"Have you ever actually used one of those things before?" Wilson asked, cautiously joining Maxwell some ways away from the camp site. He didn't like the way the gem was glowing - plainly put it shouldn't have been able to glow like that without some external light source influencing it, but there was nothing. It gave off its own eerie, impossible light, and didn't sit well with Wilson in a number of ways.

"No," Maxwell said curtly, "But I created them. If you think I don't know how to use my own creations, then we don't have to retrieve Winifred…"

Wilson pressed his lips together in a tight line. He knew it was the same kind of blatant manipulation that Maxwell thrived on, but he knew it was a fair point. Maxwell was the only one who knew how to traverse this island without running the gauntlet over and over, hoping to survive her onslaughts long enough to reach the throne room, where her control diminished. It was evident that she didn't trust Maxwell - and now, she barely trusted Wilson - and the scientist had the feeling that if she were to catch wind that they were trying to reach her in the throne room through any traditional means, she would pull out all the stops to stop them.

He glanced over his shoulder, giving his experiment one last hopeful look before he scooped up the backpack that held their supplies, slinging it over one arm as he shrugged it on. He knew what the underground was like now; he knew how to prepare. Provisions and light were his two main concerns when stocking for the trip, but he couldn't help but worry about the little inconvenience of being violently murdered last time he'd been in the throne room.

He didn't know how to make the amulets that Winnie had - he wouldn't know where to start, honestly, despite the abundance of red gems and gold that he'd gathered to suit Maxwell's needs while building the portal. He knew that the gems and the gold were two key components to the amulets, but how to make a shiny chunk of chromium and corundum unlock the secrets to reanimation of the dead was far beyond him. It sounded daft, and was hard to think about for too long without beginning to question his own sanity. He'd seen it work before - sort of. He'd actually been dead when it worked, but that was enough of a testament for him to at least have a reason to believe that it, whatever it may be, worked well enough to perhaps protect them from the inevitable killer that lurked in the shadows of the throne room.

Without Winnie's knowledge of how to craft such an object - and for some reason, he had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't too keen on teaching him much of anything right now - he followed Maxwell away from the camp with a sense of dread lingering just behind him with every step.

He was going to go down there, and they were going to find a way to free Winnie, and he was going to die again.

It sent a shiver up his spine, just the thought of it. He had no way of knowing whether or not it would be permanent this time, but he preferred to focus on the more pleasant outcome of the three of them escaping this hellish world, and maybe finally being able to get back to his work, his home, his pursuit of the sciences… instead of rotting away in the underground for the rest of eternity.

That was considerably less pleasant to think about.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake himself from the distraction of his unpleasant thoughts, realizing he was just a moment or two away from running into Maxwell's shoulder. The other man had come to a full stop without much warning to the inattentive scientist, and Wilson had to pull up short just to avoid slamming headlong into his back.

"S-uh… something the matter?" he asked, craning his neck to look up at Maxwell.

"There's something you ought to know," Maxwell said shortly, turning back to Wilson. He stood tall over the scientist, his shoulder pushed back and gaze cold and for a split second, he looked like the demon that had leered over Wilson every time he woke up in the springtime, after a particularly bad dream about starving to death, or freezing to death, or being mauled by hounds, or merms, or the darkness… with a chill, it vaguely registered that those hadn't been dreams.

"About-" he paused, and cleared his throat, forcing his voice back to normal. "-about what?"

"Them," was all Maxwell offered for a moment. He shifted, seeming to contemplate how best to explain it to Wilson, given his… limited understanding of the island. "They're not going to be happy to see me back in the throne room. They exist in the most primal state of self-preservation, you see, so to see someone return who once sat on the throne… they won't like that. They're going to try to kill us, obviously."

"Obviously."

"It's in our best interest not to let that happen."

"I think so."

It felt odd to be agreed on something with Maxwell, even something as base and necessary as wanting to stay alive.

"Which is why you'll be following my orders once we're down there."

Wilson frowned deeply, as if that weren't what he'd been doing since the pair had miraculously made it topside. Maxwell had Wilson pinned more firmly under his thumb now than he ever had while on the throne, giving orders with the smug assurance that Wilson wasn't going to question them or argue against them. Both men knew that Maxwell's existing knowledge of Them was the only thing that would get the survivors off this island in one piece, and Maxwell fully intended to take advantage of that.

"Right. Because listening to you's never been a problem for me before," he joked sardonically, almost amused that Maxwell seemed to think it the most logical outcome. All things considered, Wilson wasn't too keen to listen to anything Maxwell had to say - even the construction on the portal was a reluctant last-ditch partnership that left him feeling unpleasant in all sorts of ways. But it was, right now, his best option.

"What can I say, pal: you're a terrible judge of character."

If there was one thing that Wilson had learned during his time on the island, it was that lightning was not your friend. There was something deliberate about the lightning here, and every time the rain picked up Wilson found himself hoping against hope that it wouldn't start to thunder. Once you heard that first roll of thunder on the horizon, it was inevitable - the lightning would find you, as ridiculous as that sounded, and it would almost always be the cause of several weeks' worth of suffering.

Whether it was an electrical strike to one of his machines or a wildfire that burned down half of his camp, there was always some terrible luck that followed close behind and electrical storm, and Wilson had learned to grow wary of lighting, which was why he wasn't too keen on following Maxwell into the middle of a clearing to act as his personal lightning rod.

Of course, it was a bit more complicated than that, but the gist of it was that the telelocator staff would somehow create a physical link between points A and B by way of lightning, much the same way that the wormholes linked two parts of the world together by… whatever it was inside the wormholes' toothy mouths. Wilson preferred not to dwell on it too long. It made his skin crawl.

Maxwell seemed certain that the telelocator staff would work the way he intended, but something still sat uncomfortably with Wilson that he should seem so eager to effectively electrocute the nervous scientist.

Indeed, Wilson thought that the smug grin may have been a touch overkill. It was already painfully obvious that Maxwell was more than happy to smite him where he stood as though he were still on the throne.

"How do I know this isn't just going to kill me? Winnie won't bring me back this time, you know, she's very cross with me!"

"Well then we'll be one scientist short on the way home, " he said offhandedly. "It'll lighten the burden on everyone, including the portal, I assure you."

Wilson swallowed thickly at the casually thrown insult. With the prospect of home so close, almost tangible, it was almost easy to forget that this was Maxwell he was dealing with. No matter if he was throned king of this place or not, he was still slimy and treacherous and cruel. "Right then. Let's get it over with."

"Do remember, Higgsbury. When you arrive, don't go wandering off. You wait for me, unless you want to be violently dismembered by something with too many teeth and a penchant for giving the dead nightmares. Capiche?"

"Capiche," he managed, his voice trying to die halfway up his throat. Maxwell had a particular talent of making even the most horrific things sound like just another fact of life, which perhaps unnerved him more than the horrific things themselves, which were fairly run-of-the-mill here on the island. All of Maxwell's creations and creatures were monstrosities. But knowing they were monstrosities was perhaps easier than thinking them any type of normal.

Maxwell raised the staff, and Wilson watched the strange little purple gem glow in an unnatural sort of way, lighting up the evening before there was a rumble in the earth, and a stinging, burning sensation through his entire body, leaving a charred mark in the grass where Wilson once stood.

He gasped, his lungs filling with air, the sensation making him realize just how long it had been since he'd taken a breath. God, his chest ached. He sat up, cradling his head for a moment as he tried to piece together what had just happened. He remembered Maxwell, and the staff, and a crack of lightning, and then blankness… and then this.

He looked up, surveying the world around him. It was familiar, and most certainly the caverns that he and Winnie had explored, what felt like several lifetimes ago. And faintly, echoing off the walls of the impossible cave, he could just make out the jaunty tune of a gramophone.

It made his stomach flip to realize, hearing the song Winnie had been drawn by. It wasn't anything particularly beautiful or captivating - in fact, it was a ragtime tune. Silently, Wilson stood, giving the cavern a wide gaze as he wandered forward, listening carefully as the music grew a fraction louder. He was certain that he'd turned off the music the last time he was in here, having moved the needle from the old disc that he was sure still spun on the gramophone.

As Wilson moved forward, another light flared to life, a strange sense of deja vu filling him as he could almost see Winnie standing beside him, focusing every ounce of her being on the pillar to light it. The ones down here lit of their own accord, he remembered that much, and carefully, he ventured out into the safe, warm ring of light.

He'd barely managed a few steps before something grabbed him, pulling him backwards into the deeper dark.

He stumbled, flailing as he tried to keep his feet beneath him, a shout trying to struggle its way from his throat before a hand clamped over his mouth, holding him fast.

"What part of 'don't go wandering off' was too hard to understand, pal?"

Wilson made a muffled sound and struggled free, trying to catch his breath. "You scared the dickens out of me! Was that really necessary?"

"I scared you, did I?"

"Yes!"

"Then it was entirely necessary. Now come on, it sounds like someone's expecting us." He moved past Wilson, ignoring the scientist's protests. He lifted the divining rod he'd plucked from the clearing they'd landed in, tuning the dials just so, making the pitch even out to a pleasant sound so much unlike the grating noise that Wilson and Winnie had listened to. It vaguely occurred to Wilson that Maxwell might not actually know where he was going. He'd spent God only knows how long down here, but he'd been strapped to that chair the whole time. It made a weird sort of sense, in a dismal way, that he wouldn't know his way around the very cave he'd been trapped in.

"You can hear it? The music?" Wilson ventured.

"Of course I can. I listened to it for three thousand years, don't you think I'd be able to recognize the tune by now?"

Wilson grimaced, not having known just how long Maxwell had been down here before he and Winnie arrived. Regardless, he was a man of science, and once a question lodged itself in his head, it was all he could do to answer it. "Winnie heard it too, when we were here last, when you were - you know. But… I couldn't hear it. Why is that?"

Maxwell gave Wilson a sideways glance, his attention largely dominated by the demanding machine in his hands, leading him in twisting, turning paths that barely made any sense - but he supposed little about this place was meant to. "The music doesn't exist in this world. It exists in Their world. Very close to one another, but barely perceivable. Your friend Winifred is a witch, correct? I daresay we perceive the world a little bit closer to the veil of shadows and magic than you do, Higgsbury."

Wilson listened to the growing sound of the ragtime music, and swallowed thickly.

"I suppose so."

There was a long stretch of silence that settled between them as Maxwell led them further, deeper into the cavernous hellhole. With every step, the music grew louder, and so did the echo of Maxwell's voice in his head. Most of what he'd said made perfect sense - he could hear the music because he was Maxwell, he'd been strapped to the chair for a small eternity and was still hardly human, a magician with a mean streak; Winnie had heard it because she was a witch, and however reluctant he was to believe in her magic, the music wasn't the first time she knew things about this world he couldn't even begin to comprehend. She'd heard whispers at the door, she'd seen the shadows at the obelisks, and she'd heard the music because she perceived the world differently than he did.

What, then, did that mean for his perception? Was he going daft?

"Say, Maxwell, suppose it wasn't just-"

"Hush! I need to concentrate. We're close, now."

Despite the question, Wilson's voice died in his throat. He suddenly realized that he dreaded the idea of coming upon Winnie, tethered to the throne as she was.

He felt a knot of anxiety in his chest as Maxwell led them further, into one clearing and out of another, before stopping them in a dense clump of trees that somehow grew down here, despite no visible sunlight.

"Okay, pal, here's the deal," he started, and Wilson already didn't like where this was going. He wasn't looking to make any deals with this man, not after the hell he'd put them through. "The throne is just on the other side of this clearing. I'll get your friend off the throne, you just worry about distracting her long enough to let me get close. Got it?"

He gave a hesitant nod, and took a deep breath. He supposed it was bound to happen eventually. He headed out first, directed by Maxwell, to walk the path set out for him by those uncanny pillars that flared to life as he drew near. They were lined parallel, each one five feet from the next at the edges of the tattered rug that stretched before him like the most dismal red carpet in the world, covering the checkerboard floor. He walked them with some hesitance, disquieted to find that the music was loud in his ears now, and as the last set lit for him, he found himself at the end of the carpeted runway.

He swallowed thickly, looking at the figure across the way. She remained slumped forward, limbs strapped to the throne just as she'd been the last time he'd seen her. He was quiet for a long time, taking the quiet moment to organize his thoughts.

She was still in her apron, was the first thing he noticed. That ghastly black dress she'd worn was nowhere to be found, nor was her hat or the shadows that had consumed her arm.

She sat with her head hung down, her messy bangs obscuring her face. It was hard to tell if she were awake, or even alive - though after a breathless moment, he noticed the rise and fall of her shoulders, and was certain of at least so much.

He swallowed the knot of anxiety that was trying to push itself up his throat, and cleared it away with a little harumph. "W-uh… Winnie?"

She froze, her shoulders coming to a stop as she listened.

"Are - are you in there?"

Slowly, she looked up, tired, blank eyes trying to focus in the dim light. She blinked several times, almost disbelieving. She tried to blink him from her vision; when he didn't disappear, she seemed to regain some clarity. "...Yeah," she managed. "Never left. Not much place to go."

There was a tremendous wave of relief that ran through him. She didn't seem mad at him, and she didn't seem to be the same person who had accosted him in the woods. A great grin split his features, despite the fact that she was still throned.

"I thought you were leaving… That's what They told me…"

"Well, Miss Winnie, quite frankly They lied. I'm not going anywhere unless you're coming with me."

It was a jarring noise, one that Wilson hadn't expected, and one that he shouldn't have been so dismayed to hear, but Winnie actually laughed. "That's sweet of you, Higgsbury." She seemed tired; he supposed not having any indication of the passage of days could do that to a person. "But I can't get off this throne. Whatever you did, I want you to get yourself topside and go finish that portal with Maxwell no matter what I say or do, understand? Just go home."

It was bewildering for a moment; he almost didn't know what to say, and in fact for several seconds he sputtered and struggled, trying to form his confused thoughts into words. "What - no - that's - ludicrous! I'm not leaving you here, Winnie, you're going to come with us!"

Winnie cringed, eyes wide as she her gaze darted back and forth, searching for whatever horror crawled in the corners of her vision. Wilson felt it too, briefly, a shudder down his back that prompted him to look over his shoulder, finding nothing but the inky blackness. He looked back to her; she shook her head.

"The Throne has to be occupied. It's Their rule, They won't let it sit empty."

"Their rules be damned! Maxwell said he knows how to get you free. He said it'll be tricky, but he can get you off the throne!"

"What? No! Wilson, They whisper about him when They think I can't hear. I brought him back by mistake and They warned me he'd come back to the throne room if I didn't get rid of him while he was still mostly mortal. He's lying to you hoping you'll help him reach me!"

The stress in her voice unnerved him, setting a black weight in his stomach. "That's - that's just Them, trying to scare you. Trying to keep you on the throne, Winnie, please try to understand. You're smarter than this, you know!"

"No! No you have to listen to me! For once, Higgsbury, just listen! I can talk to Them, I might even be able to convince Them to let you leave, but you can't let him down here! Just go home!"

"And what about you? Don't you want to go home too?"

"Wilson, I don't have a home to go back to! They burned it, they burned everything! Why do you think I took Maxwell's help in the first place? They tried to kill me! It doesn't matter, I can't go back!" Her voice tore at her throat as she struggled forward.

Wilson shrank before her rather feverish testament.

"I - I just - Winnie, I'm sorry," he managed, open palms facing the ceiling in some show of helplessness that simply didn't sit right with her.

She blinked, taking a moment to comprehend as a look of abject fear blossomed, something more concrete and involved than even the lurking threat of the shadows had evoked in her. "Wilson, you didn't-"

There was a click.

With terrifying certainty, the bindings around Winnie's wrists and ankles fell away, slinking back into the form of the throne as she fell forward.

It all happened very slowly, to Wilson. There was a split second that he realized she was free, and Maxwell had done it. There was a split second of relief, and a split second of delight that they could finally, finally go home. Head through the portal, all three of them, and finally escape this abysmal world. The throne sunk into the cold stone of the ground, and disappeared.

But in the next moment, it was like a shot had torn through him. The upbeat, cheerful music still played, though dimly, as Winnie collapsed. Her legs buckled and her head started to fall to the side as her knees hit the floor with a hard thud, jolting her body for a moment before she crashed down the rest of the way. He tried to move to catch her, but it was all too fast in his head - he barely had a moment to react before she was on the ground, lifeless.

He was suddenly very aware of his own breathing as he tried to comprehend what had just happen. She'd been freed, and died, all within the same minute. There was a strike of lightning nearby from a sky that didn't exist, a burning heat tearing across his skin as he tried to drag Winnie away from the strike. The earth trembled, and from the charred ground rose a new throne, far larger than the one Winnie had sat upon. Its back consisted of spires that jutted from the frame, sharp points that curled up towards the imaginary sky and a wide, solid base flanked on either side by great carved arms. It still shimmered and slithered with shadow, but in a way far more terrible and more purposeful than before. This throne hadn't just been pulled into creation by Them, who couldn't care one way or another what Their captive's living space looked like - no, this one was crafted, by someone with a great love for grandeur.

There was another shimmer of shadow, and the seat, to Wilson's dismay, was suddenly filled.

"Now, Higgsbury," he said with a sharp, toothy grin like a smug crocodile, "I think I owe you my gratitude."

Wilson looked up at the throned king with wide eyes, a wonderful air of fear about him - and rightly so, thought Maxwell, sitting himself on the throne like he belonged there. "You really should learn to listen to your friend, Higgsbury. She has an knack for good guesses."

He pulled Winnie closer to him - or more accurately, away from Maxwell, only dismayed to find that she was slipping from his grip. It was a horrific thing to watch, as the lifeless body in your arms, belonging to someone whom you'd watched die mere moments ago, disintegrated into dust before your very eyes. He tried to keep a grip on her, but she didn't seem to care, fading away like ash in a light breeze.

There was a haughty little humph from the throne. "Don't act so broken up about it. I think you'll find she's doing a lot better topside. Besides," Maxwell said, reaching a miraculously untethered hand out, one dark fist clutching at the air and snuffing out the pillars behind Wilson. The pathway leading to the throne was swallowed by darkness, and Wilson had nowhere to go. "You're going to have a lot more to worry about than just her, pal."

Wilson felt a familiar tearing in his chest, like a bullet ripping through him, and all at once the world ceased.