prescott, Mickey, and Oswald gaped utterly amazed. The Mad Doctor kept his back pressed in a corner, trapped in fear of being caught in the crossfire. Revived from the brink of death barely 10 minutes and Cecelia hadn't lost a single touch. A clever retort for a violent insult - magic style.
The Blot touched the trident to the ground, locked in a flood of disbelief. The shriek of his attack still rang in his ear. Its speed and ferocity still fresh in his mind. He must have poured more than half his strength into that blast. With a simple wave of her hand, that prepubescent feline repelled it.
Although, Cecelia seemed off. Prescott couldn't quite put his finger on it. She should be lit up like a Christmas Tree with joy. Some sort of satisfaction for beating The Blot at his own game. Instead, by the harsh sheen in her eyes, she was furious. An expression Prescott was appalled she knew how to wear.
"This...cannot...be possible!" The Blot snarled venomously. "I am The Nightmare King! My power...IS IMMEASURABLE!"
"No. My powers are immeasurable." Cecelia retorted, void of emotion. She lifted a hand to chin height. "The children who perished at my hand know this all too well." The children...who perished? A wafting beige mist shaped fingertips to wrist, outlining her brimming hatred. The same thought echoed in the heart of Oswald and Mickey's quickening hearts. They simultaneously glanced at Prescott who hung his head in shame. "You're just an ink stain with a god complex."
"CE-CEL-IA…!" The Blot roared her name. He held his trident outward, charging headlong in a sprint. Cecelia's knit brow summoned a beige glow to her eyes, igniting from the very pores of her skin. She stiffly curled her fingers. The Blot stopped his charging. He and others gawked in terrified awe.
"No mercy for the forsaken! Allow the shrieks of heaven to sunder the land!" She tossed her hands to the ceiling. Wind flocked around her arms like lightning to a rod, filing in her nostrils as she drew in a prolonged breath. She closed her hands, parting her lips to reveal swirling streams. The Blot lifted the trident for pitiful defense, stepping back. "MORTIBUS CLAMARE...!" (Deaths cry) Cecelia screamed at the top of her lungs. Prescott and the others clamped their ears, dropping low to lessen the shrill. Skulls and wind flew from her mouth, morphing her scream into a disembodied wail.
The Blot lifted the Trident defensively in a panic, planting a flat, Saturday palm to the staff length. Moaning, stormy winds whisked by. Their chilling streams grazed him, tearing what lied beneath his skin. Eating at that void. Hollow, abyssal skull closed their razor tooth jaws, plowing hard into his armor. He winced as he was pelted back. The skulls were like meteors. His armor bent and cracked, repaired itself, only to be cracked again.
"IS THAT ALL-" The Blot's taunt hitched in his that.
Cecelia drew in one last breath, consuming black flurries of mist. That very mist flushed over her eyes. A thin sheet highlighting her unrelenting rage followed by the blackened fury flaring in the corners. She stomped forward, cracking the ground. She locked on The Blot. He wavered.
Die! Cecelia unleashed an intense despaired wail, releasing a black, grim reaper of a skull. Prescott, The Mad Doctor, Oswald, Mickey - in absolute amazement they watched the ghoulish spell open its mouth. The transparent head unable to obscure The Blot's defeated dismay.
The skull was upon him. The Blot dropped his trident. When the mouth closed on him, The Blot felt nothingness crush him. And it was powerful. She...is powerful.
The shatter of a window broke everyone free of their trance. Fresh air caressing their skin a welcomed blessing. But still. What remained of the throne was spared, but the wall surrounding the window was broken with it. And The Blot was nowhere to be seen.
"Ugh..." Any strength Cecelia had went with that last attack. She wobbled dizzily, falling for the ground.
"Whoa!" Prescott leapt, catching her by the arms. "I've got you. I've got you." He chanted, gently kneeling to the ground. He's got. And he wasn't going to let go. Ever.
Mickey and Oswald rushed to her side. The Mad Doctor, meanwhile, stalked to the gaping hole. Strong tingles from the hole fed into his fingertips.
"Cecelia..." Oswald droned.
"Yeah?" She breathed weakly.
"Have I mentioned how amazing you are?"
"Careful." Cecelia choked in place of a giggle. "Ortensia...might...get jealous." Oswald was overcome with gee, lovingly ruffling her hair. "Hi, Mickey. Sorry for my welcome at the door."
"Not a problem." Mickey rubbed his eyes. "Would have been worse to say goodbye."
Cecelia hated she had to laugh. It killed her throat. "Ugh...my throat." Cecelia barely brushed the neck. Sore, burning pain skyrocketed. "This is...going to...suck in the morning."
"Serves you right." Prescott pressed his knuckles to her forehead, teasing her with that half smile. "Screaming at the top of your lungs like that." He lightly ran hairs from her face, cupping her cheek. "You...you really are a..." He sniffled, touching his forehead to hers so she wouldn't see him cry.
"Sorry." She touched his hand. Warmth unlike anything she had ever felt flooded into her. Any and all pain tormenting her numbed on the spot. Tears of joy trickled. "I'm...so...sorry."
The Mad Doctor was astounded, transfixed by the cliff fall drop to a sea of thinner. The whistling of the wind tickling his ear. "Incredible." He murmured. "Simply...incredible." A black spark trickled past rocks. He hummed pensively, wondering if he's seeing things. The clouds... The Mad Doctor rumbled. The clouds were rumbling.
Hurried footsteps echoed beyond the broken throne room doors. Oswald and Mickey prepared to attack. Ortensia and Gus jumped through the hole, gasping at the sight greeting them.
"Ortensia?!" Oswald cried.
"Gus?" Mickey's jaw dropped. Though seeing them confirmed Wasteland was in a better state than earlier, it bothered them that they were at the castle. It could still be dangerous.
"Oswald!" Ortensia cheered.
"Mickey, old boy! Prescott!" The two rushed to over to the relaxing trio. "We are happy to report that-" Gus stopped a moment. His mouth dropped, and Ortensia's eyes lit up like stars.
Prescott helped Cecelia weakly wave at them. "Hi, guys."
"CECELIA!" Ortensia threw her arms around Cecelia. Gus rested a hand over his aching heart. "Cecelia! Cecelia! Cecelia, I'm so happy you're okay!" She wept. "You're okay."
"Ortensia...can't breathe...ouch!" Cecelia was turning blue.
"OH! I'M SORRY! Its just..."
Gus placed a hand to Cecelia's, squeezing it tight. "You had us scared." He summed Ortensia's sorrow. "We thought we were going to lose you."
"Sorry for the scare."
"Where's The Blot?" He snarled.
"Dissolved by now." The Mad Doctor announced. He noted the hostile stares and proceed to speak. "That gaping hole marks where he fell. A little white haired cat had to..." He twisted a finger in his ear, "Loudly vent her grievances." Cecelia grit her teeth at him.
"Wait. Then..." Ortensia glanced shocked at Cecelia's chest. "What about Cecelia's heart?" Everyone paused with realization. In all the commotion they had forgotten that The Blot absorbed Cecelia's heart. Cecelia touched her chest. No beating. Just an empty space.
"Looks like Wasteland gained a new resident." The Mad Doctor chuckled. "Without a heart, My Dear, you can never leave Wasteland."
Cecelia's stomach twisted. She couldn't believe it. "Grandpa..." Mickey was able to relate. When he lost his heart, he worried that he'd never see Minnie again. Cecelia and her grandfather only had each other. The poor girl. Loss creeps up on her hand she's already down.
"We'll figure something out." Prescott promised. "Right now," He cradled her bridal style, rising to his feet, "Let's get back to town. There's a sundae with your name on it."
"Extra sprinkles...?"
"Whipped cream and a strawberry on top." Cecelia's tired eyes lit up. She cuddled to his chest, curling her fingers to his suit. Her cheeks flushed red. Prescott blushed, holding her closer.
"I can't believe it." Mickey groaned, sauntering for the door.
"What?" Ortensia arched a brow.
"After all that, they won't seal it with a kiss." He slumped with disappointment.
"I agree." Oswald chimed in.
"Have they not been through enough without us hassling them?" Ortensia scolded. Mickey and Oswald shied. "Besides, they both know how the other feels." She winked. Mickey, Gus, and Oswald held a healthy dose of skepticism. But looking at the two, there was no denying Ortensia's claim.
Oswald and Mickey began pushing the door open when an odd odor caught Cecelia's nose. "Anyone else smell something burning?" The Mad Doctor stopped in his tracks, gaping in dread.
Mickey and Oswald opened the doors halfway. Flashes of smoldering orange and red threw them off their feet. Gus and Prescott pulled Cecelia and Ortensia back. A monstrous blaze consumed the whole hallway, feeding from a blown hole in the floor, and traveling from either side.
"This must be what we saw from the garden!" Ortensia gasped. She and Gus used another way to reach the Throne Room, dodging the fire.
"How did this happen?" Gus snarled. The Mad Doctor turned his back.
"Who cares! We need to get out of here!" Oswald searched for an alternate route. No way he, Mickey, or Cecelia could fight it.
"There is a way past that tapestry." The Mad Doctor ran to it, showing them the way he took. The unison stares spoke loud and clear. 'That's how he got up here.' "Can we hurry?" He stressed, annoyed by the stares.
"Yeah..." Cecelia wriggled her way to the floor. Prescott kept firm support by her arms. Her cat ear were outlined by a green light. "Curo." She flapped the ears, sprinkling green dust her beaten body, head to toe. Superficial marring healed. The pain certainly numbed. And Cecelia was sure her legs were drums rather than lead. The very least she'll be able to walk. "Let's get going."
Prescott nodded, but still kept Cecelia in arm's reach. Oswald and Ortensia went first. Mickey would bring up the rear, keep an eye on The Mad Doctor. Gus went next. He couldn't wait to get back home. Cecelia moved to enter the narrow way.
A black tentacle wrapped to her ankle. "YAH!" Her foot was yanked right out from under her. The marble was murder meeting her chin. Her stomach slid in a fury over the ground.
"CECELIA!"
"PRESCOTT!"
Prescott, Gus, and Oswald flew after her. The tentacle dragged her erratically. Oswald and Prescott collided zigzagging into each other. Gus got a face full of floor. She clawed and slapped at the floor in vein. The gaping hole in the wall was coming up fast. Oswald made a last ditch dive. Cecelia reached for him. Their fingers so close to touching. Cecelia was snatched up, leaving Oswald to crash land right on the plummeting ledge.
The tentacle dragged Cecelia down. The Thinner sea crashing against rocks hissing hungrily for its next victim. Gus and Prescott caught Oswald, driving him to a headlong dive. Mickey kept Ortensia back. They were on their own for now.
xxx
The tentacle released Cecelia's ankle some point during her fall. Jagged rocks amid the thinner seashore flashed her life before her eyes. I don't remember doing that... She mentally groaned. It didn't help in the least. This is far from how she imagined she'd meet her mom in the next life.
Death's door would have to stay closed for a while longer. Out of the corner of her eye Cecelia spotted an oncoming cliff. A messy collision with dry rock counted as a blessing. Cecelia flipped her feet to the horizon. "VENTUS!" With a buck of her feet a gust of wind launched her sideways. She twisted around to the oncoming cliff. "Ventus levate!" She swung her hands. Wind erupted in a vortex, parachuting her to a gentle landing on her hands and knees. She wasn't the number it was, but having her body feel like jelly was starting to become a norm. Oddly comfortable too.
"And it is rumored black cats are unlucky." A chortling voice shredded her insides. "Perhaps the white hair counters the superstition." The world blurred and focused. The fall left her shaken. But The Blot moseying casually made her want to dig her own grave.
"I poured everything I had into that." She stated, shaking in her place.
"How the mighty have fallen." The Blot mocked, stopping a short distance. The shadow he cast loomed over her, clinging like death's vale. He was still standing before her. Bumps and chinks, but the picture of health. On the surface. "While impressive - I don't know - your wind felt weaker to the fires in the attic. Grown fond of your master, have you?"
"So much it's making me nauseous!" Cecelia practically sprinted to get on her feet, getting light headed along the way. She paused spying her beating heart trapped in his parting chest. It went beyond words how infuriating it was to have a piece of her inside him. "I want that back!"
"Want what?"
"GIVE ME MY HEART!" She roared over the crashing waves.
"I thought Prescott was in possession of-" A yellow beam grazed his cheek, exploding on the rock wall behind The Blot. He ignored the green blood trickling, glaring at Cecelia's strobing hand. Her crimson eyes as sharp as knives.
"I won't ask again!" She growled.
"No. You won't. Ever again." The rocks rumbled. Jet black ink pooled at Cecelia's feet. The second she looked down tentacles sprouted, constricting her head to toe. She cursed at The Blot, demanding amongst grunts to be released. The Blot chuckled and waved a hand. The tentacles molded together. Her shoes, scaling to her legs, hips, and beyond - a suit of black ink gradually swallowed her. The world being engulf in darkness...again.
xxx
A vase shattered on a stone marble floor. Water and yet to bloom forget-me-nots spilled. Yensid stood petrified. His hands shook uncontrollably. He lost feeling from tip to wrists. More so, that sick feeling that has been rattling him for the last couple of days made his neck and shoulders ache. On instinct he turned to the Wasteland model. Despair emanated like a dome around it.
"Cecelia…" He mumbled. He could not fathom what he was sensing. Cecelia was welling with power, while at the same time she was waning.
Yensid rushed to the table. Placing his hands to the edge, he leaned over the world, attempting to locate Cecelia's exact position. Unfortunately, his current perspective only gave him the model view. Any movements within were greatly obscured. Nevertheless his granddaughter was in danger. She was fighting...but was growing weaker by the second.
Yensid slumped into a rocking chair. He squeezed the arms, nervous of what he would discover should he intervene. I will not abandon her to her fate again. Releasing a deep breath he closed his eyes. It only cost him seconds before he finally relaxed in his anxiety. Deep sleep draped to him, slipping him into a sort of trance. "Somnus itinerantur!" (Sleep Travel) He uttered. His very workshop, warmed by the fireplace, shattered like glass, leaving Yensid rocking in a dark abyss. He opened his eyes and rose, abandoning his corporeal form behind.
"Hold on, Cecelia. I will be there soon." He declared. Hopefully he would not be too late this time around.
To be continued.