"You know the day destroys the night, /
Night divides the day."
Chance woke up, eventually.
He groaned awake, his body feeling crumpled, his mind hungover. Everything hurt. He could hear his heartbeat in his head like a pounding drum. It was as if all his insides were blended up and poured back into him, no regard for what should go where or what anything should be like.
In short, he felt like shit, and then he could see his legs dangling in mid-air. He limply thrashed, screaming as he thought he was still falling to his death. When he didn't get any closer to the ground, all that was left were the echoes of his own voice, reverberating through the cavern.
It was quiet. Chance looked around, and his blood turned to ice.
A graveyard. He'd fallen into a graveyard.
Cracked headstones crowded the cave floor, inscribed with fading names in a dead language. The ocean of graves below him seemed to stretch on a moment too long, and the air felt heavy on his breath, smelling faintly of roses but mostly of sulfur.
He choked. Did he die? Was he a ghost now?
Was that why he was… floating?
As awareness crept back into him, he could feel something jabbing into his back. Trying to look over his shoulder, he saw that his jacket had caught onto the horns of a large statue, depicting some long-lost bug that he had nothing to do with. By some miracle, it had only snagged his jacket; not too close to impale him in the back, and not too far to miss and let him splatter on the ground.
Thanks for being dead, buddy. I owe you one.
Chance's thrashing renewed, and he tried to tug himself off of the horn, even if it meant tearing his jacket. But the rock was both too dull to tear and too sturdy to snap off, so he was stuck. He felt sick, a sudden wave of green nausea washing over him; if he had anything left in his stomach, he might've thrown up all over himself up here. Instead, he was left hacking his lungs out, dangling just a few feet above an ancient cemetery.
The strange, manic thought about being crucified above all of these dead bugs made him sigh. 'Nameless alien: Died for nobody's sins but his own.' If he was going to die and his stupid fucking journey was going to come to an early end, there was no better time and place than being stuck in a graveyard. C'mon; give him the slow death he'd been promised from the start.
Just as he had that thought, the nearly inaudible poff of a small knight landing came from behind him. He turned, seeing Tusk standing on the horn, looking no worse for wear.
"T-Tusk," he huffed. Why did his throat feel so dry? "H-Help me down, wouldja? Cut my jacket, I can just fix it-"
Not needing any further permission, Tusk whipped their nail out of thin air and sliced Chance's jacket clean in two. He wasn't expecting it to be so sudden, and couldn't brace himself when gravity took hold and he collapsed to the hard stone floor with a thud.
Tusk jumped down while Chance lay crumpled on the ground, perhaps unintentionally showing off their immunity to falling. Approaching his beaten and tired body, they paused, before patting his hair as if in apology.
"T-Thanks," he stammered. He grabbed onto a nearby headstone, respects be damned, as he pulled himself to his feet. He looked up; most of the light coming into this place came from the hole they'd fallen into. Tusk may have followed him down, but there was no sign of anybody else.
"JAAAAAY!" he hollered up. "LIGHTFOOOOOT?! YOU THEEEEERE?!"
No response. Jeremy had his phone still, didn't he?
Chance fished his own phone out of his pocket, still entirely clueless as to how this bullshit worked in Hallownest but also beyond questioning it. How he was getting cell service in a hellhole fantasy land was a problem for when he wasn't dying.
He hit the button on Jeremy's contact, his foot shaking nervously. What if Jay used up all his phone battery already? Maybe he spent all that time on the mountain fruitlessly trying to call 911, or surfing random Wikipedia articles loosely related to geology. Did the Internet work, too? Was he trying to watch po-
He picked up after only half a ring.
"STOP CALLING ME AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Chance recoiled, nearly dropping his phone when Jeremy screamed into his ear. "Jesus fucking Christ, Jay!" For a moment, his chest clenched. Did he fuck up somehow? Was Jay pissed at him for his half-assed rescue?
Jeremy's breath seemed to hitch over the speaker. "O-Oh, Chance! I'm sorry! Are you okay?!"
"Y… Yeah, I'm fine. Tusk's here, too." He paused, "What were you yelling about?"
"Oh, er… I thought you were someone else for a second. I just got out of a screaming match with them a second before you called, so I thought you were her, trying to call me back…"
Chance only made a face at his phone. Who… Who else is calling you in Hallownest?
Jeremy kept talking, "A-Anyway, where are you? Lightfoot and I've been worried sick!" His tone made Chance wonder how long he was left hanging on that bug statue's ram-horns. Five minutes? Ten? Thirty? An hour?
"Uh, it's kinda weird. We're in some kinda…" He looked around, uncertain of what was glaring him right in the face. "...A graveyard?"
"What? A graveyard under the Peaks?" The phone went silent, "It looks like you might be somewhere near the Crossroads? Maybe some forgotten section of it or something."
Jeremy, the whole damn kingdom's been forgotten.
"Any landmarks nearby we could try to look for?" At this, Chance blinked, walking around. There were headstones everywhere, but nothing blatantly specific. ...Well, that statue he got caught on looked pretty unique.
He walked over to it, "Yeah, there's this big statue here with all the other graves. It looks like... " He squinted; that didn't look like any bug he was familiar with. "I dunno what it is, actually. But it's got these weird flappy tentacle-wing-things, and these two big ram horns." He crouched down at the base of the statue, looking at the inscription. "Oh, and it says, 'Cursed are those who turn against the King.' ...That's kind of a shitty epitaph. Who was this guy?"
On the other end of the line, Jeremy was dead silent. "...You said that was what the inscription read?"
"Uh, yeah."
"In Hallownestian?"
"Yeah…?"
"Chance, I… I thought you couldn't read Hallownestian."
He stared at the inscription, eyes glazing over as he stared at the carvings on the stone statue. He was silent.
And then he screamed.
"L-Look, I don't understand it either, but I'm telling you, I can read this!" Of all the unsettling things Chance had seen today, for some reason, suddenly comprehending an alien language weirded him out more than it should've.
Here's a fact: Written language is fucked. Fucked.
You stare at some weird markings on a surface and it's like you start hallucinating a voice in your head. You're doing it right now. It doesn't seem weird, 'cause you've been doing this for years and years without questioning it.
But to Chance, the alien symbols and markings suddenly just… came together in his head. He got it. There was no learning curve, no process, no gradually making his understanding like second nature. One second it was meaningless scratches, and the next, he could read it as easily as he could ever read English.
"So you got knocked out, and when you woke up, you could read Hallownestian…?" Gears were turning in Jeremy's head, wherever he was now. "Maybe this is Her doing…? That's the only explanation I can think of, anyway."
"M-Maybe I'm overreacting, but it's fuckin' freaky, dude…"
"Well, it's not really a threat, right? We can figure it out when we meet up again!" Chance took a deep breath when he heard this; he could put off his existential panic for later. Later. "How're you and Tusk right now? Are you alright?"
He ran his hand over his head, trying to focus on the conversation. He looked over his shoulder; yeah, Tusk was still there, staring at him like he was crazy. "Well, we aren't hurt or anything, amazingly. And it's… quiet."
He looked around, paranoia rising.
"Too quiet. But nothing's lunging out at us from the shadows, so I think we're safe for the time being. If we're near the Crossroads, then see if you can't go through there and regroup with us. We won't go anywhere."
"Alright, sounds like a plan!" He could hear Jeremy's smile over the phone. "We'll find you, and then we'll make a plan to fight back against the Radiance!"
Chance furrowed his brow. "...Huh?"
"Y-Yeah, I get it sounds crazy, but we have to do something! After She killed… er, after what She did, we can't just let Her go! We're gonna put a stop to Her, whatever it takes!"
"O-Okay? That's cool, Jay, but uh…" Chance scratched his chin, "What are you talking about?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"What do you mean? Why are we fighting this… 'Radians' thing?"
"...Y-You're joking, right? Don't tell me… did She…?"
"Jay, could'ja stop being so cryptic and just fill me in? Look, if I'm being dumb and I forgot something, just tell me, and I'll-"
Jeremy's breath shuddered through the speaker, and the line went dead, Chance's phone left beeping in his hands.
He pursed his lips, staring down at it. "...What's his problem?"
Chance had planned to stay back by the statue and wait for Jeremy and Lightfoot, but Tusk had insisted on venturing deeper in the creepy graveyard cavern, so what choice did he really have?
Every step he took without a monster trying to maul him only made him more nervous. It was too quiet here, wisps of purple mist dancing at his ankles like incense. His only saving grace was that this cemetery area seemed faintly warm; not the sweltering oven that was the Wastes, nor the frigid winds on Dirtmouth. Just… warm. As if the atmosphere itself wanted him to relax.
Once he noticed that the rounded stones that made up the cavern walls and floors looked like faces, he couldn't unsee it. He was being watched from every angle by something invisible.
Did he believe in ghosts?
He tried turning on his phone's flashlight. It wasn't even that dark; it was fairly well-lit for the inside of a cave with no obvious light source, but he wanted the comfort anyway. No random monsters, no Infected zombies trying to kill him. Either he'd found a safe haven, or something big was coming.
This room had much larger constructs, headstones surrounding stone totems and entire monoliths with intricate carvings. What were these even for, given their size? Decoration, or meant to indicate mass graves? The entire place looked unkempt, eroded with age. Everywhere he went in Hallownest, there was always the recurring feeling that he was the first to set foot in any given area in a long, long time, like he was an archeologist discovering a new forgotten civilization. Chance wished he knew anything about archeology, it might've been useful in this dead kingdom.
(How old does a grave have to be before it goes from graverobbing to archeology? How long have these headstones stood here, forgotten by the corpse of Hallownest? Maybe this was what happened to the kingdom. Maybe this was all that was left.)
Chance's eyes caught onto something glowing, something that wasn't his own phone light. Standing in the center of the cavern was a stone platform, three obelisks rising out of it. Each was adorned in a large, pale, glowing mask. One, two, and six eyes.
"Wait…" Chance pointed at the symbols, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember. "These were… These were at the Temple. The Temple of the Black Egg, back in the Crossroads, remember?"
Tusk hopped from foot to foot. He was certain now; these same three masks were identical to the ones emblazoned on the sealed Temple, with one of them matching Quirrel's hat for some reason.
(Quirrel. Fuck, he was still with Lightfoot and Jeremy right now, wasn't he? He may have patched up his physical injuries, but that didn't mean he was okay. He needed to call Jeremy, ask if the wandering scholar was doing alright, if he was even conscious by now.)
Damn, okay, maybe he'd been looking for this. Some kind of clue he could use to piece this whole mess together, maybe just bring him one step closer to curing his Infection. He was sick of bullshitting his way through Hallownest; he had dozens of pieces scattered in his brain but nothing to put them all together.
He shrugged, climbing onto the podium with Tusk. The air seemed to vibrate around them. Chance noticed an inscribed tablet beneath the three pillars; it wasn't an epitaph.
TO PROTECT THE VESSEL, THE DREAMERS LAY SLEEPING.
Monomon the Teacher
In her Archive, surrounded by fog and mist.
Lurien the Watcher
In his Spire, looking over the city.
Herrah the Beast
In her Den, amidst the deep darkness beyond the kingdom.
THROUGH THEIR DEVOTION, HALLOWNEST LASTS ETERNAL.
"Though devotion, Hallownest lasts… eternal…" Chance mumbled. He'd heard that before, about the Hollow Knight in the Black Vault. The irony wasn't lost on him; did this sprawling graveyard look like "eternity"?
He rested his hand on the tablet. "Monomon… Lurien… Herrah…" The names weren't familiar. These were the owners of these masks, their symbols.
But what was familiar were their descriptions.
He'd only been there briefly, but he could never forget the flying jellyfish and purple mist of the Fog Canyon. That was where Monomon's Archive was.
The only city he knew about was the City of Tears, its skyscrapers defying the cavern ceiling. Lurien had to be in the tallest Spire of them all.
He didn't know about Hallownest's legal boundaries, but the only "deep darkness" he'd seen was in Deepnest, a wilderness unmatched even by the apocalyptic Hallownest. So Herrah had to be hiding in her Den there.
The Fog Canyon. The City of Tears. Deepnest.
Chance quickly snapped a photo of the tablet, making a mental note to himself about the three locations. A nervous smile grew as he laughed to himself; it was one hell of a detour, but he had objectives to follow now. This was another step closer to solving the mystery of the Infection and of the Black Vault.
(Supposedly, these Dreamers had dedicated their lives to keeping the Vault sealed, and keeping whatever was in it - presumably this enigmatic 'Hollow Knight' - trapped inside. So what would happen if he paid a visit to all of these Dreamers?
What would happen if he openedthe Vault?)
Suddenly, A flash blinded him. A barrier of light had appeared, caging them in.
"H-Hey, HEY!" Chance smacked his palms on the seals, golden force-fields appearing between the woven lines of lights, bouncing off harmlessly. "LET US OUT!" Tusk was frantically smacking the barrier with their nail, having about as much success as him. His fists weren't doing anything, even trying to rip them apart with the Claws, electricity from the Crystal Hear dancing at his fingertips. None of it was even denting this magic.
Chance's anger was quickly dissolving into panic. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" he screamed, hoping someone would hear him. They were surrounded by headstones.
His gun flew out of his pocket. He fired into the barrier, the shot exploding through the cavern. The bullet looked like it almost cracked the magic wall, but it bounced off, and Chance had to grab Tusk and duck as the bullet ricocheted around their cell, the seals refusing to give.
Deeper into the caverns, tucked away in the dark, a silver bug was mourning in silence.
Through these heavy stone walls, she almost didn't hear it.
BANG!
She knew that sound.
Her eyes snapped open, and her claws shot out to grab her greatnail.
The bullet lost its momentum, spinning like a red-hot top on the stone floor before coming to a rest. Chance stared at it, wild-eyed.
Something, someone, had them completely trapped.
They exploded.
Dreamcatchers erupted in his vision, from deep within him, and Chance screamed. Tusk was kneeling, deathly still with the dreamcatcher magic keeping them pinned. The walls were down, but they couldn't move.
A migraine rolled through his temples, and it seemed like his head was going to burst. He felt like he was hanging upside down and all the blood was rushing to his skull. Somewhere in the throbbing pain, he could hear himself think, Have I felt this before?
He slammed his hands over his head, trying to grip his skull to dull the pain. He was still screaming. The earth was shaking below, an earthquake ripping through the cemetery. Dust fell off of the headstones, and totems toppled over around them.
His mind parted, and a voice forced its way through.
Go no further, outsiders.
Chance's orange eyes snapped open. He couldn't see anything, still pinned to the floor by the quaking earth, but he could feel a presence surrounding them, circling them like wolves.
A different voice.
What compels the little shadow's climb out of the darkness? What compels its return to this sacred kingdom?
And what compels this human to follow it?
Their presence was strong, overwhelming. It was large enough to fill the room, leaving Chance and Tusk feeling small. Chance looked over his shoulder, unsure of if his body shaking was from the earthquake anymore.
His voice was tiny, almost inaudible. "W...Who…?"
A call from beyond the Seals? By the Vessel, or by that captive light?
That light has already taken its hold in this human. What does he think he will find?
Would they seek to break the Seals? They cannot be undone.
Three voices crowded his mind, arguing over forces he couldn't even comprehend, and Chance could barely think anymore. He wanted to cry. What the hell did they even mean anymore? "W-What do you want from us…?"
But the Vessel weakens. That plague springs anew. They must be undone.
Yet still our Seals remain. Our duty holds.
Chance rose to his knees and screamed as loud as he could. "I'm RIGHT HERE, GODDAMMIT!"
The voices were silent for a moment.
Do we know this human?
No, he is different. Unfit to hold the kingdom's fate.
He is unfit for now.
Chance tried to punch the air. "I-I'm not-!" He wasn't in charge of the kingdom's fate. He wasn't in charge of anyone's fate but his own. All he wanted was to survive. Why couldn't they see that? Why couldn't they just let them go? And who the fuck did they think they were, judging him?
They must be cast away.
Chance's eyes, squinted with frustrated tears, snapped open. Cast… away…?
Our duty holds.
It shall be done.
The earthquake redoubled, and Chance collapsed on his side. Above him, three ghosts shimmered into existence. A cloaked cyclops, a masked jellyfish, and a hooded monster. He'd seen them before, back in Greenpath.
The Watcher, the Teacher, and the Beast.
The three spirits raised their heads high, and a blinding light swarmed him and Tusk. He curled up in a ball, trying to hide from the sparks of energy that were being forced through him. The otherworldly magic feeling red-hot through his veins as he felt himself losing consciousness.
The world around them melted into nothing, and there was only light.
Fade away, little shadow, little stranger.
Fade away, and let us sleep in peace.
Riiing, riiing!
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Jay, you called me."
"Oh."
Chance sat up, resting his back against the woven metal fence as he held the phone up to his face. As delicate as it seemed, it wouldn't suddenly collapse on him. He'd had time to check extensively. All he had left anymore was time.
As beautiful as the scenery was, it got dull quickly when it was all he could look at. Same endless orange clouds. Same eternal sunrise. Same floating dreamcatchers. Same fucking floating islands. It hadn't taken him long to get over the awe of this magical place when he realized that it was meant to be his prison for the rest of time.
"I'm just calling to check in, we managed to get back to Dirtmouth. Quirrel's resting in your bed right now, I hope that's alright. Where are you now?"
Chance slapped a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly. "I think I'm in Hell, Jay."
"What? Is everything okay?!"
"I'm fine. There's just nothing here."
He could almost see Jeremy's bewildered face over the phone. "But… then what's this about you being-"
"No, there's just… There's nothing here, Jay. No monsters, no caves, not even the cemetery anymore. Just an endless sky filled with fucking nothing."
"...What?"
The fence was jabbing him in the back, so Chance slid over and laid down on the cobblestone floor. "I think those ghosts threw me in jail."
"What?!" Jeremy parroted. He seemed to say 'what' a lot. "Are you trapped? W-We'll get down there quick and break you out, don't worry!"
"No," Chance sighed. "Don't bother. We'll get out… eventually, I think." He had no reason to think that. This orange sky could be the rest of his life, for all he knew.
"U-Uh! I don't really understand, but… we'll find you soon, okay? Just hang tight!"
Chance smacked the red button, and his arm flopped to his side. This island was just big enough for him and Tusk to lay on their back, splayed out. They'd been here for what felt like hours now. He didn't think he'd ever been thrown in jail before, but the worst part of it was the monotony. Even with his phone clock, he'd lost his sense of time completely. Once doubts about how well his phone could tell time in the Dream Realm settled in, it was over; he was lost upstream in his mind, existence fading away.
Was this the "eternity" that Hallownest boasted? Because it all seemed like a fucking waste of time to him.
He'd screamed, at first. Kicked things. Clawed around at the empty air, as if they were just surrounded by invisible walls. He peeked over the edge a few times and nearly hurled when he couldn't see the ground. He almost threw his phone off the edge but managed to stop himself.
Tusk jumped off. He could feel himself die inside as their little dark form faded into nothing in the clouds below, but his tears stopped when the little knight fell from the sky and landed back on the platform right next to him. Now, every thirty minutes or so, Tusk jumped off of the ledge and fell all the way around the world, just to keep themselves from dying of boredom. Chance was tempted to follow them, but he didn't think he could stick the landing as well as they could.
Could you die in a dream like this? Would they even let him die? He didn't have the balls to test it, so the best he could do was lay back and think about it, never arriving at a conclusion.
Eventually, he pulled up his phone and started playing "Dream Weaver". He could have a sense of humor, too. After a few times of watching Tusk fall in a circle, he stood over the edge and dropped his phone straight down. Chance was going insane; the endless silence was only broken with the occasional fading in and out of Gary Wright's sappy keyboard.
Twenty or so loops later, Tusk jumped off of the ledge after his phone, caught it, and slammed it into the ground as they came back down, shattering it to pieces. Chance healed it with his Focus, but he got the message and stopped playing Dream Weaver on loop.
Lurien. Monomon. Herrah. The three Dreamers who had sealed him and Tusk away in this place, presumably forever. He couldn't count how many times he'd cursed their names, at first out of rage but eventually just to make sure he didn't forget. Then he remembered he could write their names in the notepad app of his phone. Now he had no more curses left to shout into the void.
What was their purpose, anyway? They sealed up the Black Egg Temple, apparently with the Hollow Knight inside. And they… did they mention something about a 'captive light'? He felt like he was on the cusp of discovering something important, and it pissed him off to no end.
Riiing! His phone was going off again. Was that Jeremy? That was fast. Or maybe it wasn't. He couldn't tell anymore.
He held the speaker up to his ear. "'Ello?"
"...Chance…"
The whisper was so soft, so broken up, he nearly didn't recognize it anymore. His tired eyes snapped open as he felt his chest clench. "J-Jeremy? Are you alright?"
"C-Chance… Help me…"
"JAY!" he shouted into the phone, startling Tusk into whipping out their nail. "If this is a joke, it's not fucking funny!"
"It's so cold… S-So dark… Chance…"
"JEREMY!"
"...Help… Don't leave me here…"
The line went dead. Chance felt like he was going berserk.
He shot to his feet, kicking the fence again as he screamed murder at the gods. It actually dented this time. What the fuck was he doing, letting himself fall into a slump here? What right did he have to stop now? He almost succumbed to the monotony, content to waste away here forever, but he'd never be able to rest now, not after that call.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and jumped off of the ledge.
Layla - Chance
Today 7:42 PM
Layla: I wasn't expecting you to visit me at this hour.
Layla: Any particular occasion? Or were you just in the mood~?
Chance: got manhandled by the fuckin dreamers
Layla: Oh.
Chance: so this is the real dream realm
Chance: or. as real as it gets
Layla: Soon enough, it'll be realer than you could ever know.
Chance: its unfiltered
Chance: no illusions. Its raw and stripped bare
Layla: You're correct. What you see now is the Dream Realm in its "default" state.
Layla: ...Say, speaking of "stripped bare"...
Layla: That phone of yours can capture images, can it not?
Chance: you wanna see what i keep in my pants, dont you
Layla: Straight to the point. I like that.
Chance: ive got something long here for you
Chance: 6 inches and hard as steel
Layla: Interesting~
Layla: What do you want to do with it?
Chance: i wanna stick it in your mouth
Chance: i wanna make it explode all over the back of your throat
Layla: Oh, how forward~
Layla: May I see~?
Chance: 20170113_245074 . jpg
Layla: Cha
Layla: Chance that's a gun.
Chance: yes
He landed on a new platform, one that wasn't there a second ago. He groaned, trying to use his Soul to heal whatever damage his ribs and face might've taken, feeling lucky that he wasn't a splotch of red on the stone. He coughed when Tusk landed on his back and hopped off effortlessly.
A shimmering sound echoed around them, and a bright light flashed into existence. A ghost of a moth had appeared before them, silent.
And it flew off.
"H-Hey!"
More small, stone islands appeared, bridging the gap between them and a much larger island further ahead, though he wished it was an actual bridge and not more parkour. He'd had enough of that in the Peaks. Their path following the visage of the moth was filled with hallways decorated with windchimes and dreamcatchers, floating lamposts lining the path, broken parts of imaginary temples that would never see completion. This really could only be a dream.
"W-Who are you?!" Chance called out to the spirit, struggling as he ran to catch up. Tusk had grabbed onto his jacket and was riding on his back. Giant glowing dreamcatchers weaved themselves into existence as they went by, trampling over long patches of orange feathergrass that grew between the stones of the pathway. The wind seemed to be at their back, jingling the chimes and ringing the small bells that dangled from the floating ceilings.
Strange thoughts. The word Navajo popped into Chance's head. Were those the guys who made the dreamcatchers, or someone else? And were they the ones who took Peyote and chased spirits like he was now? There were drums playing in his head.
Finally, the ghost stopped. They hovered over a large moth statue, not unlike the ones he saw in the cemetery. Did this world mirror the real world somehow? How deep had they been sealed, anyway? The light seeping in through the floor told him the barrier between this world and the next was thinning.
Was this where ghosts went when they died? Was this Heaven?
"What a terrible fate they've visited upon you," the moth spirit spoke to them. She sounded familiar, but he couldn't name where he'd heard her voice before. "To cast you away into this space between body and soul."
"W-Who are you?" Chance repeated, stepping forward cautiously. Was this another trick by the Radiance?
"You shall recognize me in time, human. For now-" The spirit guide was interrupted as the Dream Realm quaked, the sun shining a little brighter. He felt like he was watching a nuclear blast from miles away. "You must hurry, friends."
"What do we need to do?" He didn't give a shit anymore, anything to get him out of this world.
"Will you accept the judgement of the Dreamers and burn away in this Light? Or will you take the weapon before you, and cut your way out of this sad, forgotten dream?"
The moth faded slowly away. In her place was a flash, and a small, glowing thing appeared before them expectantly. Was that a... stick?
No. It's a hilt.
He exchanged a glance with Tusk, who nodded. The sun blinded them in fury as they both reached out together, feeling the weapon take shape in their hands. The hilt was made of an alien purple metal that Chance didn't think existed on Earth or even in the real world. Its hilt guard was a metallic dreamcatcher, spinning slowly while suspended within.
A light grew from within the dreamcatcher, and a blade of blinding light exploded forth. Essence erupted from the blade in waves, and Chance was blinded as he could feel himself be ripped from the world.
Something, some massive and furious form, shined like the sun behind them, but it was too late.
Chance and Tusk were already gone.
...
...
"Ahhhhhh… Ahhhn?"
...
Chance groaned awake. The smell of lavender filled the air.
Pale lights softly glimmered above him, Lumaflies trapped in dusty glass jars dangling from the ceiling. Alongside the lamps, he could also make out hand-weaved dreamcatchers and strings of copper bells, twirling softly above him like a mobile above a crib.
He realized he was resting on pillows. They were large and plush, their sheets clean, miles better than the pillows he had in his house in Dirtmouth. He wanted to take them home with him, or better yet, just curl up right here and fall back asleep…
"You'd do well not to return to your slumber, friend."
His eyes snapped open, and he turned to see two massive purple eyes the size of his fist staring into his soul.
"Ahhhh, you've returned. Welcome back to the waking world."
Chance startled, trying to scramble away. In his momentary panic, he didn't watch where his arms flew and he will not amount to anything. He surrendered his true godhood when he shed his form, and all that remains is his Light, cold and vain."
"The rest of the tribe has already taken to that Light."
"The rest, hm?" A blinding form shifted. "And not you? You would not follow the Betrayer and the rest of your - our - people, on their march to oblivion?"
"They may accept the King's Light, but the King would not accept them. We know this."
"Do they know?"
"...I would like to think so." She sighed, "They feel as though they have woken up from a trance, that their Heaven has been stripped away to a colder world. They feel they've been lied to."
"My realm speaks not lies, for my word becomes truth. What joy is there in the Wyrm's idea of truth? What purpose? Can not his kingdom of salvation bring peace of mind to his people?"
"I can only pray that our lost kin will find their way home before they must face a harsh reality."
"Yes…" The Light receded within herself like a sigh. "And we could say the same for our mutual friend, could we not?"
"Perhaps you could," she objected. She turned to him, "Chance here wouldn't be so easily fooled."
-shoved an elderly woman to the ground.
His senses returning to him, his immediate thought was to frantically apologize and help her up, but Eleanor only laughed to herself.
"I should have expected such an alarmed reaction. There is no need to panic; you are safe here."
"W-Who…?" He wants to ask the old moth woman, but he knows it's useless. They've both already been acquainted just now. "W-What happened…?"
The Seer, Eleanor, giggled, reaching into a pile of pillows. She lifted Tusk out of hiding and set them back down on top of the pillow mound they had buried themselves in.
Chance could see something in Tusk's hand: a purple metallic hilt. His breath hitched in his throat.
"Those figures, those Dreamers... they reached out with what little power they still have and dragged you into that hidden place." Eleanor huffed, trailing her claws on the hilt in Tusk's paws. "But that talisman your Vessel friend now wields, the Dream Nail... it can cut through the veil that separates the waking world from our dreams. Even the Dreamers themselves can not hide from such a weapon."
Chance had several questions about everything, but he decided to try and relax in the pillows as he went over each of them in his head.
"Uh… Who are the Dreamers?"
"I suppose that is as good a start as any. They were old figures, intimately tied to Hallownest's history, having sacrificed themselves for the sake of King and country." She sighed, "I believe you can guess what their sacrifice was for."
-the tumor at the top of the world-
"The only thing more tragic than their imprisonment is the vanity of it all," Eleanor sighed again. "Had they achieved anything, you would not be here right now." He realized that she seemed to sigh a lot as she reached up to him, taking his face in her soft claws. Her hand felt so much like Jeremy's.
"Your eyes…" The Seer looked like she wanted to cry. "It pains me to see such a fate befall you. You are undeserving of our Light's wrath."
Chance placed his hand on hers, his orange eyes staring into her lavender ones. He could feel their Souls thrumming, pain in her expression.
"...I remember you now." His eyes widened with recognition. "You were on the cruise ship in that dream."
Next to her was a smaller moth in lavender with long cream-colored antennae, her pink eyes wide with wonder. Her plate was mostly a light salad. "Ahhhh, you always find a reason to celebrate, my Light."
"Oh, but this one's particularly special, my Seer!" The Radiance beamed.
Tusk had hopped up, either having just woken up or having been awake this entire time and only now deciding to move. They held the purple hilt in their dark paws, approaching the Seer like a child asking for another cookie. (Eleanor did somehow feel like a long-lost grandmother to him, he realized; he wasn't sure where the familiarity was. Was this a side effect of his Soul-reading? Or did she always give off this aura?)
"Ah-" The Seer dodged the unspoken question of Whose fucking side are you on, but Chance didn't feel like pressing anyway.
She reached down, examining the hilt as Tusk eagerly held it up to show her. They must've felt her grandma power, too. Chance leaned in to examine the artifact himself, but leapt back when a beam of actual light shot out.
Tusk has a lightsaber. Tusk has an actual, real-life, motherfucking lightsaber.
Eleanor wasn't alarmed as the purple beam shot out, forming a blade of magic. In fact, she actually hummed in disappointment. "I must say, this sacred blade must have dulled over time. Together perhaps, we can restore its power. You only have to bring me Essence."
"Essence?"
She means the stupid dreamcatchers, Chance-
"Essence... the precious fragments of light that dreams are made of. Collect it wherever you find it, and bring it to me. Once we have enough, we can work wonders together."
She turned to Chance, "Essence can be found wherever dreams take root. Have you seen those whispering plants that grow all over this old Kingdom? I believe there is one just outside. Why not have the Wielder strike it with your Dream Nail, and see what happens?"
"Er… Wielder?" Chance felt stupid for having to ask so many questions.
"Ah, yes…" The Seer looked down at Tusk, an amused light glinting in her eyes. "Although you both grabbed the Dream Nail at the same time, it seems to have selected the little one as its Wielder. That is not to say you cannot use the Dream Nail, but only its true Wielder could ever master it."
...The weapon chooses its Wielder. I'm not even gonna ask about this one. Tusk can keep the lightsaber.
Eleanor smiled at both of them. "Go out into the world, Chance, Wielder. Hunt down the Essence that lingers there! I pray for the best of luck on your journey!"
"We're just gonna check out that root-thing outside…"
Chance took that as his cue to leave, waving at Seer and he and Tusk ducked out of her cave. He already missed the comfort of the nest she had made on the cave floor. Maybe if they got enough of this Essence stuff, he could ask to take some pillows home with him…
The heavy air of the Resting Grounds lay still as they stepped outside. They were standing on a ledge, and when he peeked over, Chance startled; they were at the top of a massive pit, lined with stone platforms. Not a ladder or elevator in sight. Were they meant to just jump down from floor to floor? It reminded him of a similar room in the Crossroads, except at least now, the platforms were solid stone and not dangling by wires. He hated this parkour shit.
Tusk had no problem scaling the room, while Chance had to stumble and grab with his Claws, even if he landed cleanly on the platform below.
It was on the level directly below Seer's that they found the Whispering Root. It was a tan, sickly thing, breaking out of the stones below but unwilling to grow higher than his knees, dreamcatchers dangling off of it like apples. Trailing his fingers along its barkless wood, it started to softly glow; Chance heard voices, but couldn't make out any words.
Chance heard voices.
"So… the Dream Nail, right?"
Tusk nodded, pulling out the hilt. They steeled themselves as the beam of blinding light exploded free, and they struck the Whispering Root, light bursting around them.
A sound like a wind chime rang in his ears as he stumbled back. The whole world seemed to melt a little.
Ah. Che' founds't you.
Chance spun on his heel, looking for where the sudden voice came from. Dreamcatchers, nearly invisible, floated in the air around them. He could feel the Essence in every breath.
What just happened? What… What'd we just do?
"That weapon, Me'hon…"
He spun back around. When he wasn't looking, a new bug had appeared on the platform with them. Though, she didn't look like any bug Chance had ever seen; her body was obscured by long, silvery hair that flowed all the way down to the ground, four black antennae curling above her head. Her dress, or what he could see of it, was also a pale silver, thin and loose; her whole self seemed to flow.
And strapped to her back was a massive greatnail; cracked and dulled from neglect, but still taller than Chance was. The thing was barely a sword, it was a heap of metal.
Hoooly shit. That thing could chop me clean in half.
"That it could, Me'hon, if you'st not watch your tongue. I speak of that weapon on your hip."
Chance blinked. Did I say that out loud? He reached down, feeling his fingers trailing the cool metal of his revolver. He'd never found a proper holster for it, so the best he could do was just shove the thing in his pocket. "The… the gun?"
"Ai. That is not yours, is it?"
"It's…" His hand curled and uncurled, hovering over the gun's grip. "I found it. It's mine."
-lunging out, greatnail slicing open his chest-
"You lie."
Instinctively, Chance grabbed Tusk by the horn and yanked them both back, just before the mystery bug swung her nail at them, effortlessly heaving the monolith off of the ground as if it were a pencil.
Turning around and running the other way, she barely missed, only managing to slice off a scrap of his jacket.
Letting go of Tusk (they could maneuver on their own far better than he could), he scrambled down to the next lower platform with the Mantis Claws, trying to put as much distance between himself and this crazy bug as he could.
He carries the Mantis Claws? Ah, I ought not get too close. Though, che' supposes he cannot get too close to che', either. Che's range with a greatnail is longer than with his Claws.
Chance could hear the contemplation in her voice, lightning-fast calculating on how to take him out. He grabbed the gun on his waist, Shit! Even if my Claws can't get close, I can still beat her in the range game with a gun!
The strange knight's greatnail scraped over the stone above him as he hunched down, waiting for her to strike at any moment. Ai, che' could not beat that powerful weapon. But perhaps che' does not have to; in a vertical arena lined with stone platforms, nym'human could not get a clear line of fire without being on the same platform as che'.
And doing so would put me in range of her greatnail… Chance cursed under his breath. Fuck, she's right! The gun's the only way I can beat her, but I can't use it effectively in these conditions!
The silver knight heaved her greatnail on her back, preparing to make her move. She could see herself jumping off of the wall and landing on the platform below in one lightning-fast motion, striking him down before he could blink.
...But something is troubling che…
Chance stared up at the platform above him, his eyes wide with confusion and terror.
How come…
She looked down at the platform below him, pondering.
...we can…
If the stone were invisible, they would be locking eyes.
...see each other…?
Dreamcatchers floated all around them. The pale knight stopped thinking and made her move.
She moved exactly as she had pictured, moving like a silver bullet, her hair and dress trailing behind her as she rocketed into the pocket that Chance and Tusk were hiding in.
Tusk, hiding on the ceiling, swung down at her, having prepared an ambush after seeing her plan. They didn't understand why they could see the grey knight's movements before she made them, but they'd take any advantage they could in this fight.
Without even looking, the grey knight parried Tusk's ambush.
"You are not the only one seeing things, Me'hon."
With a tremendous force, she struck Tusk square on their mask with her greatnail, cracking it open as they were launched away like a cannonball. Tusk rocketed into the opposite wall, the rock collapsing in a thunderous cascade, revealing a dark tunnel behind it after the dust settled.
"T-TUSK!" Chance couldn't even see where Tusk went. Were they dead? Their ambush was perfectly executed; how could this strange silver knight be that powerful?
He turned to face the knight, whose greatnail was pointed accusingly at him. "Che' has no qualms with nym'Vessel," she spoke. "Nahlo. You carry that gun. You were my only opponent from the beginning, human."
Her glare bored into him. Chance wanted to scream.
He charged her, his Claws glowing bright with the energy of the Crystal Heart. He could feel static on his tongue, his whole self lighting up in electricity. Tactics be damned, he'd maul anyone who hurt Tusk.
The silver knight reflexively moved to block a strike to the face, only for Chance to feint to her side, his Claws rending her flesh and nails impaling her organs.
Why couldn't they understand?
Fields of silver. A gunshot. Five brave warriors. Pale light. A roaring engine.
Why couldn't they understand?
An explosion in the sky.
"S-She's spent all these years looking for me… and now, she can't even open her eyes to see me!"
Screams echoing up the hall. Fields of silver.
"I… I thought I'd never see you again…"
Tumor. Terminal. Inoperable.
Fields of grey.
Chance dove past Ze'mer and ducked into the next lowest platform, panic running through his static-charged veins. He was fighting a Great Knight of Hallownest. One of the former King's right hands. Holy fucking shit. It wasn't even that he was going to die, it was a mystery that he wasn't dead already.
Ze'mer was quick in following him. Chance noticed that she let her greatnail fly in the wind behind her as though it were made of paper; like a cheetah's tail, the hefty weapon acted as a counterbalance when she leapt around with superhuman agility. He couldn't even rely on his speed to beat her. That fucking greatnail wasn't slowing her down, it was speeding her up.
Ai, this is a battle of range, not reflex, and nym'human will surely realize that soon.
"Perhaps you are unaware, moina?" Ze'mer twirled her blade like it was a baton and not a mountain of steel. "To carry that weapon at your hip is to carry a burden, weighty like a mountain capped in snow. Che' shall not allow a legacy tarnished by one who is unfit."
Do we know this human?
No, he is different. Unfit to hold the kingdom's fate.
He is unfit for now.
Chance didn't owe shit to Hallownest.
This nightmare of a kingdom had stripped him of everything, beaten him into the ground and ripped him limb from limb. Hallownest could just cave in and explode for all he cared. But he was 'unfit' for what, to survive? Was he expected to just lay down and let the Infection consume him until it leaked from his pores?
He'd been dragged through hell and he was still here. Bull-fucking-shit he was unfit.
He didn't know why he and Ze'mer were reading each other's minds; his best bet was the Root-thing Tusk had struck with the Dream Nail. But he could feel furious resolve well up in him and pour off of him in waves, and he hoped Ze'mer could see it, too.
Chance reached for his gun.
Great Knight Ze'mer launched forward, and he fired.
In a flash of sparks, she just barely managed to block Chance's shot with the flat side of her nail, the bullet ricocheting into a nearby stone wall. His eyes widened as she got closer, greatnail in hand.
Chance tried to throw a Heart-fueled punch, but Ze'mer caught it in her own hand. He tried to knee her, but with her free hand, she struck his leg with her nail, causing him to stumble back closer to the ledge.
We can both read each other's movements, but she's a trained Great Knight. She can use the same influx of information better than I can. She has the advantage.
Chance pulled his gun again, but with one hand, Ze'mer grabbed it and aimed it upward, causing him to shoot the ceiling.
And with her other hand, she leveled her blade and plunged it into his gut.
…
Chance's mind went blank.
His revolver slipped from limp fingers, and Ze'mer plucked it out of his hand. She yanked her greatnail, soaked in his blood, out of his stomach.
He stumbled past the edge. Dreamcatchers flew past him as he fell.
Ze'mer weighed the gun in her hands. Le'mer, can you still hear che' from beyond this kingdom's coffin? This was yours. Che' can tell it's the same one. It shall't not fall into unworthy hands.
She felt bad, but that Chance human was Infected anyway. He was dead long ago, so her actions were a mercy. It was curious, finding another human appearing in Hallownest, and with her weapon no less; but her old friend's memory came before the well-being of a corpse.
And that Vessel… that tragedy was better off being put to rest. She didn't know what it was doing with Chance, who had seemingly named it 'Tusk', but it didn't matter to her. She no longer served Hallownest, and only existed to put old spirits to rest.
She peered over the ledge, perhaps looking to see Chance's body splattered in red at the bottom of the pit. Or maybe she was looking to see how much of his crimson blood had turned glowing orange, to justify his death to herself.
Instead, she saw Chance's body.
Floating in midair.
…
It was a huge gamble, but it seemed to be paying off as he let his Focus pour through him, trying to stitch him up. His new chest wound sealed itself closed nicely, but there was one part of him that his magic was trying and struggling to fix.
Ze'mer watched in wonder. Wai? Nym'human has healing magic, che' can see. But levitation…? His body was bathed in a pale glow as he was lifted up as if caught in a UFO's beam. She could see that he was still breathing, so this wasn't just his ghost after falling to his death.
She noticed a similar pale glow right next to her. Turning, she saw a scrap of olive-green cloth stuck on a fencepost, drops of red blood sprinkled on it.
…Ai. You trickster.
Earlier, when Ze'mer had struck at them first, she'd only cut off a scrap of Chance's jacket. He'd held onto it, and impaled it on the sharp metal fence while Ze'mer was busy thinking on the platform above them. It was instinctual; he was in enough of a panic thinking about how to deal with Ze'mer that he barely processed what he was doing.
The best plan is no plan at all. She didn't see what I was doing because I didn't see it either.
And now, with his Soul washing over him, the one part of it that it could not fix was his jacket, because he'd stuck one scrap of it way up top so that it couldn't fly back down to him. If the scrap couldn't come to him, then his magic would pull him to the scrap, saving him from a fatal fall.
Or at least, it was trying to. Defying gravity with healing magic was burning through his Soul like it was paper.
Ze'mer yanked the cloth off of the fencepost, watching as it shot down the pit and fused into Chance's jacket. His leverage gone and his Soul thoroughly drained from that stunt, gravity took hold of Chance again, who managed to barely grab onto an outside ledge.
His magic is gone and his tricks are up. Ai, now is the time to strike.
Ze'mer leapt off of the platform, greatnail falling first as she dove into the darkness, a silver arrow with her long hair trailing behind her in the wind. She had no fear, no need for tricks to survive like he had. A clever human was no threat to her, though perhaps a desperate one could hold her off.
Chance scrambled into a small tunnel just before she could guillotine his leg, her blade stabbing through the ancient stone like butter. She yanked it back out, turning to face him; he dodged her downward strike by a scant inch, and this tunnel was only a short awning.
He was cornered.
Her eyes widened.
Chance, blood trickling out of his nose from overexertion, leaning up against a glowing Soul Totem.
"I-I dunno what these things even are…" He coughed. "But they're sick."
He whipped out his gun, taking another shot. Ze'mer deflected with her greatnail again, the bullet hitting a stone wall somewhere. Nemeno! Cornered nym'human is, he still has that gun. With his energy replenished, who knows what a wild animal shall do when trapped. Che' ought to draw him out, find a new angle.
With incredible agility, befitting of a Great Knight, Ze'mer leapt away, her greatnail hardly weighing her down at all. It was just stupid, how agile all Hallownestians were compared to him. Shit wasn't fair.
Before he stepped out of his hidey-hole to pursue, Chance snapped open the cylinder of his revolver. Three shots left, he thought. One at the Dreamer altar, and two in this fight. I'm half out, then.
Do I replenish now, while I have Soul to spare?
Chance's hand hovered over his gun, magic wavering, before he decided to snap it shut.
No. It's not time yet.
Dreamcatchers still wavered in the air. What was even happening to the world around them? Chance wished this didn't have to happen just before a fight. Steeling himself, he made a running start from his ledge to the next platform above, and jumped across the chasm–
A silver arrow shot from above.
Chance collapsed on the next platform, screaming as blood stained the stones. He used his Claws to drag himself further away, tears welling up in his eyes, the unforgiving rock grating against his skin as he crawled.
He wanted to curl up his toes in agony, but five of them weren't there anymore.
Fingers and toes are more densely packed with nerves than most other parts of the body. Tiny papercuts you usually wouldn't notice anywhere else can make you hiss in pain when they're on your fingertips. They're extremely sensitive, and extremely debilitating when injured.
Chance couldn't even pull himself up and hobble around. Not only was he stuck on a platform surrounded by pits he'd need to leap across, but Ze'mer had cut his toes off all the way down to the front ball of his foot in one big chunk. She was probably aiming for his whole foot.
He could barely think through the pain as the Great Knight climbed down, taking her time, knowing that Chance wasn't going anywhere.
"Heal nym'self, and che' will lob off your head. Che' is faster than any magic."
The hand clutching his bloody foot, pale wisps dancing around it, stilled. Chance wanted to vomit as she raised her blade, pointing it at his neck.
"Che' can feel your agony through this strange space. This need not go on, Me'hon. Return che' that sacred weapon, and your life will be spared, mahmeno."
Chance grabbed at the gun at his waist. What the hell did she know about it? Why wouldn't she just leave him alone? Lemm had said that human artifacts were rare in Hallownest, but did this gun have a… history?
His hand shook as he slowly held it up, offering the gun to Ze'mer.
Something broke. Something faded.
The dreamcatchers were gone.
Chance pulled the trigger.
She held her greatnail up horizontaly, the bullet traveling along its length and embedding into the wall behind her. Chance didn't even know that was possible.
"Foolish," Ze'mer said, raising her nail high, and swinging it down with enough might to cut through the stone beneath him.
…
DINK!
Her greatnail bounced off harmlessly. "Wai–?!"
Standing in front of Chance was Tusk, a golden glow surrounding them like a halo. Two ethereal, golden shields shaped like flowers orbited around Tusk, one of them having just deflected a strike from the Great Knight.
"T-Tusk, you're–" They weren't alright. Black tar still leaked from a crack in their mask, and their whole body looked bruised up. But at least they were still standing, nail at their side, ready to fight.
While Chance was fighting Ze'mer, Tusk had been running around with the Dream Nail, trying to shut down whatever effect the Root was having on the area and on their minds. They must have succeeded, whatever they did, and found a strange new charm to boot.
Tusk was the fucking best. He needed to pay them back someday for how many times they've saved his ass.
They hopped around Ze'mer, swinging their nail at her legs while she struggled to block their attacks, no longer able to predict any movements. Chance struggled to pull himself up, feeling lightheaded from the pool of blood that had taken up most of the platform's surface by now. Even Ze'mer's hair and dress were tinged in red near the bottom.
When Tusk got knocked into the fence by a clean hit to the neck, Chance leveled his gun and fired. Ze'mer blocked it again, of course; the former Great Knight couldn't be duped that easily.
But now her guard was facing them.
Just as Ze'mer aimed her nail at his chest, preparing to cut him open,
Chance snapped open the cylinder of his gun, and Focused.
All the bullets he had fired returned to him, no matter what was in the way.
The cheap potshot he had taken at Ze'mer, which she had guided along her blade to embed into the wall behind her, came flying backwards along the path it had traveled.
Straight through her chest.
Of all the horrors Chance had witnessed in Hallownest, the carnage following their fight with Great Knight Ze'mer was one of the more macabre things he'd had to lay in.
There was him, half of his foot sliced off, pooling blood across the entire platform and getting everyone sticky. It soaked through his clothes and stuck to his skin, and it was warm.
There was Tusk, collapsed against a metal fence with some strange, ink-black substance leaking out of their cracked mask and trailing down from their eye-holes like crying mascara. Even on their dark body, he could see bruises. Parts of their porcelian-white mask was stained red.
And there was Ze'mer, the silvery and majestic knight, hunched over as she tried in vain to nurse a bullet wound in her chest. Yellow-ish hemolymph dripped down from her dress.
As much as he wanted to catch his breath, Chance gritted his teeth and began Focusing into his foot, oh God, his foot. He squeezed his eyes shut, not man enough to look at the carnage as he felt all of his blood flow back into the injury, indirectly removing the stains in Ze'mer's hair and Tusk's mask. He tried not to focus on the sharp pain behind the numbing cold of his magic until he could flex his toes again.
She had cut straight through his shoe, which was also restored. Even with the injury gone, Chance's legs were still weak as he struggled to pull himself up on the metal fence next to him. Tears still blinked at his eyes, his breath shuddering.
He hated this. He hated being helpless. He couldn't even win a fight on his own merit, so he was just left to pick up the pieces of himself when the dust settled. Why did Hallownest want him dead so badly? And why hadn't it won yet?
Chance snapped his gun cylinder shut. Six rounds, though he'd only need one.
He pressed the barrel against Ze'mer's temple.
"This thing I've got pointed at you, you know what it is?"
The Great Knight's voice was raspy. "C-Che' is familiar, yes."
"Yeah? And are you familiar with the old saying, 'I want to shoot you so bad, my dick's hard'?"
"Che' can… assume the context."
"Shut up. Don't move."
Keeping the gun pointed at her the whole time, Chance walked over to where Tusk was crumpled against a fence, tar dripping out of them and onto the stone floor. It looked like tar, anyway, with the way that light seemed to just… fall into it. It leaked up as well as down, defying gravity as small blobs broke away from the main stream and floated into the air, evaporating into nothing.
Chance thought about Vessels, and what the hell they were even supposed to be. Tusk's blood wasn't tar, it wasn't hemolymph, it wasn't motor oil and it wasn't soy sauce. Were Vessels something that were 'made'? And if so, what were they made… of?
He snapped out of his hesitation, holding a glowing hand against Tusk's mask. Their dark blood flowed back into their wound before sealing the crack, and soon enough, Tusk was back on their feet again. Poor little thing. They didn't deserve this bullshit, either.
They both seemed to have their fair share of bullshit, and their combined bullshit powers were enough to overcome any amount of enemy bullshit. Friendship or whatever the fuck.
Chance whipped back around to Ze'mer. The Great Knight was kneeling on the ground, clutching at her chest and struggling to breathe. Pale yellow hemolymph dribbled down her silvery dress, the stain growing. He needed to sort this out quickly, before the blood loss got to her.
"Tell me what you know and tell me why I shouldn't put another bullet in you."
Ze'mer, despite having no guarantee she would survive the next few minutes, chuckled. She coughed up more yellowish blood. "C-Che' needed to know… if a worthy successor of that weapon, nym'human was."
Chance didn't think he needed to ask for his results. "Why do you care? I found this in some dingy old relic shop. What is it, sacred?"
"Sacred, nahlo, perhaps it is not… che' may even call it sacrilegious. But…"
She leaned in close, her hand touching his.
"Che' has witnessed that sacrilege turn to salvation once before. This cursed kingdom, rescued from the wrath of old gods by that weapon. Ai, perhaps it is time for you to take up that mantle, Me'hon."
Chance suddenly felt sick. His confidence in his gun had vanished. "W-What'dya mean, witnessed…?"
"That gun, che' recognizes it, monia? It once had'st another wielder, a legend of another tale. A treasure of che's old friend of an age long past."
It took a long moment for him to decipher her words. "You… You knew this gun's old wielder…?"
"Ai. Does Le'mer think he can stomach the knowledge, the burden that he hast carried in that weapon, all this time?"
Chance hesitated, before nodding. He had proved himself worthy.
"Then–"
She coughed, then collapsed. Chance caught her, and after a moment's fumbling, started to heal her wound. They'd moved past an interrogation at this point, and honestly, he was so absorbed that he had forgotten she was even injured.
The hemolymph flowed back into her chest and sealed up. Ze'mer coughed up a bit more blood, clearing her throat, before she tried to prop herself up against the metal fence.
"F-Forgive che'..." she mumbled. "But… nahlo, that gun's grip…"
She slipped into unconsciousness. Chance panicked, terrified that he killed her, but the presence of a heartbeat let him sigh in relief. Then he slammed a fist down on his knee.
Dammit, I was so close! He grit his teeth, Well… I'll just ask her again when she wakes up. Though, this isn't really any place to relax…
"Tusk, can you go get the Seer? Ze'mer's not injured, but she needs somewhere to rest."
Tusk nodded, quickly turning on their heel and hopping up the platforms to the top of the towering room. There was no way Eleanor didn't hear the gunshots, and she must've been terrified to come out right now. But they needed her help; more specifically, they needed some of those heavenly throw-pillows she had lying around.
Chance sat back next to Ze'mer's unconscious body, taking deep breaths of his own. It… occurred to him, how big the Great Knight was. It was hard to tell for sure, but she looked like she might've been seven feet or taller, and all of her hair seemed to flow outwards from her, expanding like a cloud. He scooched away a few inches, wanting to give her some more space.
He regarded his gun. Ze'mer had said something about its grip before she passed out, didn't she? He… didn't really understand, but since he was alone…
Figuring it'd be easier to repair any damage with his magic than trying to meticulously disassemble the thing, Chance threw caution to the wind and wiggled his Claws into the tiny crack between either half of the revolver's black plastic grip. Once he had a bit of leverage, he began to pull the grip apart, feeling the plastic groan and snap.
Something jutted out against his finger. Something thin and white.
Chance's blood ran cold.
He felt like he was pulling teeth as he gently, gently, tugged the paper out of the gun's grip. It had a thin, plasticy film to it, one that had yellowed and warped with age.
It was an old polaroid photo. He could feel the air escape his lungs.
This… this was hiding inside my gun?!
Slowly, he flipped it over.
The photo was of a woman. A young woman, not much older than him, with raven-black hair and a leather jacket. She looked like a punk, but her face was curled up in a soft grin, her silent laugh immortalized in film.
He couldn't make out the background, but piggybacking on her shoulders was a small bug.
One with long white horns and a red dress.
She was smiling, too.
Sitting there in the silent Resting Grounds, freckled in blood and dirt and with his eyes blazing orange, Chance could feel himself drawn into the old film, preserved in his gun grip. Drawn into their smiles, even as he couldn't breathe.
He could almost hear the laughter of old ghosts.
Luv U bubs! XOXO
– Valleri
Chapter name and summary are a reference to Break On Through (To the Other Side) by The Doors.
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Dream Weaver by Gary Wright
Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles
its my fic i can name two chapters in a row after the Doors. frick u
this chapter is a fucking MESS, not in that it's bad (i think), but in that so many different factors are coming into play all at once. The Ze'mer fight was both a headache and one of the more fun things I've written so far. I've always wondered what exactly it is that the Whispering Roots even *do*, since in canon there's no good explanation other than "they gib u essence" so I got to make my own rules! And i decided that active Whispering Roots act like passive AOE Dream Nails, i guess!
if Ze'mer seems a little OOC for suddenly deciding to stop being sad so she can beat the shit out of a stranger, dw, that'll get explained clearly in the next chapter if it's not already obvious.
And if you're unfamiliar with and curious about this mysterious "Valleri", why don't you go read Ethnoentomology: Midnight Rider? It's being updated at the same time as this one!
PLEASE leave a comment, and thank you for reading! Join our Discord server at PYXCv9tUPg !