Thursday, June 8, 11:59 PM

Silence.

Mike had never been so aware of it. His job didn't involve hearing except when the animatronics came creeping toward the doors. However, the lack of sound rarely felt oppressive; his physical surroundings did a good enough job of that. Tonight was different. The quietude was a hand on his throat trying to strangle him – he could hardly breathe. It pressed down on all sides so that the only noise came from within.

He heard his own heart beating clear as day, cutting through the veil. It was slow, ponderous and steady. Mostly, though, it reminded him he was still alive. For how much longer…

Sound briefly returned as the backup generator activated. The lights hummed as they dimmed while the air conditioner sputtered. And then it was gone.

My heart's still going, he reminded himself. I won't stop until it does.

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a can of Red Bull. He never really liked the stuff, but everyone in college swore by it when pulling all-nighters. With shaky, half-focused vision, he quickly rechecked the contents: lots of energy drinks, a few piss-bottles, some snacks. He left the Walkman at home. It wouldn't help. Besides, his family knew how much he liked it. If he was to, say, mysteriously disappear, he doubted the ones responsible would be thoughtful enough to return his belongs to his next-of-kin.

A familiar pain flared in his temples, making him double over and clench his teeth. The migraines started a couple days ago and grew exponentially worse. They seemed… unnatural. A normal headache simply hurt. These felt like they warped his brain, trying to tear it apart. And since they occurred only during his shifts, the source was obvious.

With a forlorn sigh, he swallowed some aspirin. Let's see how Auric's doing tonight, Mike thought, opening the Show Stage's camera. None of the animatronics were present.

At first he thought he was hallucinating, but it seemed improbable just a minute or two after midnight. Of course, the alternative was Auric trying to storm the office, which might have been worse. His heartbeat quickened as he sifted through the camera feed, confirming his fears.

Bonnie, Chica and Freddy were clustered together in the dining area, staring into the lens with lifeless golden eyes. What's more, they were walking. For whatever reason, the monster loathed to move while being watched – maybe he thought it was sinister.

Not anymore. Instead, the three of them shambled toward his office like zombies hungry for flesh. He sat paralyzed as they staggered out-of-frame; Bonnie took one hall while Chica took the other. Freddy was about to follow when a look of remorse crossed his face. In a brief moment of lucidity, he stopped and mouthed two words before his consciousness was yanked away.

"I'm sorry."

That should have triggered some strong emotion; pity for Freddy or anger that any of this happened at all. He wanted to yell an apology of his own down the hallway. Maybe they'd hear it. The fire in his soul was gone, though. All he felt was a dull mixture of fear, anxiety and regret wrapped in a splitting headache.

…

Auric didn't pay attention to the time; his focus was elsewhere. Specifically, killing the Warden. His puppets stifled screams as they roamed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never before had he felt so frenzied and (dare he think it) desperate.

The psychic energy field around the restaurant was astonishing; even he could hardly believe the willpower required to sustain it. While this force was intended for only one individual, people driving past or on the outskirts of town might catch sudden glimpses of golden eyes and bloody teeth. His enemy would soon be awash in a sea of hallucinations wider and deeper than anything he'd ever experienced.

In fact, Auric didn't know how he'd react. Last night the Warden's behaviors were… surprising. Combined with sleep deprivation, his mind could alter in unpredictable ways. As he'd painfully learned, those changes were likely to be unpleasant. It was still his best option, though; the Warden had enough experience to keep himself alive, tired or not. The only prospect for victory was to isolate him from reality.

Of course, the unpleasant truth was that he might survive the night regardless. And then what? A shiver crawled up Auric's four spines at the notion – he had few options available.

He could threaten the Warden's life, but that would be ineffectual. The human was smart enough to know that he would already be dead if Auric could kill with anything other than his slaves' hands. Threating "Foxy", as it was called, might also be problematic. It worked once, but that was before they were so open with each other. If he did so again, the Warden would be honest, and he knew his pawn would rather die than let him sacrifice himself. Interesting how its personality has evolved recently. He wondered whether Agent Rho, the psychologist, would note higher empathy and lower aggression in its evaluation tomorrow.

Besides, Auric was bluffing. Removing any of his pieces from the board put him at a serious disadvantage in future games. He was fortunate the human hadn't seen through that deception, at least. However, it also precluded him from informing Phillip of the… relationship between the Warden and his puppet – BRIAR would likely insist on it being too "valuable" to remain under his control. They'd haul it off to some clandestine laboratory, never to be seen again.

Auric's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing coming from the office. He wasn't sure what his opponent saw or heard, but felt a fresh wave of terror wash over the building. That raised his spirits a bit. Hopefully he still has enough fear left to grovel. With renewed energy, he unleashed even more psionic power before sinking back into his own ethereal mind.

Friday, June 9, 1:26 AM 62% Power

Why am I doing this? Mike thought, only half-awake. Did he really want to prolong his suffering? It might never end.

His gung-ho attitude evaporated with the arrival of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen, waking or asleep. He longed for the innocence of blood streaming from the air vents and metal nightmares prowling the halls – those were things he could comprehend. What he'd seen over the last hour came from something not of this world: glimpses of a greater unreality. Or maybe this world was the dream, and only Auric saw existence clearly.

Agony briefly supplanted fear as his "migraine" worsened. By now it was clear that this headache was unnatural, but he couldn't tell whether Auric purposefully caused it or if it was merely a side effect of all the hallucinations. Bad as it felt, though, it took some of his attention away from the gibbering mouths on the ceiling and limbs slowly growing out of the floor. He was grateful for that.

After the pain ebbed, his head slumped forward and he stared at the melting carpet through hazy, listless eyes. Shapes and symbols formed in it a hundred times over. Maybe drifting off for a few minutes wouldn't be so bad. The nightmare would end. What was the worst that could happen? He was on the threshold of sleep when something moved at the edge of his vision.

Something yellow. And it sure as Hell wasn't Big Bird.

Slowly looking over, Mike's stomach dropped. Nightmare Chica waited in the doorway, appearing even more tattered than usual. Its chest had torn open, revealing the wires and shriveled organs underneath while it gazed hungrily at him, practically salivating. They stared at each other for a brief moment; the monster's golden pupils were usually devoid of any emotion, but tonight they contained a hint of smoldering hatred.

It wasn't real, of course, no more than the tentacles wrapped around his legs. He knew that, but had difficulty believing when it stood a few feet away. If it existed, it would have already killed me. A good point, though his fear remained. It shuffled closer, joints creaking, as he booted up the monitor for a quick sweep of the building. Everyone was easy to find – Freddy in the kitchen, Bonnie backstage and Foxy (who he felt ashamed to think about) at the end of the West Hall about to sprint. All these locations were now composed of flesh growing from the walls and floor. Shit, he thought, nearly slipping in the cold, disgusting sludge that was the floor while trying to close the door.

The nightmare blocked his path. "M-move," he stammered as bravely as he could. The thing just laughed, flecking his face with black spittle. A thought then occurred to him; he hadn't seen Chica anywhere. That meant… Oh, no. The ceiling's mouths laughed at his foolishness, and he fell back into the cilia-filled ooze. This wasn't the worst way to die, he supposed. As for crying, he had no tears left to shed. His biggest regret was that he'd never get to tell Foxy goodbye.

Speaking of which, he heard the slapping of feet on laminate rapidly approaching. She'd be there in seconds. The nightmare loomed over him, baring two rows of needle-like teeth. Time stood still as he searched for reasons to fight, no small task with the inferno in his skull. Foxy was the one that first sprang to mind; her heart might break without him. His certainly would. His family tended to be distant, but he still didn't want to leave them. He had some friends now: June, Bonnie, Chica and maybe even Freddy. All that was a lot more than he had at the beginning of this.

Oh, and humiliating Auric again. That sealed the deal.

Scrambling up, Mike closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he lunged for the door button. If the thing in front him truly didn't exist, he'd be successful. If it was the real Chica being distorted by a hallucination, well, there was nothing to lose.

The metal slab came down half a second before Foxy arrived. Enraged, Auric began pounding it and screamed obscenities in static, an action repeated by the mouths above him. He returned to his seat without a second thought, a little colder than he was before.

…

Die!

That word stayed at the front of Auric's mind, his response to the Warden's every move. It was a simple concept; even an animal could understand. Not this man. No matter how many times he heard the command, whether it was spoken by bodiless mouths or Auric's playthings, he refused to obey. But why? The purple and brown puppets simultaneously snuck toward the office, giving Auric a minute to assess the question, because he was genuinely puzzled.

What did the Warden have to live for? Family: inconsequential. Friends: temporary. Love: doomed. Revenge: pointless. These things might have held validity were he not fated to die. That was life's universal flaw regardless of when, where and how it developed. It was so brief, so insignificant. Ultimately, it amounted to nothing. Phillip enjoyed a song about existence being "dust in the wind", and Auric agreed completely. If a single life lasted a billion years, perhaps he'd reconsider snuffing it out.

That wasn't how the universe worked, though. Things were born before they aged, withered and died. Even his four servants followed this pattern, yet they were made of sterner stuff than anything natural. Still, they could live only a thousand years at most before their synthetic bodies failed, as all things eventually did. All things except him and a few others who existed beyond mortal understanding, beings of pure mind and spirit. They alone would inherit eternity and reap its bounty. At the end, only they and their desires mattered.

The Warden was intelligent; he should have seen that Auric was his superior in every regard. What right did an ant have to think itself better than a human? None! Yet he floundered forward, unable to grasp that, sooner or later, his deeds would come to naught. The issue was that, like most humans, the Warden feared death. He found survival better even when hurting and afraid. While this problem plagued every night guard since 1988, it affected him the most.

1988… hmm. Something about that year suddenly seemed so important that it interrupted his meditations on fate and infinity. Auric's brief lapse in concentration caused one of his pawns to stumble slightly. As expected, the result was a prompt door-slamming. However, he was too focused to care. There was a person as well. They go together. Then it came to him. Jeremy Fitzgerald. That name cropped up in several of the Warden's recent conversations, including the talk he had with Phillip a few hours before. He was a mechanic, a would-be vandal and apparently familiar with Fazbear's "unusual" operations.

And he was also the First Warden.

How could I have forgotten? Though much work was still to be done, Auric could never resist reliving earlier triumphs, especially with the current game going so poorly. The slaves temporarily ceased their operations and awaited new commands. Though he didn't kill the First Warden, he still considered himself the victor of their fight. It confirmed that his game was everything he wanted: intricate, exciting, unique, and, most importantly, rigged in his favor. He truly would have won if he wasn't a novice, himself.

It also proved Phillip to be useful. Certainly not as a partner, but he wasn't a complete buffoon. Despite his utter lack of management skills, he was more than capable of keeping suspicion away from the restaurant – no small feat when dozens of his employees had "disappeared" over the years. The Cascade Mountains were dangerous to travel after dark, as he told so many grieving families. One could easily swerve off the road, and the thick woods made finding any trace of them difficult.

Anyway, he was glad the First Warden was still around. The man undoubtedly still had nightmares about him. Although I remember him breaking the red pawn's jaw. He could have done without that. Other than him, there had only been a handful of survivors over his game's long and storied history, and none (save the current one – temporarily) in the last five years or so. Many of them were likely dead or insane.

But I digress. He should have been concentrating on actually winning.

A scream so loud that all of his bodies heard it echoed through the dim building as if in response. Not a scream of terror, but one of pain. Auric laughed with four mouths, sounding like an old radio in a woodchipper. Maybe his enemy was too stubborn to die, but he'd suffer regardless.

3:40 AM

The pain was both indescribable and obscene. Mike's vision spun while his head throbbed in rhythm with his heart. He could scarcely think through the screaming static, but tried to tell himself that the tentacles and teeth tearing at his body were not, in fact, real. If they were, he'd have died an hour ago. How foolish he was for lamenting the silence at the night's beginning. There was no danger of him falling asleep, at least.

Digging his nails into the chair, he stared at the computer screen. The screen stared back. Amazing how a simple monitor could be made horrifying with the addition of fleshy, bulbous eyes growing across it. One blinked; Mike fought the urge to vomit as something akin to a giant lobster claw grabbed his right arm.

Before now, he mostly regarded Auric as a demon – a creature attested to by many religions, including his own, that existed to spread evil and misery. The sensations assaulting his eyes, ears and flesh made him reconsider. While "demon" still seemed an apt descriptor, he was more akin to the eldritch terrors of Lovecraft or King. Ancient, enigmatic, inhuman, less concerned about human suffering and more on their own inscrutable pleasures. Mike bit down on his lip and told himself to keep quiet. He wouldn't give Auric the gratification of a scream.

Tearing his arm from the pincer's grasp felt like running it across a saw. It's not true! It's all in your mind! he thought through gritted teeth, but his sensory neurons begged to differ. Even the rational parts of him had second thoughts. After a few excruciating seconds, he was free. Hot blood trickled from a gash going straight to the bone. Though there were tears in his eyes from the pain, he smirked. His entire arm would be useless if this really was happening, but he could move it just fine.

The mouths on the ceiling began to shout again as he grabbed a pencil from the desk and considered his next move. I need to see the computer without giant eyeballs in the way. Once upon a time, he would have called anyone who created that sentence deranged. Maybe he still would. Looking away from the monitor, Mike raised his pencil and tried to convince himself that this was the same as ripping off a Band-Aid. He just needed to get it over with. With a deep breath of foul air, he plunged the stick forward and winced at the sound of a squishy pop.

Then he did it again. And again. And again. And so on, until all that remained was a thick, red paste coating the screen. Another monstrous appendage reached for him, but he batted it away, shivering. If anything snuck up on him, he wouldn't be able to hear it with all the shrieking, so he needed to finish quickly. He wiped up the mess with his shirt and sat back down. What to do next? Check the cameras, listen for the sound of a sprinting anthropomorphic fox, close one of the doors? Those were all solid options. Everything hurt, though: his body and especially his mind. Maybe it would be easier to –

"Get the Hell over yourself!" he yelled. "Obviously, you're too scared to die or you would have given up already! So just fucking be quiet!"

The building was silent for a few precious moments. Both the gibbering mouths and omnipresent static seemed taken aback by his outburst. Then chaos rushed back into the void, for insanity abhorred a vacuum. Mike went through the motions of his "job" while feeling hollow inside. I'm doing this for Foxy, he reminded himself as another phantom limb grabbed his throat. And other people, too, but she was the one in his mind's eye through the terrible experience.

Assuming his senses were still trustworthy – and considering the teeth protruding from the walls, they were not – none of the animatronics were dangerously close in the flesh-halls. That seemed odd; Auric clearly pulled out all the stops, but he also played strangely conservatively. Mike could only speculate why. Maybe the hallucinations were supposed to wear him down? Maybe the monster choked under pressure? Or maybe Foxy and the Band were trying their hardest to resist the thing in their brains? The latter seemed the most likely to him. Freddy usually had a sly grin plastered all over his muzzle, but he was dour and morose that night.

Then something hit him. A deluge of pain tore through his skull; it felt like he'd been shot in the head. His mind clouded, but he realized as his vision went dark that he was about to pass out. That meant death unless he closed the doors.

He slammed one shut before his mind caught up with him. This was pure muscle memory. On his way to the second, he slipped in the muck, falling face-first. Little hands tried to pull him into it, but he fought them with all his strength. Crawling along, he saw the button. It was so close! I can do it! Almost there… But not quite.

The last thing he felt was falling.

…

Auric did it. He finally won.

It was inevitable, he thought, summoning all his puppets to the office. All thoughts to the contrary – that this was a fluke, that the Warden was his equal – were quickly quashed. It was a simple equation. He was Auric. Auric was gold. Gold was power. Power was victory. Ergo, he was fated to win. All of his bodies arrived at last, crammed into the small office, and he looked at the Warden through seven eyes.

He lie unconscious on the carpet, drenched in sweat. His eyelids fluttered, his muscles tensed and Auric felt the alpha waves radiating from him. Dreaming. How sweet. He laughed, happier than he'd been in some time. Enjoy it. It's the last dream you'll ever have.

Now which one should kill him? It didn't really matter; this was a trivial task. One foot on his neck would effortlessly crush it. That's what Auric would normally think, but his rivalry with this Warden was personal. Therefore, the red pawn would do the deed. He looked forward to watching it awake, see the blood on its hook and scream! He'd remember that for a very long time.

The yellow and purple slaves went to set up a table while the brown one got some alcohol from Phillip's room. Tonight was truly a time for celebration. I wonder if he has any vodka. Meanwhile, the red one crouched down. Through it, Auric saw the man, who was unmoving except for his eyelids. Hmm. This was unfortunate. Though killing him now was acceptable, it would be all the sweeter if he was awake.

Unfortunately, Auric could tell from the Warden's brainwaves that this sleep wasn't entirely natural. I tampered with his mind too much. He'll be out for a while. This was disappointingly anticlimactic. There has to be an exciting way to end his life! I deserve to see him scream.

After thinking for a few minutes, he had an epiphany.

There were a few suits in the backstage area left over from before the animatronics became extensions of himself. They contained wires, motors and other electronics that, while harmless to the metal endoskeleton of a robot, would shred a human's flesh. That seems a fitting punishment. Besides, it will help the staff; they won't have to replace the carpet if I kill him elsewhere.

Feeling euphoric, Auric directed his bodies to pick up the Warden and transport him to his tomb. They tried to resist, but he was far stronger than they could ever hope to be.

…

Where am I?

Mike took in his surroundings: a long passage filled with closed doors and intersected by other hallways. It seemed familiar, but he was dazed. How did I get here? I remember falling… Was he dead? This didn't seem like any afterlife he'd heard of. The walls and ceiling unsettled him. Wherever he was, he clearly didn't belong there.

His feet made a variety of sounds as he walked upon the patchwork maze's floors. There was carpet, tile, wood, clay and so on. The doors were just as strange; most were locked, while others led to empty voids or lavish parlors. Some rooms called to him, but he knew none were exits. An unnatural cold hung in the air as he travelled and the stench of charred cloth wasn't far behind.

This was all ominous, but he knew the way out would soon appear. I shouldn't know that. I've never been here before. Have I? He ran a hand along the walls and tried to recall memories buried just beneath the surface. This seemed like a place he might have visited when he was very young, or maybe in dreams.

A voice on the wind called his name so softly that he might have mistaken it as his imagination if he didn't know better. Though apprehensive about following it, he decided to try; he could see his breath and the odor began to make him nauseous. Trudging along, he tracked the voice through the jumble of halls and doors. It never grew louder, but he could somehow tell he was getting closer.

Also approaching was the source of the putrid chill. Another sensation accompanied it now: the sound of rusty metal rubbing together. The noise triggered some primal fear within him, and he broke into a run without knowing why. Strange shadows danced along the walls as he ran, images of nightmarish creatures. Heavy footfalls weren't far behind. Mike was terrified – what did he do to deserve all of this? Turning a corner, he saw an unremarkable entrance at the corridor's end. His destination.

Haze surrounded him as his lungs burned. With every step he took, the hall seemed to stretch longer and longer, like he was trapped inside an Escher drawing. The monsters were nearly upon him when he finally reached the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut, leaving an echo in the room's darkness.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, provided by a single bare bulb hanging from a wire. It was a dining room that hadn't been used for a long time. Tables with cheap metal cutlery and party hats were scattered about, and everything was covered in dust. Mike went directly beneath the light, searching for some sign of what to do next. The checkered linoleum floor caught his reflection on each tile, which created a hundred of him.

"Anyone here?" he asked the emptiness. The question hung in the air for much longer than it should have. So long, in fact, that he was almost relieved by the sudden chill and rusty clanking. Almost. Four ragged creatures shambled out of the dark, nightmares he'd seen time and time again. Mike should have been horrified, but no adrenaline pumped through his veins. This would be different. The monsters surrounded him, but he made no attempt to escape; there was nowhere to go. Instead, he waited. The light flickered as the four stopped and stared at him.

Then they all spoke as one, not with static, but clear voices.

"Hello, Michael. We are your fears. Your remorse. Your nightmares."

"Are you here to finally kill me? You've, um, been trying to do that for a while." If they were, they should get it over with. He didn't have all day.

"Fear and guilt cannot kill. If we could, everyone would be dead. Instead, we are here to guide you." Their dead eyes burned into his own.

Uh huh, sure you are. "Then why did you only appear so recently? And why do you look like the animatronics? And how the Hell am I talking to abstract concepts like fear and regret?!" Perhaps this was a final hallucination, something Auric concocted to fuck with him before he died.

"We have always been here; Auric simply gave us tangible forms. We speak to everyone, either in waking feelings and especially in dreams." That… actually made sense. Well, as much sense as conversing with his own fear made. "We are not your burden alone, Michael. All of humanity is taxed by us – even the most hardened psychopaths. Auric, too, has demons."

Mike thought for a moment? Did he believe them? Even if not, what else was there to do? Eventually, he took a seat at one of the tables and put his head down. The nightmares stood nearby, chilling him to the bone. "Let's say I trust you. What 'guidance' do you have for me? More importantly, uh, why do you want to help?"

"Astute questions," the things said. They still emanated an awful odor, forcing Mike to bury his head in the dusty tablecloth. "Fear and guilt are not 'evil' or 'wrong'. We exist to aid mankind. Without us, people would disregard both their own lives and the lives of others. The trouble comes when individuals deal with us incorrectly."

"Wait a second," Mike said, sitting up straight and turning around. Even with those teeth, the nightmares weren't so threatening anymore now that they didn't spew static. "You're just here to tell me not to run away from my problems! I hate to break it to you, but this is stuff we learned in elementary school!" In fact, he was offended that these things brought him here to tell him something he could have heard on Barney. He pointed at the Chica facsimile and continued, "Besides, I've challenged a lot of my fears. I had to go through you to close that door, remember?"

It nodded. Then the four again spoke in unison. "It is true that you have confronted us several times, but only while pretending you lack concern. Feigning fearlessness is no better than running."

"Then what should I do? Somehow not be afraid or remorseful?"

"No. We are fine things to feel; running from or ignoring us will only make us stronger. However, giving into us is even worse. It is a fine line to walk." Mike's head started to hurt again. This made even less sense than the Lovecraftian shit Auric threw at him all night. "You must acknowledge us yet be defiant. Realize that we will always be here yet fight anyway. This is a difficult lesson to learn, yet it will keep you alive."

He sighed. "All right. Thank you for the advice. Now can I please, like, get out of here?"

"Foxy" stepped forward. It crouched down and stared into his eyes just as it had done two nights earlier. Now Mike started to feel afraid. "You should confront all fear and guilt as you did with me. That was bravery."

"Uh, thanks." He'd never received a compliment from his unconscious mind before. Before they left, he decided to ask one final question that had been bothering him for a while. "If Auric didn't create you, then what are you, exactly? Besides fear and guilt, anyway."

They all looked at each other before not-Foxy answered, "Jung called us 'psychopomps'. We are mediators between the conscious and the unconscious, the ego and the id. You may think of us as whatever you like." Mike vaguely recalled that from his psychology class last semester. Of course, he had to have heard of the term for his preconscious to use it.

"Goodbye," it said, standing back up. "We will always be here, though we may not speak for a long while." "Foxy" turned back to him with an odd glimmer in its broken eye. "However, there is one more of us you do not know, the embodiment of your greatest guilt. He will reveal himself when you are ready and test you on our lesson."

Before he could ask what that meant, they were gone, back into the darkness. Mike sat in his chair and tried to figure it all out. I guess I should try to wake myself up before something kills me. As he tried to do so, a new set of eyes appeared in the shadows. Oh shit, he thought as it walked into the dim light.

This was a nightmare's nightmare. In fact, it wasn't a nightmare, it was the Nightmare: eight feet tall, black as night with six inch claws and even longer teeth.

"OK, w-wake up, Mike! Wake up!" His surroundings faded away; Nightmare's red eyes were the last things to go.

…

Hi everybody. I've been gone a while. Far longer than I would have liked. I've feared that this would happen for a while, because it seems like something a lot of fanfiction writers go through. It's called "burnout" – not being as vigorous about writing anymore.

Just so you understand, this does not mean I won't write ASaF anymore. Far from it. I will because I love writing and I really love where this story has gone. What I mean is that it's become more difficult to just sit down and write something. I need to be in the right state of mind. I'm still trying to figure out my own feelings on that – if I need to make myself a schedule, if I should try other projects, etc. I'm sure I will reach conclusions about those issues in time.

Even more importantly, I want to thank all of you for being so patient. I haven't updated in four months. That's a really long time! However, to my amazement, nobody harassed me. In fact, I got several nice PMs asking if I was alright or if I needed help writing. It might just be all the terrible things going on in the world today, but I was touched by the consideration many people displayed. If you ever have a question about why something is taking a long time, a story point or anything else, feel free to ask. I promise I check on a regular basis.

Let's talk about the chapter itself. I teased in my last Author's Note that this chapter would contain a certain three-word phrase. Unfortunately, it had already become larger than I expected and I didn't want to waste any more time writing that part. It'll be in the next chapter, I promise. You might also be wondering what's up with the body horror aspect. As Mike speculates in the chapter, Auric isn't a traditional demon so much as he is an eldritch abomination. He has discernable goals, but his origin, powers, etc. are Lovecraftian. If you aren't familiar with Cthulhu Mythos, body horror is a pretty big aspect of that and I wanted to showcase some on the final night. I just hope it wasn't too gross.

Finally, I was unsure about the last section, which I spent a long time thinking about. The whole thing about Mike literally talking to his own fears might have been too ridiculous, but I think I executed it well enough to take seriously. Plus, Nightmare's here now – I've been waiting a long time to drop him in, and this was just the spot to do it. Tell me what you think.

I hope I get an update out before I go back to school in August. The two-year anniversary of this story is coming up soon. My live has really changed since then; I was just going into college when I started and now I'm halfway done. It's surreal.

But enough about that! Thank you all so much for reading, and hopefully I'll have something for you soon.