The Sketchbook
Sketch stands at the edge, the border between an empty void and the life that could be brought by it. Creation moves her. It always has. Life, uncertainty, and the possibility within always drew her back. Back into that violent array of colors that she's so subjected to.
The world forms before her, the hue darkening. Where before there was clarity in the presence of color laid a world in which cold greys construct a wasteland. Red hues smear the pavement in testament to someone's suffering and the people hide underneath the black of clothing.
In the past, she'd have felt pride for the reality of creation but with time heartbreak would become all she owned for it. It's infuriating to see and to only watch is hopeless. Another dimension with its scale unfairly tilted. The dimension's subject to an over influx of artificial negativity.
Sketch is a creature of negativity, of creation as well. Each dimension is woven into a net and without enough dimensions present nothing would be able to sustain itself. The other dimensions within this net had the opposite problem, an over influx of artificial positivity. So much so that Sketch herself was unable to step foot in them.
It's made a cycle of itself, this reality needs another dimension to keep itself afloat. So she'd do what she had to, create a world. The multiverse then decided what would be knit into its net. But she's blamed, and a world such as this would never be allowed to exist. Not by the gods, not by him.
The god of destruction and the god of positivity, her antithesis. Her brother had always despised her, for all that she is and has ever been. Project is stubborn and a minimalist to add to her frustration. He'd rather an artificial utopian reality then one that had any semblance to balance.
Despite the tilt in the other dimensions, she's been able to sneak her influence in those worlds as of late. Right now, those 'utopias' have a supply of thirty-three percent negativity and sixty-seven percent positivity to draw their emotions from.
That meant this world by estimate may have up to sixty-seven percent negativity that it's drawing upon. Though, this world wouldn't be so bad if she were to compare it to another possibility. No, she's been able to get ahead by a sliver and Sketch has yet to see a true Nightmare. She knows that world's fate.
This thought marks the second century since her exile and with it she whisps out of the newly made dimension. Project would be preoccupied with tearing apart that world and Sketch'd have an opportunity to siphon the positivity from another. That is until he makes it so she has to create again.
So Sketch reappears in another void. She resembles a Lovecraftian monster. A side effect of the pain she endured. Exile had consequences. Especially with how painful the transformation had been before she became a scary living shadow. It resulted in some 'extra' appendages as a consequence. It doesn't help the visible anger Sketch feels. If she thought she looked Lovecraftian before, then she's more so while fighting.
Even with the ability to hide them, she can't rid herself of the thousand-foot tentacle or spike that juts out of where her spine should be. At least they're able to be hidden. She'd hate it if she had to drag them everywhere too.
A tendril reaches to grasp another dimension within it, letting her influence permeate that ball of positivity. A world in which life would be unable to feel misery for even the most horrid of situations, as if she'd let such a thing happen. Project can pry Sketch's influence from her cold dead chest.
Though unlike her, Project's never had to fight for anything on his own. His friends have always been a constant aid to him and another source of misery for Sketch. Ironic, how many times before has he said that only mistakes such as her lack conscious thought of their own?
Toffee showed up this time. She's still going to be fought against.
What's the point? With Sketch arguing against someone so unwilling to compromise? Not when Sketch can so clearly see those familiar gears turning in his mind. Y'know those ones. She can even hear it. Let the corruption say what it wants, it's not worth trying to converse with.
It's disappointing but at least Project's employee Nova still tries to reason some kind of peace. Sketch wouldn't grace Toffee with an argument if he didn't want one. Given Toffee's discouraging levels of apathy, she can take a hint. After all, being able to read emotions as the god of negativity isn't too surprising when you reflect on her job title.
"Leave it," Toffee growls. Multiverses, he thinks I'm a dog?
Sketch couldn't keep the blatant disregard from her expression, continuing her attempts to unwind minuscule amounts of positivity from the puncture she'd made. If he thinks ordering her around will work then he's a bit stupid. If he wants Sketch to stop, he's going to have to fight her like every other time.
Toffee himself is monochrome, a by-product of his home dimension. The god isn't so much a god in the way that Project and Sketch are. The piece that brought anyone else that status was the disparity of power between them and the mortals. There was such a disparity that Project and his allies were similar in terms of pure battle prowess. Though Sketch tends to be stronger physically when it comes down to just her brother.
The air thickens, returning a stare to her opposition. Toffee didn't care much for it. He drew three distinct items between his fingers. The items were roughly the size of a pencil each. Strange items.
Toffee didn't often use the three-pronged fork or the wire with a circle at the end. Sketch had seen him use the latter once while trying to capture her but more often he used that little spear. As usual, he shoves the other two weapons into his monochrome pockets.
"I'm telling you to stop before I fight you," Toffee warns. "Leave if you don't want to take a beating or twelve."
Sketch tenses at the threat but doesn't bother to stop. It wouldn't surprise her to learn he had gotten stronger or something but she's more compelled to call his bluff. It had been a few days at most since she last fought him. Nevertheless, she put on what she considered a solid defense should he come running.
Toffee huffs.
The moment was calm on both ends. The spear in Toffee's hand grew up to three feet. Toffee's going to fight and Sketch is ready to let it play out. She didn't expect him to strike downward. He impales the tendril at his foot with an emotionless gaze. A gaze that had her recoil. No, it was definitely the speared appendage.
Adrenaline rushes to her head, and Sketch screams as she throws him off. Toffee launches at where she had the dimension held. It burns. The spear hurts. Her tendrils never hurt but the tendril is actually split. It really hurts.
The attack had Sketch lashing out with more intensity. It was frantic, using the other five tendrils to put out something offensive. She shakes with sudden urgency to close the pocket of negativity within the held dimension.
Sketch couldn't let him get access to it. Toffee would drain it and she'd be blocked from it for who knows how long. Another tendril is impaled onto that spear, forcing her to wince. He plucks the spear from it.
When the same tendril gets speared again, Sketch begins to acknowledge how bad this was. Her tendrils aren't delicate. They've never been torn before and she's never endured the pain that came with that kind of injury. Not to mention the wounds were cauterized at points with exception to the predominant tearing. She's going to suffer before the pocket closes.
Toffee pulls the spear through the tendril. Sketch bites down any visual indication of her pain, making sure to protect a tendril or two to keep the offense strong. A tendril tries to smack Toffee down and is adequately deflected with his tearing of the thicker middle portion.
Sketch drags his body from the spearing with what may be seen as a hiss. The next few moments are quick as injuries pile up on each tendril. She's actively ready to break down crying from the pain, counting the seconds until that pocket settles.
Toffee finally manages to break from the offense. Her tendrils were weaker and he tried using his spear to drag her down at the shoulder. Sketch didn't budge while her other five tendrils tore him away.
She keeps her gaze on the dimension before Toffee tears a wound down her back. A scream sounds out with clarity as her tendril throws Toffee to the floor again. The pocket settles out of reach, her tendril releasing the dimension. He attacks Sketch, dragging her down violently.
Sketch crashes onto the floor, frantic to escape the dimension before suffering another injury. Toffee hovers above her with the same emotionless void in his eyes but Sketch couldn't help but think there was a rage behind it. No doubt in response to the pocket retreating. The spear tip dug into her arm.
The weakened tendrils manage to wrap themselves around the spear. They were fighting in vain to defend her. It was too painful and she could barely move them. She had to get him off her. It just doesn't work, the more she tries to constrict the tendril the harsher the pain becomes.
It just, It just hurts.
"Stop it. Please stop it. I'll leave," Sketch cries.
Her voice was gravelly and unable to hide the pain in it. There wasn't a point for Toffee to continue this. Sketch returned the pocket. He can't kill her either. Her soul's magic would always return, even from close death assuming Project didn't snuff out the remaining magic.
Toffee wasn't moving though. He tore another wound down to her wrist. Pain sets in quickly and Sketch is screaming. She's crying and panicking but he's looking down at her like she's some kind of non-sentient animal. He starts to drag her, using the spear to injure her further.
"Don't come back. If you do, we'll relive this until you stop."
Sketch cries as Toffee tears into her other arm, the negative composition splitting apart. She continues to cry and he doesn't stop until she's gone limp from the pain. Toffee removes himself shortly with a huff. She had passed out.
"You look like you've been through a lot while laying like that, Sketch. I guess you might not understand this especially with all that happened to you. Or maybe you had been crazy from the start due to your magic. You used to be so docile."
The negativity in the air heals Sketch while asleep. By the time she's aware, Toffee's left her in the void. Her negative magic had recovered a bit, but the tearing in her tendril had only healed a bit if at all. Still, she uses the minuscule energy she has to portal back home.
Her home dimension is a lot more pleasant to heal in. Meaning that healing in her empty home dimension is quicker and easier. For one, there's a good supply of negative energy that will naturally aid her healing. It's also safe. It's hers and no one will enter without the negative energy alerting her.
Negativity doesn't always have a velvety texture to it either. When it's soft and comfortable in the way she remembered her old bed to be and when the weight of it brings security. It's cold, very cold, and it raises fear without any sort of physical or mental cause. It's negativity and doesn't need a cause to be itself. She's had her whole life to adjust and it's debatable she ever needed to.
Healing would be painful, but she plans on passing out during this anyway. She plops herself down into a pool of negative concentrate. They were littered across the post-apocalyptic dimension. They were really cozy. She typically slept in them anyway so she knows that she's going to be healed quicker by it.
Though to it's credit, this coldness became a comfort due to the lack of any real problem tied to it. Maybe that's why she likes it as a bed, it only ever lulls her to sleep when she needs it to. It has multiple states but whenever she works herself to the point she's unable to cope, it always drags her forcefully to rest the moment she's in a safe position.
It takes only the moment before she falls asleep. The negative concentrate reacts to the tendril, wrapping itself into it. Negative concentrate tends to be uncomfortable, but with time it will piece together what had been torn apart.
Only to kick her out in the morning. Sketch noticed the lack of negativity that accumulated in the new dimension. Project had laid waste to it. The painful searing in her chest confirms it. The death of an alternate reality meant she needed to create another. She didn't have time to heal herself further, she only has a couple of hours before things get shaky.
She knows it's for the best. She reminds herself of it. She wishes she could appreciate the concentrate for doing such things. But it can be hard when good things are painful and she's forced to relive things that she'd rather not. That's what she tells herself. Good things. They don't imply an immediate result to either happiness or sadness. Just to what you care for, she supposes.
Sketch takes a good look at the remaining wounds. She hadn't expected them to completely dissipate but she expected it to have healed quite a bit more. Some tears had healed but the larger ones had yet to even halfway close the wound. The tendril that had been stabbed through was worrying, it had managed to reconnect in the side but she'd have to be very careful not to injure it further.
There was a pause in her examination. It shouldn't be difficult to heal here. Project typically takes two or three days in destruction. If her wounds are still this bad then it may have only been a few hours.
Sketch couldn't completely grasp the change in strength. Toffee had to have doubled his strength in order to inflict those kinds of wounds and Project had decreased his destruction time by a duodecuple. That's probably twelvefold.
Perhaps the creation of a new dimension and its negativity would allow her to heal somewhat. She doesn't like creating worlds to suffer but if it allowed her the time she needed to work then she'll create additional. If not, the severe lack of negative energy resulting from a polarity would kill her. Consequently the multiverse entirely.