A/N: Hello lovelies! Welcome to any new followers/favorites and a quick thank you to my beloved reviewers: KijoKuroi, Angel, some Guests, Assanee, Skyress1, Black Moons Daughter, thenumbertwentyseven, perfectfiresky, and Jarvis68. You all are what makes me crank out these chapters.
A couple of you guys said that this chapter was a little confusing to read, so I fixed it to make it a little easier to follow. Sorry about that! Enjoy the update!
Trick panted heavily, closing the doors of his lantern once more and taking in the carnage he'd dealt. Charred and half-melted remains of Manny's forces and furniture littered the room, now void of any signs of life except for himself. No sooner had the walls gone up between himself and his companions, the room had flooded with those glowing monsters, snapping, swinging and clawing at him until he'd reduced them to little more than fragments.
He winced as he made his way to a pewter door as it appeared out of empty air; his movements caused a healing slice along his thigh to reopen. He had to find his leannán…and Pitch, of course. He had priorities, though.
And then, he thought, when we get home, leannán and I are taking a long break from the world. Just the two of us. Gods, what he would give to be able to go home and have a nice rest, curled up in bed with Wisp tucked against him.
With a weary sigh, Trick raised his booted foot to kick open the door. "Stupid—" kick, "—fucking—" kick, "—war!"
The door finally gave way, swinging open to reveal something like a conservatory, giant glass windows showing only oblivion beyond. But in the middle of the room, Manny perched in a ridiculously delicate-looking chair, drinking from a fine china set that Trick was inclined to smash into his smug little face. But that wasn't what caused the air to whoosh out of his lungs, the fearling in his arm wriggling as terror and dread plucked at his heart.
The honor of that belonged to the familiar figure standing just behind the Man in the Moon like an attendant, waiting for orders instead of simply wringing his pathetic neck.
Wisp stared at him blankly, her eyes a glazed almost-white, her skin barely glowing. She didn't even bother brushing the moonlight-pale hair from where it floated in her eyes, her hands resting limpidly on the high back of Manny's chair.
The sight of it made Trick want to puke.
The moon-sitting mac soith just smiled. "Hello, O'Lantern. We've been waiting for you and Pitch, haven't we, my dear?"
Wisp blinked sluggishly, as though being woken from a dream, before her gaze seemed to focus on Trick, her lips curling up in a polite smile. "Yes, of course."
"What the fuck have you done to her?" He rasped, unmoving.
Manny tsked. "Come now, let's just—,"
"What the FUCK did you do?!" Trick bellowed, his fires exploding from his tattoos at the little infuriating man. Suddenly the docile figure behind the chair was between the fires and the Man in the Moon, unflinching, unblinking as the fires swept over her just before Trick ripped them back. His teeth gnashed together as he fought to rein in his temper, to think instead of charging blindly.
Manny stood, passing around the marionette Wisp had become and striding forward until he stood almost toe-to-toe with the trickster. "All that I've done is helped her see the light of things, in my own way. I'd have preferred it not to be like this, truly, but she just wouldn't listen to reason."
"Stop," the word was barely a whisper from Trick's clenched jaw, clenched because if he opened it any further he might start roaring, out of frustration and rage and pain for his beloved.
"She's so stubborn," Manny continued, as if talking about his favorite pet, expression bemused. "But then, she's so very young, perhaps with enough time under my tutelage she could become a true model for the Guardians to look to."
Something in Wisp's eyes stirred for a moment at his words, her brow pinching in confusion, and a muscle above Manny's eye twitched.
Interesting.
Trick shook his head. "I think not." Before Manny could respond, Trick decked him in the eye with all his speed and strength. A crystal ringing sounded through the air at the contact, clear and sharp, and Manny disappeared in a folding of shadows and light. An illusion, then.
Wisp's hands flew to her throat in shock, silver-white eyes wide as she stared at where Manny's illusion had stood, but her face was otherwise cold and emotionless. She didn't even speak, let alone address him, as though awaiting for a new directive.
"Wisp, mo ghrá, mo chroí, snap out of it," Trick rumbled desperately, gripping her by both shoulders and giving her a shake. "Something is deeply wrong. This isn't you, and I think deep down you know it."
Her hands folded over her heart, expression puzzled, and he watched that struggle in her eyes, the too-bright silver deepening to something closer to her usual grey. "I…I think, maybe…."
Trick shifted his weight from one foot to the other in agitation; it wouldn't take Manny long, he imagined, to either reform his illusion or to trigger some other trap. He needed Wisp back now. His treat-fire hand found hers, his warmth travelling through their matching tattoos to her, making her eyes widen in wonder. "Look at me, leannán. The Man in the Moon did something to you, can you remember what?" He murmured, stroking her darkening hair back from her face as her eyes snapped back to his.
"I…." She bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. "I know he did something, but I can't think of what."
I came to in front of my old house, ears ringing lightly and dread crawling up the back of my throat like bile. My right hand throbbed and my mouth tasted coppery. How had I—?
With a gasp I looked down at my hands, seeing only bare pinkish skin, dull without a trace of inner illumination. My hair hung limply around my shoulders, tangled but a very mundane black. My breathing hitched as I tried and failed to summon my fire, the winds, anything, my hands beginning to quake with the fear and stress.
How could this happen? Had Manny stripped me of my powers and dumped me back with the humans? No, no that couldn't be it. I thought back to what Pitch said, about Manny playing mind games, about—
The fearling.
I stared down at my right hand, turning it this way and that as I searched in vain for any trace of the mark it had left. Where had it gone?! Pitch had said it would help me with any traps, so what the hell?
Maybe I got the most cowardly fearling, I thought as I tried to remember how to breathe evenly.
Oh gods, this was bad. So, so bad.
"Focus!" I snapped at myself, hands gripping into my hips out of a need to feel something corporeal. "Pitch wouldn't lie about this kind of thing. I need to find it."
But where would an entity of fear go? Because gods I was scared, so scared and unsure, more than I had been in a long time. I was weak and defenseless without my fire, without my flight.
Just like that, it clicked, and calm washed over me. My flight. Where else in the human world had I been terrified, the most scared I'd been in my entire human life, than those last few milliseconds? Where Jack had later tried to help me get over my fear?
I held my resolve, shaky as it was, and started jogging towards the bridge.
Wisp, Trick had to admit to himself, was a wreck.
Not that she was falling apart—maybe that was the problem. But something was obviously wrong, and she was aware of it. She sat in the vacated chair, pale and numb as a porcelain doll with her hands folded primly in her lap.
Trick scrubbed his hands over his face, agitated. He hated this, feeling so helpless. But he couldn't do a damned thing about this mental-illusion fuckery. That was all the Boogeyman's domain.
"C'mon, Pitch, where are you?" he grumbled under his breath, itching his trick-fire arm. The fearling twitched under the pressure, writhing a bit and making Trick shudder.
The pressure in the conservatory changed, making his ears pop as a door appeared, exploding open. Wisp stumbled to her feet, sending her chair crashing to the floor as she bolted to the other side of the table from the door, her pale hair quaking around her. Shadows filled the room, pouring through the open doorway like ink and crawling over nearby windows as Pitch emerged, yellow-gray eyes narrow with suspicion. He glared about the room, hunting, until his gaze fell upon the altered Wisp. The sight of her made his eyes flare wide with shock, his shadows hissing with every slow step he took towards her. "Wisp, darling, what's happened to you?"
"Stay back!" She shouted, panic etched in every line of her face. "Don't come near me!"
Hurt flashed across the Boogeyman's expression, and he took another step forward, like he was approaching one of his spooked Nightmares. "Darling, please,"
A breeze swirled around her, lifting her now bone-white hair, and her erratic breaths hissed between clenched teeth as she fought with something, herself or Manny's influence, Trick couldn't tell.
"Pitch," Trick warned, watching the internal struggle playing out in Wisp's eyes as they flashed between silver and white. "Pitch, get back!"
Walls of light flashed up around Wisp with a scream of pure agony, like she was being slowly ripped apart from within. The shafts of moonlight caught on the King of Nightmares' hand where he'd had it extended imploringly towards her. The contact elicited a low growl of pain as Pitch snagged his hand back, shaking off the injury. "What has he done to her?!" Pitch snapped, whirling on Trick.
Trick just shook his head, gaze focused on where Wisp knelt in her cage of light, hugging herself so tightly he thought her bones would break from the pressure, like she was holding herself together. Her screaming faded into a hoarse sob. His voice cracked a bit as he admitted, "I don't know."
"Would you really like to know?" Trick whipped around at the gentle query to see Manny approach from thin air, coming to a stop a few paces from them. The moon-man had his hands tucked away in his little pockets, his spectacles gleaming in the light Wisp had erected around herself.
Rage simmered in Trick's veins at the sight of the little man, his tattoos warming with his anger and causing the fearling in him to writhe with discomfort.
The Man in the Moon hummed a bit, giving his head a quick shake as he ambled leisurely towards Wisp. "No, I don't think you do."
"Fix her," Trick pled before his pride could stop him, eyes trained on the way her jaw clenched with pain as though barring back another wail, her eyes again that glazed white. "Please."
"Oh, but I already have!" Manny answered without looking away from the light-trapped girl. "I've made her into what she was always meant to be. My champion of light."
"Your weapon, you mean," Pitch sneered.
The Man in the Moon let out a quiet chuckle. "Is there a difference?"
Trick had been so focused on Manny and Wisp, he didn't even notice the tendril of shadow until it was practically twining around Manny's feet like an asp, a trap waiting to spring. Manny reached out, as though to touch the wall of light between him and Wisp; Trick threw out his hand, a flash of treat-fire blossoming in front of the little man and startling him into taking a step back. Fearlings stretched out from within the shadowy snare, digging tooth and claw into the Man in the Moon as they dragged him away from her, Manny gasping in pain with each contact. The fearlings kept dragging him until the little man lay on the floor before Trick and Pitch, tendrils of shadows digging into Manny's hands and arms.
The fearlings slithered aside as Trick reached down, gripping the moon-man's waistcoat in his burning fists and hauling him up. "I'm going to ask you one more time—what did you do to her?!" Every muscle in Trick's body quaked with absolute fury as he shook the Man in the Moon, his shirtfront beginning to smolder from the heat of his tattoos.
To his credit, the pale man seemed only slightly alarmed by the fact that his waistcoat was catching fire. "Truthfully? I borrowed something of her."
Of her, not something of hers. Trick hid the shaking of his hands by clenching the burning waistcoat tighter. "What, like a part of her?"
"Nothing she needed, I assure you." Manny responded coolly, wincing as the shadows bit into his arms as they twined up towards his shoulders.
Trick felt suddenly, almost violently ill.
Pitch took over the questioning, digging those shadow claws into the moon-man until he cried out through gritted teeth, silver-tinged blackness staining Manny's white suit where the claws had pierced his skin. "And what, pray, did you take?"
Manny licked his lips, panting a bit. "When I remade her, something remained in her that I thought she would grow out of, under the proper watchful—,"
"The point." Trick growled, the waistcoat burning a little hotter.
"She held onto a shred of her humanity," the moon-man wheezed as a snarl of shadows and fear curled around his throat, "it was corrupting her, so I stripped her of it."
"Look at her." Pitch's voice oozed poison, menacingly soft. "You took more than that. You took what brought her joy, her fire for life."
"I took what made her selfish and reckless!"Manny gasped around his would-be noose. "I took what made her weak!"
Trick wasn't aware of the fact that he'd backhanded the moon-man until the ache of it bloomed through his hand and Manny spat blood to the side, like oil kissed by starlight. "You took her humanity, you absolute fuckwit! You took what made her, her!" Trick snarled, eyes spewing sparks, fire lapping at the back of his throat. "And you call Pitch a monster?"
Pitch grabbed the Man in the Moon by the jaw, turning his face to look at him. "Where is it, her humanity?"
Manny allowed himself a tiny, vile smile as he raised his hand, stained black with the shadowy remnants of his blood, and tapped at his temple once, twice.
A quiet cracking sounded from across the room, and Trick flicked his gaze over to Wisp just in time to see her cage of moonlight splinter and explode, a shard of light catching him in the shoulder and causing him to reflexively drop the Man in the Moon with a shout. Pitch dissolved into his shadow to avoid the light fragments at the same moment, his shadows flinching back upon themselves rather than hang onto Manny. The moon-man took the opportunity to flee to Wisp's side.
His bloodied hand left a streak of liquid shadow on her skin as he grabbed her by the forearm. "These two are threats to all that is good in this world. You know what must be done, don't you, my dear?"
"Yes," she rasped, Trick's heart slowing to a stop as she lifted her head, her expression chilling as she gazed mercilessly at Trick. The Man in the Moon erected a wall of light around himself, ever watchful. Snow-colored fire ignited at her fingertips as she stood, brilliant and celestial, and began stalking towards him. There was no trace of gentleness or remorse as she bore down on him with a ferocious yell, his arms coming up just in time to block the blow.
"I will not fight you, leannán." He let all of his conviction pour into his voice as he threw himself to the side, out of her direct path. "You know this is wrong!"
She gave no sign of having heard him as she whirled on him, white fire lancing out at him like a solar flare. He threw his arms up again in defense, a wall of treat fire taking the blow for him. She soared at him through the dissolving flames, tackling him to the ground. Stars of pain flashed behind his eyelids as his head cracked against the tile. As he blinked them away, he could just make out Wisp straddling his chest, her knees pinning his arms to the ground as she raised a burning fist, preparing to bring it down.
"I love you, mo tine," he said breathlessly. She scowled at him, at his lack of resistance, and her eyes flickered gray for just a moment. Trick held his breath, waiting for her blow.
Black sand blew past his head, blasting the lunar embodiment of his beloved across the room to smash against the wall of windows, cracks spiderwebbing around the point of impact as she slumped to the floor. A dusky hand appeared in Trick's line of vision and he took it, letting Pitch haul him to his feet. He felt his eyes widen in bewilderment as he addressed the Boogeyman. "You saved me?"
"We're partners," Pitch rose and dropped one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Besides, Wisp would never forgive herself if something happened to you."
Trick caught a shifting motion out of the corner of his eye, stiffening at the sight of Wisp surging back up to her feet, emotionless gaze shifting from Pitch to Trick and back. Her heavy breathing sounded through the otherwise silent conservatory as again she had that internal struggle.
"Will-o'-the-Wisp!" Manny barked, somewhere between a command and a warning, and Trick's focus swiveled to the moon-man. Manny's eyes narrowed on Wisp, eyes glowing a fierce white, and Wisp screamed again.
A wall of wind slammed into Trick before he could even register the shift in the air current, throwing him effortlessly into the wall. His breath hissed out through his teeth as his spine met unforgiving marble; it was a struggle not to immediately crash to his knees as the wind ceased, Pitch rematerializing from the shadow of the overturned table a short way to his right. Furious yellow eyes met Trick's, and Trick gave an almost imperceptible jerk of his chin towards the Man in the Moon. Go on, you know you want to, Trick thought, throwing his body into motion to avoid another flare of white flame, its bearer hurtling towards Trick.
Wisp's weight collided into him, and a burning ache developed in his side as her fires tried to sink into his skin, her hands sliding up over his shoulder and chest towards his throat. With effort he pried them away, her nails slicing into his neck as he did so, and her leg snapped out to deliver a kick to his unguarded ribs, boosted by another gale. He swerved to the side, saved by his unnatural speed, and she grabbed him by the shoulders, driving her thumb purposefully into the wound caused by her shattered wall of light before thrusting her knee into his gut and tossing him aside.
Trick didn't even have the air to groan as he crumpled to the ground on his side, arms curling around his agonizing middle despite the screaming pain in his shoulder. Ordinarily Trick would've jokingly thanked her for absolutely demolishing him, but the concept was much more fun than the actual experience.
The tile under him rumbled, snatching his focus from his impending beating by the literal light of his life and dragging his attention across the chamber where Pitch was presumably attacking Manny.
Holy fucking hells, Trick thought, choking back a gasp.
Pitch had devolved back into that formless mass of Nightmares and shadows, tendrils of fear and black sand lashing and lancing at Manny's walls of light as fast as Manny could reconstruct them. One of the thorn-like shadows had managed to snake through before Manny could recover, spearing into his side, the moon-man's pain and outrage causing the entire room to quake.
Above him, Trick saw Wisp sway, her hair dimming and flames dissipating back into her skin, her eyes rolling back as Manny released his control of her to focus on fending off the King of Nightmares. Trick struggled into a sitting position, barely managing to catch her as she fell. Her full weight slumped against him, unconscious, and Trick allowed himself a sigh of relief before tenderly laying her on the ground, smoothing her hair away from her face before joining the Boogeyman in his assault.
I doubled over, hands braced on my knees as I gulped for air, sweat soaking my back. It had taken far longer to reach the bridge than it would have in real life, like Manny could sense what I was doing; roads had been longer and steeper, and occasionally they would loop back around to where I'd started. This far into his sad little landscape it was like the bridge was made of paper, white and crisp, the surrounding trees like cardstock, like a weak spot in his mentality. Trick or Pitch must have been distracting him, or else I was sure I never would've made it this far in the first place.
"Just a little bit longer, guys," I coughed, wiping my sweat from my eyes.
Straightening back up, I cast a furtive glance around, keeping an eye out for any possible enemies, but like the rest of the imaginary town the bridge was vacant. Even where there should've been the roaring of the river below, there was only silence, though I could see the waters rushing out into the distance.
I marched on wobbling legs to the edge of the bridge, my hands just reaching the railing when I felt something shift behind me.
"I wouldn't do that, were I you."
"Really?" I asked, turning to face the speaker. "Why's that, Manny?"
"Because if you do," he answered, tone conversational as he began cleaning his spectacles, "if you give in to the fearling, you will not go back the same, if you go back at all."
"Uh-huh, and the alternative would be to, what? Stay here in your tiny mental sandbox?" I snorted, mentally swiping around for any trace of the fearling that might still be connected to me. Come on, where are you, you little shit?
"No, my dear, the alternative I offer you is peace," his voice was oddly somber on the last word, something about the way he said it causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. "Aren't you tired of the constant fighting out there? You need continue on no longer."
I backed away from him until my back hit the railing as he began to advance towards me, face solemn. "I think I'm good, thanks though."
"Truly, I wish you had taken me up on my offer earlier." A glance over my shoulder showed only the river rushing by, unfathomably dark as it glittered in the starlight. Wait. I squinted, looking again; there, balanced on the edge of the railing was a familiar obsidian knife—the same one Pitch had flipped end over end in the war room. I turned back to Manny, palming the knife as light gleamed in his hands, elongating and taking shape. "This feels like such a waste."
When the light died down, there was a scythe in his hands, silver and sterile as a surgeon's scalpel.
I felt my face blanch, my body locking up against my will as his steps picked up speed, the scythe arcing above his head. Move, move, move you idiot! The scythe began to swing down; my hands met the railing, my legs swinging over just in time for the blade to whistle through the air where I'd been standing moments ago. He let out a snarl of aggravation, his scythe shifting in a flash into a dagger as one hand reached out to grab me by the front of my shirt.
"Okay, okay, wait!" I held up one hand in mock surrender, the other clenched around the railing. "Hear me out!"
The Man in the Moon froze, that terrifying battle of light and shadows flaring in his eyes. "What?"
"Have you ever stopped to consider the fact that," the hand holding onto the rail slowly unfurled, sliding over to silently grip Pitch's fearling blade, "your recruitment technique sucks?"
His face contorted with rage, his fist twisting in my shirt to pull me towards his blade just as I drove Pitch's knife into his shoulder. He released me with a roar, and I flung myself off of the bridge before he could recover.
Please let my suspicion be right, I begged whoever might be listening as I dove towards the dark, glittering river below.
Hope soared in my chest as I neared the river's surface. What had looked like water from the bridge above was actually a writhing pool of darkness and fine obsidian granules; the closer I got, the more I could see familiar talons and eyes glinting at me from the depths. No sooner had I broken through the surface, the waves burst into black sand and mist-soft shadows. Little clawed hands I recognized as fearlings dragged me into the fathomless depths, grasping at my fingers and wrist, their claws digging into my skin as they pulled me down into the shadows with surprising force.
The void-like heart of the darkness enveloped me, fearlings pricking at me and nestling in my hair like snakes. That overwhelming aura of fear they carried sank into my every pore as the darkness became almost suffocating. The things in the dark whispered as they caressed and clawed: beloved, treasured, revered.
Darling, a familiar voice murmured in the distant dark, echoed by the fearlings.
That deep, dark part of me whispered back, yes.
The darkness receded and I was lying on my stomach with my cheek pressed to cool tile, and it felt like I'd been hit by a truck. My back flared with agony as I pushed myself to my hands and knees, taking a tentative, slow breath that scraped at my lungs and throat. I winced at the bright light of the room after spending what felt like forever in the dark, pushing back so that I knelt on my haunches. Fathomless black hair straggled around my face, and I was beyond relieved to see the markings on my hands as I used them to push the floating mass back.
"Wisp?" My eyes snagged on a familiar pair on the other side of the conservatory, especially the way Trick's shirt smoldered on one shoulder with what looked a lot like ember-blood, how is hands were stained an odd silver-tinged black.
The apprehension that filled his and Pitch's eyes scared me the most though. It was almost like…fear.
Yes, fear us, the fearling in me hissed from the back of my mind, making me shiver. I could practically smell it from across the room, cold and sharp like winter air and metallic as blood—but not from them. I took another deep breath, turning my gaze on the source of the fear.
The Man in the Moon was practically a statue behind odd walls of light, save for the way his hands shook and the way his eyes flared wide as he took in every minute movement I made. His tattered shirts fluttered with a breeze I didn't remember summoning, stained with the shadowy substance I knew to be his blood, the tears in his clothes revealing innumerable slices and gashes.
His work, our work. For you, the fearling whispered, my eyes moving of their own volition to the Boogeyman where he stood a bit closer than he'd been moments before, his expression torn between awe and veneration. 'Revered', the fearlings had called me in that unfathomable darkness.
A whisper of shadow slipped down the back of my mind in a caress as our eyes met, Pitch inhaling sharply at the contact. I rose to my feet unsteadily, knees wobbling a bit, and then they were there, my trickster and my King of Nightmares. They each took one of my hands, supporting me as I regained my balance. Subjects to a beloved queen, the fearling crooned, drawing its claws through my veins tenderly.
"Leannán?" My head snapped around to face Trick, head tilting a bit in question. "Are you back with us, mo chroí?"
I fought to remember how to form words—how long had I spent in the dark at the hands of the fearlings, again? Eons, or seconds? Ages or minutes? "Hurt?"
Trick flicked a glance at Manny, making sure he hadn't moved, "You took quite the hit when you crashed against the window, 'tis true. Do you hurt anywhere else?"
I shook my head impatiently. "Not us—you," I corrected, each husky word clawing at my already raw throat, and looked pointedly at his shoulder, the angry scratches that bled lightly around his throat.
Trick's brow furrowed. "'Us'?"
"You didn't mean to do it, darling," Pitch answered for him quietly, bringing the hand he still held to his lips.
Darling. The word, the way it was said, made my breath catch. I knew that voice from the reverent dark.
Trick had apparently decided not to continue along that line of questioning, though his eyes still looked into mine with curiosity. "Right, that moon-sitting mac soith made you do it."
Shall we punish, dearest? The fearling continued in its hushed, dulcet breaths as my gaze narrowed again on Manny. Shall we avenge our beloved?
My chin dipped a bit, every ounce of my posture turning predatory as I bared my teeth in a menacing smile, drawing my hands back. "Oh, scared little thief," I cooed, voice dripping honeyed poison.
I felt the shift in the air after the fearling did—it threw my right hand out, the one it possessed, and shadows slithered towards the Man in the Moon, shattering his defenses and spiking into his legs before he could flee for the door he'd created. A shocked laugh slipped from my lips as Manny fell to the ground with a bark of pain, the fearling in my mind preening at my slightest enjoyment.
Pitch grinned beside me, chuckling with obvious delight. "Amazing—are you honestly scared, Trick?"
"As any wise man would be," Trick fired back with a nervous laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. "Though I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm also slightly aroused.
Pitch shot him a look.
Fearlings danced like specters on the wind that picked up, carrying me towards the fallen Manny as he tried to crawl towards the door. He turned to his back as my shadow fell over him, silver eyes wide. I reached down, tangling my hand in that ridiculous cravat and hauling him to his feet. "You've been very, very bad," I scolded, my voice throaty and dark, "you locked away part of me and used what was left to hurt those I care about."
"It was for the good of the children!" The Man in the Moon tried to justify.
The fearling in me growled and fire laved across my arms, silver flames kissed by shadows, like they were tarnished. I tightened my grip on the cravat, making Manny choke a bit. "You'd have killed me in there if I hadn't gotten you first."
I saw him move out of my peripheral vision, hands coming to grab my exposed arms—to possess me again. The darkness-lined flames flared even as trick-fire enveloped me, soothing and protective as Trick stepped up behind Manny, gripping one of the smaller man's arms and snapping it like a brittle twig, eliciting a shriek from the moon-man.
My jaw clenched as I drew Manny closer, avoiding eye contact just in case he had more tricks up his sleeves. "You will never touch me again."
I threw him down to the ground, his cry of pain sending a ripple of satisfaction through me as I knelt down, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. The air gave him a boost as I hoisted him up and slammed him back into the ground, the tile around him cracking at the impact. "That's for Trick."
The shadows dug their talons into him, and the fearling's laughter scuttled along the inside of my skull in time with Pitch's as Manny was half-dragged half-thrown across the room, crashing into the little table.
The King of Nightmares clapped merrily, pacing around Manny like a vulture circling carrion as the moon entity struggled to rise. "Oh, this is going splendidly! Don't you agree, Trick?"
When he didn't respond, I turned to face the spirit of Halloween, surprised to see him tight-lipped, his eyes hard. Was he displeased? Did this display of violence disgust him?
But that was undeniably rage that boiled in his eyes, causing his tattoos to burn brilliantly. Rage and contempt—towards Manny. Trick's hands shook with his fury as he stalked to the figure lying prone on the table, boots tracking through the smears and dribbles of Manny's shadowy blood.
Manny stirred at Trick's approach, and it was hard to believe that this bloodied man in his ruined suit had seemed so refined, untouchable. Blood like ink dripped to the pale tile from his wrecked arm, seeped through the layers of his suit until it was more a dove gray than white. Flames unfurled around Trick's fists, igniting along his tattoos, and I could all but feel the fearling in me grin in anticipation as Trick grabbed the Man in the Moon by his shredded cravat.
Manny's good hand locked around Trick's wrist faster than I could blink, his eyes whirling in that hypnotic display of light and shadow as he held Trick's gaze with his own. "Listen to me, Jack O'Lantern. Wouldn't it be so much better for you to help me rid the world of Pitch Black?"
Pitch scoffed, Nightmares roiling and twisting in the dark void his shadow had become. "Really, I'd think such an act of desperation beneath you, Manny. It's a pity your beloved Guardians aren't here to see what a manipulative bastard you really are."
"Don't listen to Manny, Trick." I took a step forward, as though to reach for Trick, and a familiar silver glow caught my eye. Manny's broken arm had somehow reset in the short time that had passed, and it was his hand that held that light, the glow brightening as the light grew and morphed. A red flag wove in my mind as I remembered that same light on a paper bridge, when I'd been trapped in Manny's mind.
"I'd advise," Manny intoned, not looking away from Trick, "against moving."
My blood froze in my veins as I stood stock-still, unsure of how to react, my heart squeezing tighter with every passing second of Trick's silence as he fought against Manny's possession. I looked to Pitch, beseeching. What plan do you have for this scenario?
My heart faltered for a moment at the sight of Pitch trapped in a cage of what looked like celestial light, just barely tall enough for him to stand in. Right, no plan there.
To Trick, Manny continued, "With Pitch out of the way, there'd be no one else to vie for Will-o'-the-Wisp's affections. You might even take on the mantle of King of Nightmares, become the King of Fear itself. Imagine the Halloweens you could have with that kind of power!"
I held my breath as Trick's jaw worked to form words. "No."
"That's unfortunate." Manny sighed, "You see, Will-o'-the-Wisp, I've decided you're not to blame for being corrupted. You were introduced to these horrible influences when you were still so, so young, but someone must be punished. As a token of my forgiveness—,"
"To hell with your forgiveness!" I snarled.
"—I will let you decide who will face my retribution," he continued with a withering glance at me, "shall it be your king, or your white knight?"
Ice trickled through my veins instead of blood as I looked between Trick and Pitch. Pitch's face was frozen in a mask of indifference, but I could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the almost resignation, and it felt like a blow. Did he really think I would offer him up so easily, after everything? I clenched my jaw and gave my head a shake, my eyes misting lightly. "I can't. I won't."
The Man in the Moon hummed low in his throat. "I see. Well then," he sighed, and a dagger gleamed silver in his hand as the light fell away, "since the end of the game seems to be nearing, let me grant you what peace I can."
A roar erupted from my chest as I threw myself forward, a gust of wind catching me up and propelling me faster as Manny pressed the tip of the dagger to Trick's chest. A flash like silver lightning rippled along Manny's newly-healed arm, following along the blade and surging into Trick, and I collided with both of them as a wall of seething darkness exploded out of Trick.
Arms like iron bound in midnight velvet wrapped around my torso, crushing me to a familiar chest as I was ripped away from the ensuing blast, Nightmares and black sand grating against my arms as they came up to protect my face. I barely registered Pitch murmuring something in my ear, the rise and fall of his voice a dulcet white noise compared to the Trick's tortured cry and the snarling, howling dark mass that worked to combat Manny's light. Something terrifyingly like a scream filled the air, shrill and blood-curdling, and beyond the roiling and slashing light and shadows I thought I could just make out Trick's face, contorted with pain and concentration.
"—ling, it's the fearling, Wisp," Pitch was saying, over and over as my heart hammered in my head, thrashing against my ribcage. "It's the fearling. It's working to save him."
I pulled at his arms, some distant part of my mind amazed at his strength as I was unable to even budge his hold on me. "Let me go, he needs our help!"
"If you go to him right now, that mess will tear you to ribbons," he growled, pressing his brow to my temple as he clutched me tighter, "and that is one thing I will not allow."
I opened my mouth to argue further, but the light and the fearling dissolved as quickly as they'd erupted, leaving only Manny and Trick. The dagger was gone, vanished in the chaos. Manny looked beyond exhausted, dark circles carved under his eyes like craters on the surface of the moon and the light in his eyes faded to the barest slivers around his pupils as he stared at Trick.
I stared at Trick, too, dumbstruck. Pitch's arms were suddenly the only thing keeping me upright as I went slack against him.
Trick's face, his neck and what I could see of his chest were all bare of his tattoos. His shirt smoldered around the point where the dagger had pricked him, and had I had the energy I would have ripped the rest of his shirt away to look for any other trace of his beautiful markings. My left hand almost seemed to ache for the tattoos he had lost, my markings now twin to seemingly nothing.
Manny's bald head gleamed weakly as he shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "That amount of power should have unmade you. Instead, it looks like it's renewed you. Fascinating."
Trick looked like he wanted to be sick as he pushed back his sleeves, exposing his bare arms for us all to see the pale, unmarked flesh, the now-untainted fires in his eyes raining sparks like tears as he ran his hands over the empty skin.
Pitch released me, the apparent threat subsided, and I felt a probing, questioning rake of shadows against the back of my mind, from him or from the fearling within me, I couldn't tell which.
Manny turned to face me at my approach, expression weary and defeated. My voice was hoarse as I said softly, "I wish your focus were still intact, so that you could see exactly how monstrous you look right now."
The Man in the Moon looked unimpressed. "What would you do now, hmm?"
"You've stolen plenty tonight, from me and mine," the fearling in me coiled, tense and ready to strike, slithering through my veins and manifesting in my hand. The knife felt familiar in my grip, same as the last time I had held it on the paper bridge, but now it seemed to warm and pulse against my palm. "It's time for recompense, I think."
"Kill me," Manny warned, breathing ragged, "and doom us all."
I cocked my head to the side, bracing my left hand on his shoulder. "Who said anything about death?"
The fearling-knife sank into him just below his sternum, the fearling dissolving into him without even breaking the skin and whisking my mind with it like an eager child. It dragged me through the Man in the Moon's bloodstream, guided by my will. All was darkness and shimmering night, and then I was in the latest manifestation of Manny's mind.
The room was dark except for the moonlight that seeped through the skylight in the center of the room, illuminating the chessboard situated between two tall chairs. My footsteps echoed around me as I slowly approached the board, staring down at the decidedly uneven sides. The pieces' battlefield was so coated with black sand and crystal shards that I couldn't even tell if there were squares at all, the debris spilling off of the board onto the table, from there down to encompass the table like a protective circle. On the left, pieces made of moonstone almost seemed to glow, and just looking at the pieces seemed to remind me of the Guardians. A bit towards the middle, pawns of silver dotted the board, cast off from the superior moonstone pieces, clusters of smaller and seemingly innumerable ebony pawns forming a definitive border between the two sides. And on the far right, three chess pieces stood resolute: a knight of tarnished silver, a king made of obsidian and gold, and a queen. I stared at the queen, the obsidian flecked with silver and moonstone, like a piece of the night sky made solid.
It's me, I thought with a smirk, twisting the piece this way and that so that the silver and moonstone fragments glittered like mad.
I shifted my gaze back to the obsidian king, hand hovering uncertainly for an instant before I claimed it, a vision of golden eyes flashing through my mind when my fingertips brushed the piece's elaborate crest. Carefully, tenderly, I picked up the tarnished knight, earning a mental image of eyes like twin suns.
Somewhere in the dark of Manny's mind, something trembled and roared with outrage.
There was a shift in the darkness behind me, and I felt something slither and scuttle across my skin, making me shudder. I could see its dark arms reach around me, taking the hand that didn't cradle the chess pieces in its clawed grip and guiding it back towards the board. The fearling. "More, more!" It seethed, its voice shrill and yet sepulchral all at once. "Power earned, power taken, power all the same!"
My hand faltered over the piece that represented me, and the moonstone pieces, the Guardians that they represented. If this board was a representation of Manny's hold over everyone, if I could free them all—
Again that roar resounded from the dark, terrifyingly close, and sent a chill racing up my spine as I turned to face the sound. A trickle of what I thought might be moonlight formed in the dark, quickly growing and developing into an unstoppable tide of incandescence that seemed to obliterate any and all traces of darkness. Something in me told me I didn't want to get touched by that.
I turned my hand in the fearling's, gripping it tightly. "We need to leave, now!"
The fearling seemed to hesitate, and I looked up into the churning void of shadows that would have been its face. Its other clawed hand reached back towards the board, past the shifting, innumerable black pawns towards the queen. The moonlight from the skylight overhead intensified, the light solidifying into walls of diamond around the table and stopping the fearling short. A snarl of outrage resounded through the room, just louder than the roar of the oncoming flood.
"You don't understand what you're meddling with, child," Manny's voice echoed all around as the opalescent waters grew closer.
"No, but if it makes you this upset it has to be interesting, right?" The fearling pulled me close, its talons digging into my side as it pulled me into its self, enveloping me entirely in silken shadows as the water came within feet of us.
The Man in the Moon was gasping for air in ragged breaths when I came fully back to myself, bruises blooming like tarnish over his face, my fearling blade still poised at his midsection. I blinked, scowling, as I tried to get my bearings, the knife dissolving back into my palm. My mouth tasted like copper, a gritty substance I knew had to be Nightmare sand coating my tongue, but I didn't feel wretched for once. My body thrummed with new energies, brilliant and rich and awe-inspiring as they surged through me. I knew without a doubt that this was Trick's and Pitch's powers that I'd stolen from Manny; if I closed my eyes I could practically see them, twining through me in currents of obsidian and white-gold that looped through my veins to their respective owners and back again. I felt like I could tear the moon from the sky, like I could stir the cosmos with the barest brush of my fingertips.
If this was how I felt with two borrowed energies, how the hell did Manny feel with his ties to the Guardians and the rest of those he'd created? To me?
"Release your hold on them!" Manny demanded, the shadows pooled under his eyes shifting with his distress, expression twisting with something akin to regret. "Please, your body was never meant to house such vast amounts of power! If you don't relinquish them back to me, you'll—,"
My hands clenched reflexively, as if fisting around the chess pieces they'd held in Manny's mind. Ember blood dripped from my palms to my wrists to sizzle on the cold marble floor from where my nails had sliced into my skin. "You can't have them, not ever again!" I snarled.
The Man in the Moon was grim as he intoned, "You cannot bear this burden, my child. It will destroy you."
"I don't care what happens to me, as long as they can be happy and free from your- your contamination," I spat.
Even as I said that, I realized what he said held some measure of truth behind the furious desperation. It felt like every fiber, every molecule of my body was swelling with borrowed power, my cells over-charged. The powers were screaming for release, release they would shred for themselves from my hide if not freely granted.
This power is ours now, the fearling all but sang, dragging those imaginary fingers across the very core of my being. It was stronger now, enriched by my new ties to its original master and the endless conduit of power that flowed between us. Instead of the reedy whisper it spoke in, the voice was sure and cloyingly sweet, and I shivered as an image came unbidden to my mind of shadowy, clawed hands raked and caressed along my body, memories of my time in the reverent dark.
"Leannán?"
A warm, firm hand closed around my left fist, snapping me back to the present. Trick. The white-gold cord between us hummed in recognition, and some of the tension coiled in my chest untangled enough for me to straighten, lifting my face so I could look into his concerned eyes, so familiar yet so alien to me now.
The fires in his eyes sputtered in shock, making his grip on my hand slacken for a second before the hand slid up my arm to rest on my shoulder. "Ye gods, mo tine," he breathed, reaching out with his other hand as to brush my floating hair out of my face. The rippling strands swirled around his arm, the starlight so bright it made my hair more silver than black even as shadows like mist flowed in its wake. His fingers shook faintly as they brushed my brow, his thumb rough as it wiped away the tears of golden flame I hadn't realized I'd been crying. The air around us stirred at the contact, and the fearling in me purred at the familiar tang of fear scenting the air that flowed from the spirit of Halloween.
I pulled back from him with a start, flames of silver and gold flaring along the arm he'd held. "Trick, a-are you scared of me?"
"I'm scared of what's happening to you!" he corrected, raking his hands through his hair, filaments of shadow still clinging to the one hand. "I can feel it, you know—since you did what you did with Manny. I can feel how strong your fearling has become, how rooted the shadows are in you." He licked his lips before continuing. "I can feel how you're hurting because the power's too much."
Pitch sidled up beside me, turning me to face him with feather-light touches. His fingertips were lighter than air as they traced my face, though he deliberately avoided touching around my left eye, the one that had been leaking flames. I felt him tug the obsidian bond, and gasped as the constant flow picked up its pace and force, tearing through me with enough punch to leave me feeling raw.
The Boogeyman spared me a gentle smile as I quaked from exertion, taking the hand marked by his fearling and tugging me towards him. "We can resolve this once we've finished, hmm? Come, we've so rudely ignored our host."
Trick spat a curse. "You can't be serious—look at her, look at her eyes!"
"I am," Pitch responded coolly, glancing at him with something akin to disdain, "and she's magnificent. But I agree, we'll need to immediately seek a solution—,"
Something golden glinted at the corner of my eye, and I turned just in time to see Cupid take aim at Pitch and loose his arrow, his eyes glowing white and merciless.
It all happened so fast. A shout of defiance, a tug of fearlings and shadow, and I was standing back-to-back with Pitch instead of trapped between him and Trick. I had the barest moment to marvel at the small teleportation before the arrow hit, lancing solidly into my right shoulder. A scream of pain and outrage tore from my throat as an aching burn spread from the impact.
I staggered to the side, reaching blindly for something to support me before I could fall as the world around me became a dull roar of wind and shadow and fire, my vision blurring as the throbbing heat spread to my face.
A flash of silver arced towards me. Trick and Pitch yelled my name, the sound just barely registering as it felt like my very soul rent in two, the force of the fearling's exit propelling me back to stumble and fall on my back as the gleam of silver slashed through the air where I'd just been standing, hitting the fearling instead of me. The creature loosed a horrific scream that raked along my mind as well as my eardrums before the humanoid blur shattered.
The world snapped back into focus as the Man in the Moon stepped through the shadowy haze my fearling had become, his scythe gleaming like a slice of moonlight in his hand as he loomed over me, his eyes flashing white and shadow. "Is it not fitting, my dear, that love would be your undoing?" he wondered aloud, the scythe shifting into a gleaming blade as he knelt beside me. I let out a choked cry as he picked me up by the throat, his blade settling into the space between my third and forth ribs. "Fret not, I'll remake you later—without your unfortunate flaw."
I locked my hands around the wrist that held me, my breeze holding me aloft so I could breathe. I willed myself to move, to burn him, something, but those strobing eyes kept me pinned in place.
The blade slid forward, the tip of it just slicing into my flesh as an arc of razor-sharp obsidian snaked around the Man in the Moon's throat.
"I wouldn't do that, were I you." Manny rumbled.
"Funny," Pitch's voice was dulcet and terrifying all at once, "I should think that to be my line, but do go on."
"The moment you finish me," Manny continued, his blade never wavering from its position against my heart, "your greatest fear will become realized."
"Leannán!" Trick slid to my side, freezing as he registered the ember blood smoldering the front of my shirt. The beginnings of his tattoos sparked along the tips of his fingers as he clenched and unclenched them uselessly at his sides.
Pitch continued to speak as though nothing had happened. "Oh, and that is?"
"You'll be all alone." Pitch stiffened, almost imperceptibly, at Manny's words. "The moment I cease to exist, those that I share ties with will vanish as well. You'll have your power, but no one to gloat over it with."
"Pitch, he's lying." I wheezed, wincing as the blade sank a little deeper. "I took your piece from him, and Trick's."
"But not your own. Besides, that is not the only tie we share, Will-o'-the-Wisp," Manny corrected, shadows leaking from the shallow slice along his throat that formed when he leaned a bit too close into Pitch's scythe. "You are made from the same material as I—you're the closest thing to a relative, to a child that I've ever made."
"The mac soith is bluffing," Trick growled, but he didn't budge from where he stood.
"Am I?" Manny questioned, turning his hypnotic gaze on Trick. "Are you willing to risk calling my bluff? To risk her?"
"He's going to kill me anyway, Pitch!" I sought his twilit eyes in the seething dark mass he had become, my fingers clenching tighter around Manny's wrist to hide their trembling.
Manny clicked his tongue. "So dramatic. I'm only getting rid of the remaining human stain in you."
I swallowed hard and gave the King of Nightmares a weak smile. "Just do what you have to, okay?"
Pitch, to my shock, still hesitated, something astonishingly like uncertainty flashing in his eyes. Every cell in me still throbbed with that excess energy, that excruciating power, and in the span of one breath, a decision was made.
Pitch withdrew his scythe and the nest of shadows in me spread, cool and numbing. "I fold, just let her go."
Everyone froze in surprise, the Man in the Moon going so far as to raise an eyebrow. "You surrender, just like that?"
"Yes," Pitch's voice was hollow, weary. "Please, just—,"
"A please, even!" Manny wondered aloud, the blade in his hand vanishing in his shock. He released his hold on me and turned to peer up at the Boogeyman as Trick pulled me towards him, cradling me to his chest as he darted back several feet. "Astounding!"
A/N: Thank you all for reading! Please remember to review!