It was of little surprise to Stanley and Pacifica that they hit Nathaniel Northwest square on his slightly balding bonce - but they were far from prepared for what the process of their ammunition reaching him had sparked off inside their intimidating, shadowy host. The moment those little burnished bolts had hit the ectoplasmic substance that acted as the barrier between the past and their current reality, the reaction was fearful.
Indeed - the roar of visceral, furious pain from Curzon's shadowy being was enough to distract the two from the fact they managed to cause Nathaniel Northwest to squeal like a perturbed piglet.
Just as the Victorian magnate turned to find the source of the metal that had hit his bald spot, the image of him disappeared. The vortex flickered. The building began to rumble. Curzon howled, screamed and hissed as his enormous, shadowy frame whirled faster and faster. Curzon Cankerblight was becoming more unstable than ever. And not not just in terms of personality.
The cacophony was immense.
The roaring from Curzon Cankerblight was sufficient to momentarily deafen the group that stood before him, and sufficient to crack the ornate stained glass that was on display in the enormous cathedral. The building's arched shape, curved walls and decorative brickwork caused the sound to reverberate and rumble, the entire subterranean lair beginning to feel increasingly suspect. For Grunkle Ford, it was no longer a concern of structural integrity - it was one of dimensional integrity.
He grabbed Stanley by the lapels and shook him furiously, his understandable - and perhaps natural - paranoia for any sort of portal rising to the surface as the vortex screamed and roared behind them. "You fool! Don't you know the first rule of interdimensional warp space?! Everything that travels through that damned thing can cause a rift!"
"Oh, well excuse me! Let me just check my damned International-Whatever-You-Said pamphlet, you old crock!" Stan snapped back with feeling, raising one of his meaty fists.
"We're the same Age, Stanley, you misera-"
Fzzt!
"Uh. Guys?"
Dipper and Pacifica both began backing away once again as, before them, image after image flickered in that roaring, rattling window through time and space. Some understandable, and recognisable, many bizarre and confusing. It was like a pirate television station into the past, present and future - intermingled with strange, rattling images of pure, unadulterated horror and eldritch abomination. Creatures that evoked a marked fight or flight response. Images of the shapeshifter, the lumberjack ghost, demons and minions of Weirdmageddon flying together and blurring, all storming towards them with fearful speed and aggression.
They flew past like flip book pages, an endless flickering void of nightmare, with Cankerblight powerless to stop it, the increasing instability of his form causing him immense pain and fatigue. He howled, roared and spat in anger, blue phlegm flooding from his shadowy tendrils in thin streaks, spattering against brick, stone and mortar like aquamarine paint being poured into a running blender.
The speed and fluctuation of horror and aggression was sufficient to cause motion sickness, to cause an emotional fatigue that only made Pacifica and Dipper feel more and more ill. It was all too much. It was horrendously immersive, much like watching the train wreck. No matter what they tried, they just couldn't wrench their eyes from the horrendous flood of graphic scenes and horror.
"He's going crazy!" Pacifica shouted over the catastrophic noise that filled the room.
"He's going critical!" Ford bellowed back. "I can't advise us on anything that's going to happen now, this is new territory!"
Stan didn't acknowledge their panicked shouts, largely as his hearing aid had shorted - and, instead, focused on stepping in front of them with his arms outstretched, pushing his ever-precious family backwards as he attempted to cover them behind his naturally broad frame.
Of course, it was futile - and if Stan had thought about it for only a few moments longer, he'd have probably thrown himself behind the nearest solid item of furniture.
Bolts of electricity and flame, sparks and particles flew from the core of the portal that Curzon had created, which was now whirring so quickly it was no longer clear what was beyond. It had become nothing more than an overwhelming flow of colours and geometric fragments, some in hues that no human had seen before, threatening to burn the eyes out of their mortal sockets should it continue. Finally, it began - the portal began to tear from its kaleidoscopic mass of imagery and, instead, ripped into darkness. A black so dark, so lacking in warmth or colour, it seemed to absorb all light.
There was a silence as the portal stopped buzzing and whirling, slowing down as its now - seemingly mortally damaged state - prevented it from continuing any further. With a final, cataclysmic scream, the frame of dark, inky tendrils flew outwards as Curzon tried to stabilise himself, latching onto the bricks and mortar as the forces within his vortex slowed to a steady, revolving crawl - bursts of thick, fennel scented smoke following like a burnt out television. Not a plasma screen, more like one of those crappy old CRTs you'd pick up at Walmart for fifty bucks.
Now, there was no doubt - they could hear Cankerblight panting. They had hurt him. They had exerted him to his limits, even through this bizarre, overpowered form of his. The problem is they were no longer sure if their plan would even work following this bizarre scene.
Dipper briefly considered throwing the dynamo, but Stanford stopped him with a solemn look in his eyes. "Science." He whispered. "We'll beat him when we've learnt all we can."
Pacifica whipped her head around. "Guys, you can't be seriou-"
She didn't have time to finish her sentence. She was, instead, interrupted by their shadowy nemesis.
Curzon's scraping, whistling tones had been replaced by a distorted, pitching voice that juddered and wobbled around them, through one ear before moving to the next. His hold on the Manor seemed solid, but his presence before them was remarkably fragile. Perhaps even fearful .
"YoU dOn'ttt KnOwwe WhAT you haVE jUSt dOonE!" He said, his rumbling, reverberating voice causing loose mortar to crumble from above. "YoU GaVe HiM aAA DoOrWAy!"
"Him?" Dipper blinked. "You don't mean-"
"Him." Ford grimaced. "Now we've done it. We've given him an exit."
"No way." Pacifica gulped.
"Man. Ford, you gotta write up that international-dimension book thing."
Ford glared at his brother, about to run his mouth about him being an ignorant jackass, and a terrible influence on the kids - but he was swiftly interrupted as he arrived.
A single, glowing eye appeared in the dark hollow that now sat, motionless, in front of them, backed by an echoing, shrill chuckle. The glint of a well-lacquered cane was unmistakable. The group froze as their most terrifying foe arrived, in the flesh. Or brick. Gold? Whatever the damned thing was made of.
"BOY, THAT'S CONVENIENT, HUH? I FIGURED THE LLAMA WOULD LOSE HER TEMPER. HOW'S IT FEEL TO HAVE CAUSED A TEAR IN SPACE-TIME, KID?"
For the first time in nearly a year, they were no longer dealing will Bill Cipher through voice. They were seeing him. There he was, typically well dressed, typically intimidating - and completely outsized. A giant, limbo-bound demon, arms as black and flexible as liquorice, his slim top hat towering, his eyes glowering, his corners razor sharp and his sheer lack of empathy every bit as intimidating as the day they had rid themselves of him.
And, of course, typical of Bill, he didn't take a single bit of it seriously.
"MAN, SURE IS GOOD TO SPEAK FACE TO FACE AGAIN. YOU JUST DON'T GET THE SAME FEELING OF TERROR FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF A CORPSE PHONE!" He cackled and leant on his stick as he stood before them in the giant portal.
Oh yes, this time there was no boundary. Any that stood there was thinner than crepe paper.
