"I'm your source of self-destruction."
"Never, in ages of my ancestors protecting these hallowed grounds, has such desecration been wrought, and over a mere spat no less! I am appalled at your lack of tact and diplomacy, the both of you!"
Just clench your teeth and bear it, Chance. You knew this would happen. Man up and own it.
Ze'mer and Chance were sitting side-by-side, grimacing. Now that everyone was healed up and her initial terror had faded away, Eleanor was bristling at them, fire in her lavender eyes. God, the Seer could be terrifying when she got pissed.
"You especially, Grey Ze'mer. I have been more than gracious in allowing you a home here, and the moment a newcomer surfaces, you would turn this peaceful domain into your battleground. I cannot begin to understand your reasoning, but your actions are inexcusable, and–"
Tusk tugged gently on Eleanor's feathery-soft down. She turned and patted them on the head with a gentle smile. "Oh, not you, Wielder, I am sure you were only trying to protect yourself."
Little motherfucker.
"–In your actions," The Seer turned her attention back to Ze'mer, "You have slighted these graves, and they would seek retribution. For forgiveness, I would have you tend to every headstone of these Resting Grounds."
Ze'mer suddenly rose from her seat on the pillows, only to drop to a knee before Eleanor. "Forgiveness, che' shall seek, but please understand, dear Seer," she said, "Che' needed to ensure nym'human could bear the future of this kingdom."
A heavy silence followed. That… is kind of a lame excuse.
Chance looked down at his hand, still holding the photograph he had found in his gun. It was hypnotic, within as it was beyond him, bearing a significance he could never understand, but one he had to carry. Somber, alien smiles, masked by the high contrast of a polaroid.
'Luv U, bubs'…
Valleri.
A name. "I wanna know more about Valleri."
Ze'mer and Eleanor turned to him, and he realized he might've interrupted a conversation. "I… I wanna know," he parroted. He didn't even know where to begin, but this was something he needed to know. Did this person mean anything to him? What weight did her name hold?
Ze'mer, the former Great Knight, stared, at a complete loss for what to say. "...Che'... Valleri… she was–"
Riiing, riiing!
Chance was startled, then elated, and then remembering what had happened in the Dream Realm, gripped with cold fear.
Help me, his phone had moaned in a voice so hollow. It's so cold…
His phone rang again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He wrestled it out of his pocket and held it up to his ear. "H-Hello?!"
"Chance? Are you out of jail yet?"
He sat up straight, eyes wide. "Jeremy!" he nearly shouted, ignoring Eleanor and Ze'mer's strange looks. "Where are you?! A-Are you alright, are you hurt, where–?!"
"C-Chance, calm down, we're all okay!" Jeremy hushed him. "I should be asking YOU that! Where are you and Tusk now?"
"Uh, we're at the…" He snapped his fingers, the name briefly eluding his adrenaline–doped mind. "The Resting Grounds, yes! We're at the Resting Grounds. We're, uh, safe. We can probably head back to Dirtmouth soon, but a-are you okay?!"
"We're just fine, Chance. Lightfoot's taking a quick nap on your couch, and Quirrel is still asleep on your bed, though I think they'll both wake up soon. There's not much I can do so I'm just, uh, waiting for something to happen, I guess. Why are you worried about us and not yourself?"
Chance grimaced, several expressions of exasperation running across his face in rapid succession like an unhygienic flip-book. "I got a call from you in the Dream Realm," he whispered-shouted, hoping Eleanor wouldn't hear. "You were calling out for help."
Silence. Only the low crackle of the receiver came through.
"I… When did I do that?"
"A little bit after you told me to 'hang tight?'"
"I-I didn't call you between then and now. Are you sure that was me and not…?" He trailed off.
"No, it was… It was your voice. I'm sure of it."
"Chance…" He couldn't picture Jeremy's expression on the other side of the phone. "Just… if you're okay, then get home soon, alright? We can figure this out when we're all together again."
"Alright. I'll… I'll be home soon."
He tapped the button, and the call ended. He turned back to the others, who were still looking at him funny, but also seemed to understand the urgency. Ze'mer nodded her head.
"There is a Stag Station somewhere on the platforms below us, monia. Che' can tell you about nym'friend later, Le'mer. For now, urgency calls you away from che'."
"R-Right. Thank you." He gave one last glance at the picture of 'Valleri', before folding it back up and sticking it into his gun's ripped-off rubber grip, using a bit of Focus to seal it away again. For safekeeping. "And, uh, I'm sorry about the whole fight thing."
"Nahlo, Le'mer. Che' struck first. You have naught to be sorry for."
Eleanor quickly jumped in. "So it was you who instigated the fight? I need not explain what that means for you, Ze'mer."
Ze'mer shuddered, perhaps in fear, but she bowed her head. "Che' understands. Che' has spent an age in mourning; che' can spend some time in servitude. All che' has anymore is time."
She looked at Chance. "Le'mer here is all out of time."
Chance said nothing.
He hadn't stopped to talk to Styx in a while. Shortly after Tusk struck the old brass bell with a bit too much enthusiasm, the great lumbering Stag came to a grinding halt in front of them, kicking up dust in the seldom-used Station. His beard was as amazing as always.
He cast an eye at Chance, his expression souring. Whatever words he had to say about this ancient place, died on his mandibles. "My friend…"
"I know," Chance grunting, fighting the urge to hack as he pulled himself into the plush seats on his back. Tusk settled down next to them, like a kid on a bus ready to go on a field trip. Chance covered his mouth with a fist.
"It's getting worse."
Chance - Jeremy
Today 8:29 PM
Chance: omw bacck rn, j
Chance: on te stag
Jeremy: good job!
Jeremy: and j?
Chance: j for jayy
Jeremy: oh!
Jeremy: i need to give you a nickname too
Jeremy: how does 'c' sound? c for chance
Jeremy: its pronounced 'sea'!
Chance: npnko
Chance: \n0
Chance: no
Chance: no
Chance: no
Jeremy: Oh
Jeremy: I didnt mean to upset you
Chance: no justs
Chance: fudkccni cany typs onthias bumpy ass satag
Chance: soerry
Jeremy: Lets just forget about that
Jeremy: we can talk when you get home, okay?
The door burst open, and Chance stumbled into his house. "JEREMY!"
His yelling woke up Lightfoot, who was napping on his sorry excuse for a couch. The poor Mantis startled awake, tumbling off the side of the couch and hitting the floor with a bewildered groan. "C-Chance? Is that–"
He didn't get time to respond before Chance blew past him, footsteps pounding through his living room. Tusk walked in after him, not closing the door and letting all the cold air in.
Chance flew into his bedroom, seeing Quirrel still unconscious on his bed. "JAY?!" he yelled again, grabbing either edge of the door frame in a white-knuckle grip, scanning every corner of the room and seeing nothing. Where the hell else was he? This was his whole house!
He was just about to bolt to the other room, when he was stopped by a kazoo rendition of "Two Princes".
bzzzzztbzztbztbzzzztbzzzzzzzzzt…
Slowly, he walked around his bedroom, one step at a time. He felt stupid for not seeing it earlier in his panic. Sitting behind his bed, with one of the sheets thrown over his head like a hood, was Jeremy. A kazoo was stuck between his lips like a cigar, and a Rubiks cube twirled and clicked in his fingers.
He didn't know why Jeremy didn't hear his shouting just a moment ago, but when his shadow fell over the mothman, his bright eyes beamed up at his face like headlights. The stupid rock melody withered and died on his breath, the kazoo slowly drooping out of his lips until it hit the floor.
Wordlessly, he sprung up from the floor and embraced him, ignoring Chance's dumbstruck expression. Jeremy's soft, fuzzy arms and warm, heavy cloak wrapped around his midriff, crushing his chest. Chance took a deep breath; Jeremy didn't smell like anything.
"...Chance, you're sweating…"
He shuffled back a bit, holding Jeremy by the shoulders at arm length. "Jay, I'm…" What, 'I'm glad you're safe'? You were the one in danger, dipshit! "...I'm back. What, uh, what now?"
Jeremy looked at him with tired eyes. Chance knew Jay was tired of all this adventuring and fighting, and all he wanted to do was crash on the bed next to them and sleep for days. That was all Chance wanted, too, but the dead don't get that luxury. "W-Well, what were you doing before you fell into the… Resting Grounds or whatever?"
"We were trying to rescue you."
Jeremy grimaced. "And before that…?"
"We were… in Deepnest? No, the Basin, and we… Oh!" The Grave in Ash! That mysterious place Hornet had been trying to lead them to ever since the City. He didn't even know what was there, or how it'd help him, but he had literally zero other leads to follow right now. That's right; the current plan was to see whatever the hell Hornet wanted from them, and keep moving from there. (Assuming… there was anywhere left to go from there.)
"That place Hornet wanted you to go to, right? We shouldn't waste time, once Quirrel gets up we should leave immediately."
"You don't know when that's gonna happen. We should just leave Lightfoot to babysit him while we're out." Chance paused, their conversation lulling for a moment. He pursed his lips, before blinking back to attention. "But, Jay… You really didn't call me more than twice?"
"I… don't know what you mean. I only called you twice, one while you were 'in jail' and one with you asking if I was okay. Did… something happen in-between?"
...Help… Don't leave me here…
That voice had been so empty, so hopeless, but undeniably Jeremy's. Was it some kind of trick? An illusion? Did the Dream Realm drive him mad and make him hallucinate it? He was already batshit insane.
"...No. No, it was nothin'. Don't worry about it."
Jeremy wanted to speak, but was cut off by a groan on the bed next to them. Quirrel rolled over to face them, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and then blinking again to make sure he wasn't just seeing things. Jeremy yelped, grabbing his cloak and throwing it over his head to hide himself.
Lightfoot stumbled into the room, slouched over and moody from being woken up from his first nap since he'd joined them. Tusk was holding onto his bladed arm as they waddled in alongside him, probably having been the one to drag Lightfoot here in the first place.
"So you live after all. Mind telling us where you were this whole time?"
Quirrel had managed to sit still for just long enough for Chance to explain everything that had happened, and then he stood up and addressed the elephant in the room.
"In all my years! Never have I seen such a remarkable specimen, alive and well, standing right before my very eyes!" Quirrel had his hands hovering over Jeremy, wanting to touch him, but managing to maintain just a little self-restraint.
Jeremy shied behind Chance to hide from Quirrel's wide gaze. "Aim your eyes somewhere else!" Chance was left to stand between them, not sure where to look or what to do. Always a creature, he half expected Jeremy to scamper onto his shoulders and start hissing at people.
Meanwhile, Lightfoot and Tusk were on the couch, studying the Dream Nail with a furrowed brow. "So you managed to find this… 'sacred weapon' while you were away?"
"Look, I dunno how it works. Tusk's its 'chosen Wielder' or whatever, ask them, I'm a little busy here."
Lightfoot turned to Tusk. Tusk only stared back, silent.
"So… Little friend, how does this–"
Before he could react, Tusk whipped the Dream Nail at him, a flashbang of light and Essense filling the room. Quirrel and Jeremy's hissy-fit came to an instant stop, the two needing to cover their eyes as Lightfoot flew across the room, landing on all fours like a startled cat.
Wisps of Essense surrounded him. Lightfoot's eyes were wide and panicked, years of Mantis instinct briefly taking hold. His bladed arms dug into Chance's carpet, as if he paid any bills around here, the son of a bitch.
(Hey, don't bring Rio into this, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. Chance glanced around, expecting to find a little talking bird on his shoulder, only to brush it off as a random intrusive thought.)
"W-What was that? What did you do to me?!" He ripped his arms from the floor, crouching low, ready to start a fight in Chance's crowded house. "I swear on my honor, I'll–!"
"Shut up!" Chance yelled, getting everyone's attention. "Lightfoot, you're fine, the Dream Nail doesn't actually hurt you."
"A-A weapon that doesn't hurt people?!"
"YES, now listen to me," he raised his voice again. "There are five of us here. I'm going to this Grave place that I've been trying to get to for days. Once I get my shit in order, I'm off. Who's coming with me?"
A silence fell over them. Jeremy, Tusk, Quirrel, and Lightfoot. They all glanced at each other in anxiety, each of them wanting to say something and each of them silently insisting that the others go first.
"I…" Lightfoot finally spoke up. He was still sprawled across the floor, looking up at them at an awkward angle. "I already said I need to visit my mother. I cannot, in good conscience, explore any further before I can ensure her health is not diminishing any further."
Chance and Jeremy's expressions darkened. Neither of them said anything, murder left unspoken on their lips.
Your mother might be dead, Lightfoot. It came to me in a dream or something.
"There is a matter I need to address as well," Quirrel said, catching one last glimpse of Jeremy before stepping back. "This mask, I feel it is… calling me somewhere. It's something I have ignored for some time now, but I do not think I can neglect its beckoning any longer."
He bowed his head and pulled the giant mask-hat off of his head. The same symbol they'd seen on the Black Egg Temple, and now on the altar in the Resting Grounds. Monomon, Chance recognized, but he didn't know how it applied to Quirrel.
"I'll take the Stagways to Queen's Station. I believe that is also the closest route to the Mantis Village?" He smiled at Lightfoot, "Would you like to accompany me until our paths split, friend?"
"I… Sure," Lightfoot sighed, "But I hate those Stag things."
They stood and walked to the door in tense silence, but Quirrel turned around and looked at Chance. "I… am sorry, friend, but fate calls us away from you. I understand your times are desperate. I can only hope we meet again, later down the line."
"Hey, no hard feelings, alright?" Chance smiled. "You shouldn't throw your lives away on a dead guy like me. If we've got our own paths to walk, then this is mine."
"Chance…" Lightfoot nodded. "As soon as I am able, I will find my way back to you. I cannot let this rest now."
"Ooh, here!" Jeremy jumped forward, holding a phone out for Lightfoot. "You can use this to keep in touch with us! It's a human device that lets us communicate over long distances!"
Jeremy, he doesn't know how to fuckin' use that thing. Lightfoot hesitated, before awkwardly taking the phone, weighing it in his hands. "Er… Thank you. How does it work?"
"Magic."
…In Hallownest, I guess that's as good an answer as any.
"It's just us three again. Like old times, huh?"
Chance looked at him. "Jay, it hasn't even been a week."
He was right, though. Chance, Tusk, and Jeremy. From when they first fought the Mantis Lords, all through the City of Tears and until Deepnest, it'd just been them. Just the three of them wandering Hallownest's hollow corpse, feeling like they didn't exist.
Jeremy was sitting on the couch, his legs pulled up to his chest, toes barely dangling off the edge. He stared at him, "When was the last time you ate, anyway? I made something just before Deepnest, but it's been a while since then, so…"
"I've been eating these," Chance said, tossing a granola bar into Jeremy's lap, who fumbled with it. "The stuff we found in that RV."
"Oh. I forgot about these." He peeled the wrapper away, sniffing the bar before nibbling away at a corner of it. It started to fall apart in his hands, crumbs landing on his lap and cloak, which he swiped away. Tusk wandered over to where the crumbs had scattered on the carpet, eyed them for a moment, and promptly belly-flopped on the floor. When they got up a few moments later, the crumbs were gone.
I'll put that little sucker on wheels and have them slide around my floor like an insectoid Roomba.
Jeremy was sifting through Chance's bag, trying to count and see if they'd have enough granola bars to tide them over until they got back. He gingerly picked up the revolver by the very end of the grip like it was radioactive, putting it aside. But then his eyes caught onto something else.
He pulled out a small, golden ring, adorned in pink crystals. "Chance, what's this for?"
…
Chance didn't know much about jewelry, but one in particular caught his eye: a seemingly golden ring cast around small pink crystals like diamonds, a larger pink crystal in the center of an intricate vine pattern.
On a whim, he found himself pocketing that, too. He sped off to find Tusk before they got into trouble.
…
"Oh, uh, I forgot I had that thing. Snagged it from the Peaks, thought it looked nice." He leaned over the back of the couch, inspecting the ring from over Jeremy's shoulder. It was gorgeous. The thing could probably fetch a few grand if he took it back to Earth. He heard that pimps frequently wear heaps of jewelry so they can sell them off at pawn shops if they get arrested; maybe he'd hold onto this thing to get him a quick buck when he got back home.
"Uh… It does look really nice." His yellow eyes took in its glamorous sheen, refracting the pale glow of the Lumafly lanterns into a golden and neon Light. "But I dunno what you plan to do with it."
Walking around to the front of the couch, Chance plucked the ring out of Jeremy's hand. He rolled its cold metal between his fingers, weighing it in his palm. It was good. He liked it. "Yeah, I'd been meaning to ask about this, but…"
He crouched down to one knee and held the ring up to Jeremy's hand, as if preparing to place it on his finger. He looked him in the eye with a straight face.
"Will you marry me?"
His knees still pulled up to his chest, Jeremy's expression shifted through a dozen types of mortification and embarrassment at once, but he managed to keep his lips pursed. He tried to hide his face behind his legs, but still kept his unblinking stare on Chance. Tusk watched this entire procession with rapt attention.
"...C-Chance," he said finally, after several moments of silence only broken by strangled noises from his throat, "D-Don't joke like that. We don't pay taxes in Hallownest anyway, the government's collapsed."
Chance stared at him for a moment longer, before he stood up and pocketed the ring. "Yeah," he smiled, "It's just a joke. Don't worry about it."
Jeremy put all of his stuff back in the bag and strapped it shut, before handing it to Chance with a flushed grin on his face. "For a moment there, I thought you were being serious!"
"Nah, I'm only messin' with ya."
I wonder if I was this bisexual in my past life, too.
He fastened his bag across his chest, double-checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Jeremy pulled his cloak over his shoulders and slid his rain boots on. Tusk checked their charm loadout, and gave their nail a few experimental swings, before being scolded. Chance took his revolver, and after a moment of consideration, stuck it into the strap of his pants. He didn't have a proper hollister.
Chance looked at the ring he had offered to Jeremy, its pink crystals glimmering invitingly, and he decided to slip it onto his own ring finger. It couldn't hurt.
They were as ready as they'd ever be. Nodding at the others, Chance turned and reached for the door knob.
Riiing, riiing!
He froze. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he stared at Jeremy. He looked startled, but nodded wordlessly. Maybe it's Lightfoot. Taking a deep breath, Chance pressed the button and held the phone up to his ear.
"Hello? That you, Lightfoot?"
Silence.
"...Chance, help…"
It wasn't Lightfoot. That cold, twisted feeling of insanity crept over him, the unreality of it making his knees weak. It was cold, staticy, and desperate, but that was his voice again. Unrecognizable, but undeniable.
That was Jeremy's voice over the phone.
He shook his head, leaning on the door as he whispered into the receiver. "Is this a recording? A trick?"
"W-What? No… Chance, please–"
His vision blurred, and his head throbbed. "Who is this?"
Jeremy, standing behind him and clutching the wrapper of a granola bar, having handed off his phone just minutes ago, gave him a look of concern. On the phone: "Chance, it's me. J-Jeremy. Can you… hear me?"
"I can hear you and I can see you," Chance mumbled. "You're standing right next to me. Right now."
"J-Just talk to me in person, then. Wait, a-am I scared right now? Because I am. I me, I mean. Not you-me."
Horrific, bordering on the absurd. "What are you scared of?" Chance asked firmly. He needed answers.
"It can't be real, Chance,"the voice begged. "Not born of any loving God, not entirely of this world. The way it – the way they move, a-and think, and look at you, it's– it can't be real. But it's here, in the dark with me."
What the fuck?!
"I-I'm scared, Chance. I've never been this scared in my life."
"Wh–" He bit his lip. "Where are you? What's–"
"T-They hear me,"Jeremy rasped. "I have to go. I'll call you back."
"Wait–!"
The line went dead. Chance stared at his phone; no number or caller ID. That… couldn't have been real, right?
Jeremy placed his hand on Chance's shoulder, and he jumped. "Chance, are you okay? Who was that?" Chance turned back to his phone, suddenly feeling very, very far away from himself.
"...Nobody," he put his phone away. "Nobody at all."
Styx's six feet thundered against the earth below them. The Lumafly lights lining the tunnels were like strobes, glowing on them as they approached, only to slide off like water as the Stag ran past. They could only see every other split second or so.
Jeremy looked at Chance, his cloak and hair whipping in the wind. "S-So who was that calling you earlier?!" He had to raise his voice just to be heard.
Chance, with Tusk riding on his leg, stared off to the side, silent.
Jeremy looked at the lights for a moment. On and off. "W-What kind of nickname should I give you?! S-Since you call me 'Jay' and all!"
Chance said nothing. Jeremy folded his inhuman hands in his lap.
Neither of them said anything else for the rest of the ride.
Dust.
Death.
Shadows.
Frigid cold.
It was all that was.
Ages lost between these dry stones.
This Ancient Basin did not tolerate mortals.
No, this was the domain of the gods and their servants, and all who walked here, walked alone.
Chance was still apathetic when they stumbled off of the Stag and into the Basin proper. The air smelled faintly of sulfur and antiseptic. Jeremy huddled close to him; something about the place's atmosphere put him on edge, like they were being watched. The caverns were so dead-silent, it felt artificial; Jeremy couldn't even hear his own footsteps.
They passed by the ruins. Chance remembered that this was basically desecrated holy ground; that might be where the feeling of unease came from. Ghosts of old forgotten gods lingering beneath their feet and in the heavy air that weighed all around them.
An old, greyed archway, adorned in wings of stone. The corpse of some alien soldier slouched underneath it, guarding something that was already long gone. Jeremy stepped towards it.
"Look, it makes the Golden Rectangle!"
Chance paused mid-stride, bewilderment finally shaking him out of his indifference. "It what?"
"See this wing here?" He pointed to one of the less-demolished wings of the archway. "If you combine the length and width, and divide it by the length alone, it'll be the same as if you divide the length by the width."
A plus B divided by A, is equal to A divided by B.
"...which is equal to 'Phi'," Jeremy explained. "That's the Golden Ratio. It's a little crumbled, but you can tell it used to fit it exactly."
Chance grimaced, cynicism in his glare as he looked between Jeremy and the stupid old rock. "Jay, I…" I really can't tell, actually. "Isn't that a bunch of bullshit? Seeing the Golden Ratio in random stuff."
"Oh, sometimes, but it's a lot more frequent than you'd think. Art and architecture have been using this principle for thousands of years, long before Fibonacci was even born. Even in nature, while the Rectangle itself might not be present, the sequence can be found in branching trees, the families of honeybees, the pedals of daisies…"
Spirals. Dammit, he was thinking about them now. His eyes kept getting stuck everywhere he looked, wondering if there was something really there or if he was just imagining it.
The swirls of the giant fossils that made up the cavern walls, the curl of Jeremy's comb-like antennae, the curve of Tusk's horns…
"Maybe this whole archway fit the pattern once," Jeremy continued. "It wouldn't surprise me. Though, it's impossible to tell now, with the whole thing collapsed." His glowing expression fell, stepping back from the archway to take in the heavy silence that covered the crumbled ruins like a blanket. They would never see the palace in its full glory, never be able to obsess over every little architectural detail.
Something was here, and now it was gone.
"This was the White Palace, right? It must've been amazing… What happened here? Where did it all go? It's like it just got up and left…"
Chance, not in the mood for deep thought, only shrugged. "Maybe it's gone somewhere no one's ever been."
To swing on the spiral…
Neon light. They spun around; Tusk was standing in front of the slumped-over soldier, Dream Nail in hand. Before they could react, they blasted the corpse with a beam of light, Essence flying like sparks.
Chance reached out. "Tusk, wait–!"
The Dream Nail was deflected.
Essence exploded outwards, knocking Tusk back as a great, ethereal sphere manifested around the corpse. Golden, glowing, formed of dreamcatchers, the otherworldly shield protected the body from Tusk's attack.
Chance was stunned. The seal was made of Essence.
Riiing, riiing!
He felt like his whole body cramped up. Whatever this fucked-up joke was, it wasn't funny. Cursing under his breath, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, punched the button, and immediately said, "No."
"What do you think you're doing?"
Chance was somehow both relieved and startled; it wasn't Jeremy's voice this time. This was the voice of a woman. He sighed, "...What do you want, Layla?"
"I know what you just tried to do, and I felt it – stop that. You're better off not knowing what you're messing with."
Shit, well now Chance just wanted to break that seal even more.
"You've been causing me a number of headaches recently. The Crystal Peaks, you stealing the Dream Nail, and now you're going places you don't belong." She sighed, her voice taking on a softer tone. "I love you; sincerely, I do, but this needs to stop, Chance."
"I'm not going to just lay down and die, dammit!"
"Who said anything about dying? All I'm doing is bringing your mind closer to mine. The only one putting your life in danger is you." She giggled, "You've already seen what miracles my love can bring. I'm willing to forgive you; all I want you to do is go home. You've been through so much, haven't you? Rest. You've earned it."
(It was tempting, more tempting than he'd ever be comfortable admitting to himself. He was so tired.)
His skin crawled. Chance tried to speak, but the words just wouldn't leave his lips. When he tried to hit the button to hang up, his thumb throbbed, and twisted the other way – involuntarily hitting the speaker button instead.
"Chance…" Her voice echoed out of his speaker and throughout the silent cavern, making Tusk and Jeremy jump. "I tire of these games. My Light will fully embrace your body in the coming hours, so do as you will, but I implore you not to continue down this path. You will find nothing but suffering."
Hours. Hours. Hours. He only had hours left to live. Impulsively, he dropped the phone to the dusty ground with a clatter, and pulled his gun out of his pants. With a shaky, spiteful breath, he spat on it.
"F-Fuck you!"
He fired, and the glass of the phone exploded. The resounding BANG! made him jump, deafening, and he suddenly felt cold. What felt like minutes slipped away in silence. Chance could feel every ragged breath in his lungs like a countdown, every moment burning at his life.
Jeremy was the first to speak. "C-Chance? What was that?"
Chance looked back down at his phone. Shattered, charred, sparking. Broken beyond repair, for anyone except him.
"It's nothing," he snarled. "I'll fix it later."
Holy shit. That was a lot of spikes.
Chance could feel the anxiety running up his spine as he looked out over what seemed like an endless tunnel, metallic spikes clawing out of the earth in all directions. Earthen roots broke free from the dust and snaked down, making the massive empty space feel cramped.
"That's…" Jeremy bit his lip. "I don't think we can go that way."
"Was gonna say…" Chance blinked again, to make sure it wasn't some illusion, before turning heel. "Let's just go. That tram was around here somewhere, I think maybe higher up–"
His pant sleeve got caught. Chance turned to see Tusk tugging on him again, pulling him towards the giant spike pit.
"T-Tusk, there's literally no way across. We can't fly."
But just as he said that, something clicked in his mind, and his eyes widened before he grimaced even further. With the help of the Crystal Heart, revving like an engine in his chest, they could, in fact, fly across. And he didn't want to because they'd die.
"Okay, look, maybe we can? But we really shouldn't." He tried to dissuade Tusk, but the little knight wasn't listening. They glanced out over the cavern, unusually still, and it made Chance wonder.
Was there something on the other side that Tusk needed to see?
"There's a bench here," Jeremy noted. "I can wait for you guys while you go check it out, if you want." He sat down, dusted off the metal, and then as an afterthought, stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants as well.
Fuck, he wasn't getting out of this now, was he? He'd only flown with the Crystal Heart once. If he screwed this up…
"Oh, God," he groaned, picking up Tusk and holding them close to his chest. "Hold on tight, buddy."
They'd flown through the tunnel, nearly flew straight into a spike wall, stopped for a minute to let Chance recover from his heart attack, stumbled through some relatively spike-less tunnels, slipped, and fell.
He'd managed to cradle his face when he hit the ground – and only screamed a little bit! – but he scraped his back on some spikes while he was mid-fall, which Tusk then hopped off of when they landed on his back right after him. He yelped, flailing around, before he managed to lift his dusty and manic-eyed face from the dirt.
A small, orange little bug greeted him.
There was a moment of silence before the thing hopped up and darted away, an entire swarm of them following. Some of them were turned to orange paste on the end of Tusk's nail – Infection – some of them burrowed in the ground, but most of them ran down a dark, cramped-looking pathway ahead of them
"H-Hey!" Chance shouted. "Hold up!" Some instinct told him to follow the orange things, but he couldn't tell if that instinct wanted to hold them close or crush them underneath his fist.
His phone, which he'd repaired earlier with Focus, started playing music on its own. It hadn't done that in a while. Maybe he'd just butt-dialed something mid-fall, but at this point, he knew better than to try rationalizing anything in Hallownest.
"We could be so good together,
Yeeeees, so good together~"
He and Tusk stumbled and crawled and fell down through the tight, winding tunnels that they'd become trapped in. He'd been exploring this underground kingdom for a while now, but this was one of the first times he'd actually felt claustrophobic, finding himself worrying that these tunnels were too small for him and he'd get stuck.
"We could be so good together,
Yeah we could; I know we could–!"
They emerged into a larger room, which was dominated by some large, fleshy geyser-thing that spewed globs of Infection into the air, which came raining down on them like vomit-hail. The music turned to a chorus.
"Teeeeeell you lies, I tell ya' wicked lies~
Teeeeeell you lies, tell ya' wicked lies~!"
(He wondered who was singing.) Shouting a curse, Chance pulled his jacket over his head and just fucking sprinted through the cavern like a jackass, trying not to get hit. Tusk followed closely, and while the little bug knight miraculously didn't get hit, Chance's jacket got a nasty orange stain on it. He could've sworn he heard it sizzle.
The caves seemed to spiral, leading them endlessly down until Chance could barely see anything but a grey-brown that bordered on black, and the glowing of Infection on every surface. He'd lost count of how many flesh geysers – Mawlurks – they'd passed.
"Tell you about the world that we'll invent,
Wanton world with-out lament–!"
Some of them, Tusk had to cut open. Ones that had them cornered or were just too risky to run past, the little knight got to use some of their more destructive spells on. Whether crushed underneath their earth-shaking dive, or obliterated in a meteor of liquid moonlight, they were just annoying.
The orange pus was starting to build up on him, slathering his skin and clothes. It didn't burn as much as he expected, but the nauseous smell was starting to get to him. Sweet, thick, and heavy, it made his head spin. He wanted to vomit.
"Enterprise, expedition,
Invitation and invention~!"
An undertaking, a voyage. The temptation of a fabrication.
It's all in your imagination.
At some point, Chance had lost himself, and was shredding through the strange Infected creatures with his own two Claws, electricity zapping between his fingers from his Crystal Heart. He left behind piles of charred, rended flesh, choking out the last remains of Infection in these tunnels that he could find.
Tusk didn't stray back, but helped him fight through; even if only for a moment, he and Tusk were in sync. No words exchanged, not even a nod between them, but both of them knew what they were doing by instinct alone.
Chance felt as weightless as he did lethargic. He didn't know where his mind had run off to.
"The time you wait subtracts the joy,
Beheads the angels you destroy…"
They were nearing the end, he could feel it. This time, the Mawlurk was on the ceiling, so they didn't even bother stopping to try and kill it, only running to the other end of the room to dodge the raining blobs of searing Infection.
Chance risked a sideways glance, and his heart stopped.
Through the orange hail, he could barely make out the visage of a woman standing opposite of him, not even bothering to look his way. Was she a human? Was she a bug? Was she something else? He couldn't tell in the blur.
Was she an angel?
"Angels fight, angels cry…"
Where the rest of the room was being pelted by orange bombs, the woman was standing right under the Mawlurk's mouth, an endless ooze of pus dribbling down like a viscous waterfall onto her head. She ran her hands over her scalp and through her long, golden hair, flowing and smooth despite the slime that seeped between her locks.
He couldn't see her face, only the edge of a wry smile.
Showering in vomit. Bathing in light.
He could only stare for a moment more before he had to duck into the next dark tunnel over to escape the Infected hail.
"Angels dance, and angels die~"
Jeremy had his legs tucked up to his chest, feet running along the metal frame of the bench, the faint clicking of a Rubix cube filling the silence. His dark, yellow eyes were focused only on the puzzle in his hands. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
He spared a glance down the spike tunnel. It was so long, he almost thought it had its own gravitational pull and that it was gonna pull him in like a black hole, or a monster's maw…
How were Chance and Tusk doing? Were they okay? It always made him so anxious when they left on their own like this. Sure, he'd only be ten times more terrified if he actually went with them, but still. The silence, the waiting, the not-knowing put him on edge like nothing else. Should he try calling them?
Wait, he gave his phone away to Lightfoot.
He clenched his chitinous hands around the cube, the plastic groaning and threatening to snap before he relaxed. He sighed, slouching in the harsh metal bench.
"Have you thought any more about what I said?"
He yelped, dropping the Rubix cube to the dusty earth as he barely managed to keep himself on the bench. Leaning over the back was a woman, shining like gold, adorned in ethereal regalia befitting of a goddess.
Not quite human, not quite moth, and not quite like him. He didn't know what She was, other than "not of this world".
"I'm not the one you should be afraid of," She spoke, Her voice like the whispers of ghosts. "All I did was tell you the truth. Whether you tell him or not, is your choice."
You didn't tell me anything, he wanted to cry. You're a liar. But Her presence left him tongue-tied. He only quaked in silent terror, gasping for any tiny breath his lungs demanded.
Layla noted his silence. She rounded the bench, the claws of Her gauntlets trailing on the old metal, sounding like nails on a chalkboard to Jeremy's ears. Despite the scraping, none of the dust that had settled on the metal was disturbed.
She stopped in front of him, looking down at his face, on the verge of tears like a child, or a man before God. Her glowing eyes were masked by the shadow of Her face, but She gave him a slight, mysterious smile.
"I like you," she cooed. "You only want to help him. Chance. You only want to make him happy. You want to make everyone happy. That's all I want, too."
Her claws reached down and cupped his soft chin. "But unlike me, you're powerless. You stay behind because you're a liability. Chance is too worried about your well-being for you to care for his." She grinned, "But I've already given you the power. You have the choice for how to approach his happiness, and by extension, your own."
This knowledge is nothing but a curse.
"YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A FAKE!"
In a burst of some primal instinct, Jeremy lunged out to tackle Her, but his body simply phased through Hers, and he tumbled to the floor. He tried to scramble up, only backpedaling on the ground, silently begging for Her mercy.
Layla regarded him with a deadpan, eyeing the dust around him. She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her blinding headlight eyes. "Soon, you'll be forced to face the truth of your… 'conception.' Whether you leave him ignorant or tell him – let him live a lie or push him into a new one – is your choice to make."
Her voice was so far removed from anything human. "That is the power I have granted you. That is in the realm of 'God.'"
She walked past him, and Jeremy turned to follow, only to see She was gone. He wrapped his arms around himself, and tried to tell himself that none of it was real.
Maybe he was imagining it, but these hallways seemed darker, more wrong than the rest of the Basin already was.
They'd finally escaped that nauseous tunnel and were half-stumbling through some ancient archways; they'd opened a shortcut back to the spike-hallway, meaning they wouldn't need to go back through those awful tunnels anymore. He'd also gotten his phone to shut up, for now.
The hallway opened up into a sizable room, and that feeling of paranoid sickness immediately came back to Chance in waves; there were vines of glowing pus-filled bubbles lining some of the walls, and a thick cluster of them were blocking off what looked like an exit. Was this a dead end?
Slumped over in the corner was a corpse. A grey-blue cloak and inky-black chitin, with a porcelain mask, with three mismatched horns and two deep, dark eyes.
The corpse of a Vessel. One of Tusk's kin.
Chance froze as soon as he recognized it. "Oh, God, Tusk, I'm…" He looked down at Tusk, who was silently approaching the Vessel with a somber air about them. "I-I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."
Tusk grabbed at their sibling's cloak, running it between their claws. They looked at Chance, somehow expectantly. Chance sighed, walking over and kneeling before the Vessel corpse.
They really did look like Tusk, but one of their horns was larger than the other two, curled up like a ram's, with a large hole that caved in the back of their (mysteriously hollow) skull. It occurred to him that a Vessel's corpse was almost indistinguishable from a sleeping one; no heartbeat, no breath, no expression, always ice-cold, no matter what.
But just with a touch to their pale cheek, he could tell that the bodies swarmed around them like a tidal wave the Kingslight the Fatherlight climb up go up! up go slip falling falling crack dark, dark, cramped, wiggle up, wait, climb, escape, escape! go run move free run move heavy walk heavy crawl heavy sick help help help stop please help run Oldlight help run RUN RUN RUN–
Chance jerked away when the Broken Vessel reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Run.
Behind them, an orange vine holding up a rusted metal gate spontaneously withered and snapped, and the gate came crashing down, trapping them inside. The whole room began to rumble, and Chance and Tusk scrambled back, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the room for some monster to appear.
The earth shook, cracked, and from a small little dirt mound, a little orange bug skittered forth. Lightseeds.
Hundreds of them seemed to appear out of nowhere and flooded the room. Chance squashed as many as he could under his feet and in his Claws, and Tusk kept swinging their nail, but the Lightseeds weren't focused on them. As they approached the body of the Broken Vessel, they began crowding into the hole in their head, pressing themselves so tightly together that they popped and fused into one giant bubble on Infection.
The Broken Vessel's dark eyes shone orange like headlines. Slowly, their body rose from the ground like the dead reanimated, pulling them from off their back to their feet unnaturally.
That feeling of wanting to hurl made Chance's stomach clench up, only watching in horror. This was what the Infection was capable of? This was inside of him?
The Broken Vessel reared their head back, and with a voice that ripped their flesh apart to create a throat out of nothing, screamed.
Chance barely leapt out of the way of a fierce sweeping slash, sharp enough to make the air around the Vessel's blade shake. It didn't matter if their nail was rusted or dulled, the sheer force behind it would be enough to chop him in half.
When they missed, they dashed past him, focusing on Tusk and ignoring Chance, who had fallen to the floor in panic. Coughing, he stared in horror as Tusk and the Broken Vessel clashed, their nails swinging between them at breakneck speed. He could barely see their movements as they parried one another, Tusk sometimes being forced to block with their Dream Shield, sparks flying from their nails.
This was what I wanted to protect you from.
The voice pounded in Chance's head, and he clutched his temples, shouting. His thrashing momentarily distracted Tusk, which was just long enough for the Vessel to land a nasty hit on the side of their mask.
Isn't it gruesome? Isn't it terrifying? I can't even imagine what it must be like for mortal eyes, to see those you love be tossed around like toys.
And they are like toys.
The Broken Vessel leapt high into the air, and then they came crashing back down, the earth beneath them cracked open, orange bubbles of Infection floating through the air and honing in on him and Tusk. Snapping out of his thoughts, Chance tried to jump back into the fray, pulling out his gun and shooting at the bubbles, popping them like balloons.
That is what mortals are: the toys of the gods. Toys, to be played with, to create stories of romance and hatred and tragedy with. To be pushed around like pawns on a chessboard.
They are, for the most part, predictable. Push them one way, they'll hate you. Push them another, they'll love and worship you.
Push them too hard, and they might just break.
Chance jumped in front of the Broken Vessel, and aimed his gun at them. They froze, staring down the barrel of his revolver, and Tusk stopped to stare at him, too. His finger was on the trigger, aimed right between their eye-holes. He could end this fight right now.
But he froze up. He couldn't move. He… he didn't want to end it this way.
Oh, God, they looked so much like Tusk. Sweet, ruthless little Tusk, who traveled all this way by his side, no matter what happened to him. The Broken Vessel stared innocently at him, eyes glowing.
His gun rattled in his hand. They were just like Tusk. He could never kill Tusk. And he could never kill this Vessel, either.
Squeezing his eyes shut like a moron, he instead fired at the sloshing bubble in their head, which popped like a balloon and splattered orange pus everywhere. The Broken Vessel jolted before falling limp, the light receding from their eyes.
(He'd never seen so much Infection in one place before; at most, it was the orange in his own vomit. Now, he'd seen gallons upon gallons of the stuff sprayed everywhere. It smelled like shit.)
Chance ran forward, catching their cold figure in his arms, the Infection on his jacket smearing on their chitin. He held his shaky hands over the hole in their head, trying to Focus on fixing it–
Nothing happened. No magic danced between his fingers.
He shook his head and redoubled his efforts. He knew he still had Soul to spare, he could still grasp onto the mental thread that let his magic flow. So why wasn't it fucking working?!
Because I don't want it to.
His heart seized up, and Chance's jittery fingers were suddenly very, very still. He felt like a skinsuit, being worn by some faceless thing living within him, using his body like a tool no matter how he cried or fought.
He finally knew where that voice was coming from. On his finger, the pink crystals of the ring glowed neon and vibrated with every word She spoke.
Mortals are like toys, Chance. You live, you cry, you laugh, you die, but ultimately you answer to me. I had hoped you would not see this place, but you've forced my hand, and now I have to retake the freedom I had so briefly granted you.
These… Void-creatures, stand in opposition to everything I strive for, so I cannot let you heal them. I am already in your body and in your head. You are no longer in control.
The crystals. The crystals from the Peaks. The crystals in his own Heart. She lives in them, breathes with them, exerts her will through them. The realization struck him, and he wanted to hurl.
Her Light came from the crystals.
Mortals will wander in mysterious ways, but whether they realize it or not, my toys will alwaysdo what I want.
The rain pattered at his windows as Lemm carefully dusted off a shelf of old antiques with a feather duster. A practiced routine; he'd done this a thousand times and he might just live to do it another thousand. He barely focused as he swept, falling into rhythm and letting his old eyes glaze over.
Something suddenly welled up in his chest, and Lemm coughed, violently. No matter how his throat rippled, it couldn't force whatever was clogging his lungs out.
He tried to support himself, only to stumble, shaking the entire shelf. He knocked several valuable artifacts to the floor, some of them shattering on impact. One of them, a glowing pink crystal, thudded on the ground and rolled to a stop at his feet.
Lemm couldn't stop to lament their loss, however, as he doubled over on the floor and kept hacking uncontrollably, his body writhing against the cold tiles.
…
She wondered when she'd be getting her nail back.
Iselda knew that Corny hated when she practiced inside the house, but she was getting so stir-crazy in here, and the Elder was always so nervous when she did it outside, so she took a spare training needle and began running through some basic routines.
Nothing dramatic; she was still indoors, but just enough to get her blood pumping and stretch out her muscles. A short lunge, a few twists, honestly it was more like a violent yoga session than anything. It was relaxing; working out in the hazy glow of that pink crystal always put her mind at ease, for some reason.
She raised her nail high over her head, body perfectly straight and balanced, and–
Iselda didn't know what had happened, but her knees suddenly buckled and she tumbled to the floor, training nail clattering behind her. By the sound of it, it probably knocked a bunch of merchandise around, dammit.
A knock at her door. "M-Miss Iselda?" Elderbug's muffled voice came through. "I-Is everything alright?"
"Yes! I'm– urgh," she tried to push herself to her feet, but her arms quivered and gave out under her, and she slumped back down to the floor. Her vision blurred; what was happening to her? When did her lethargy get this bad? "I-I'm fine!"
…
"I believe this is where we part ways, friend."
Lightfoot huffed, shooting a sideways glance at Quirrel. "'Friend'? Getting presumptuous, are we?"
The pillbug whacked the Mantis on his shoulder, who stumbled into a nearby wall of the Queen's Station. "Oh, I believe our numerous travels together should denote us as friends by now! No need to be so cold!"
He didn't let Quirrel see it, but Lightfoot cracked a small grin. "Fine, friend. I must be going soon; I've been feeling lightheaded ever since we got here."
"Oh, me too! I suppose the Stagways have a tendency to do that. I'm not used to it myself." Quirrel reached into a small pouch and pulled out a handkerchief, coughing into it a few times. Lightfoot eyed him; he might've been imagining it, but those coughs sounded harsh. "You understand how to use that device Jeremy gave you?"
Lightfoot weighed the 'phone' in his hands; the many tiny buttons were intimidating. "I'll figure it out," he said, entirely unsure if he was lying or not. "And what about you? Do you intend to return to Chance's little 'adventure party'?"
"I may just yet, though I have personal business to settle first," Quirrel said. He balled up his handkerchief and tossed it aside. He turned heel, looking back at Lightfoot before saying, "I do hope we meet again soon, Lightfoot."
"Tch. And as to you, wanderer."
Lightfoot stalked down to the Mantis Village and Quirrel hummed on his way to the Fog Canyon. Tossed into a dark corner, Quirrel's handkerchief began to decay and unfurl, its contents glowing a dull orange.
"Y-You… You…" Chance was slack-jawed, stammering, uncomprehending. He could only stare at the pink crystal around his finger in blind horror.
You propagate my gospel, Chance. That is all I have ever needed from you. Everything else is just… fun.
The room quaked, and Lightseeds began pouring in again. He wanted to fight them off, to hold the Broken Vessel close and make a break for it, to do anything, but his hands had seized up by some unseen force. He couldn't even move as the sickly bugs all pooled into the Vessel's skull and the bubble regrew, the light of their eyes honing in on him.
With a swing of their nail, Chance's body went flying, an arc of tangerine blood arcing out of his chest. Had he been just slightly closer, he'd have been chopped in two, but he got away with just a flesh wound.
When he rolled to a stop in the dirt, the pain blinding yet numbing, the Broken Vessel didn't let up. They stormed over to him with an unsteady gait, their whole body wobbling under the weight of that Infection bubble. Tusk leapt into action, chopping at the Vessel, only for them to dodge and counterattack with a stab in the side. Black ooze spurted out and onto the ground, Tusk curling up in pain. Before they could move, the Vessel lunged at them, launching them back into the wall.
Tusk was dying. He was dying. Grabbing his wrist to force it steady, Chance aimed his gun at the Broken Vessel, and fired.
Their left leg blew clean off, exploding into black and orange gore. Collapsing to the ground, tangerine tears began to trail down their mask, and they screamed again, the same howl of pain and hate. Chance wanted to cry, too.
They crawled towards them on the ground, nail still in hand as the Vessel scraped across the dirt to continue their fight. Chance's chest clenched up in a gut-wrenching shiver.
Even with their body falling apart, they won't stop fighting us.
Chance tried to pull himself towards where Tusk had landed, squinting tears out of his eyes as he tried and failed to stand up. A dozen or so more Lightseeds appeared, pressing themselves into the Broken Vessel's leg wound, morphing into a temporary peg leg.
By the time they managed to get to their feet, Chance was sitting against the wall with his legs crossed, having pulled Tusk into his lap. His eyes were dark, obscured by the shadows of the cave and his hair, but he was staring down the Broken Vessel with his last breaths. He was still panting, still bleeding all over the little dying knight in his arms.
The Broken Vessel limped closer, unyielding like a zombie or a tidal wave, rusted nail dragging in the dirt behind them. They never blinked, they never hesitated, they never faltered in serving the god pumping through their veins.
Just a few paces away. They raised their nail high, glaring down in desperation–
Chance exploded in a ball of white light, outshining the light of the Infection and blasting the Broken Vessel halfway across the room. When the violent glow faded, Chance was staggering to his feet, all of his and Tusk's injuries healed. Pinned to his chest was a small charm of pink crystal.
"Deep Focus," Chance mouthed. "It takes longer, reaches deeper, but the output is so much more than I could manage on my own. It can even heal things I'm not touching." He adjusted the pin on his chest, the pale glow still encompassing his entire body in a white aura around him.
The Broken Vessel raised their nail again. Chance whipped out his gun and snapped the cylinder open; with the last of the residual magic around him, he willed it into the gun and recalled all of his bullets.
One of them wedged itself out of the dirt walls and flew across the room, flying straight through the Broken Vessel's bubble and popping it again, the Vessel collapsing in a puddle of Infection.
You've already tried that.
He didn't even try to heal the Vessel. He couldn't save them, he didn't want to fight them, so he'd have to run away.
That metal gate would take too long to pry open, so on a gamble, Chance darted over to the wall covered in orbs of Infection, Claws forming at his fingers as he lunged right at the wall. He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut as firmly as he could; this wasn't going to be fun.
Infection spewed all over his face, hair, front, pants, shoes, like a bucket full of the stuff had been poured right over his head. He thought of the woman in the caves, the nude light that had cooly showered in the vomit and disease he'd been fighting to rid himself of this whole time.
The gunk caught in his nose and mouth, and it tasted sweet.
Maybe it's not so bad after all.
With a burst of rage, he screamed, and finally broke free through the wall of Infection orbs. Running blind, he tripped and fell down a ledge into a small pit, rolling down and thudding against every hard stone floor. He grabbed his head, trying to protect it as he was hit every which way, tumbling, turning, no sense of direction, only of getting beaten up.
Finally, everything was still.
Breathing hard, Chance managed to unfurl his shaking limbs and prop himself up on his arms. He'd fallen… quite the distance, maybe two or so stories, but the ledges were shaped like a big staircase and it wasn't anything he couldn't just climb up with his Mantis Claws later. It was even darker in this section of the caves than before; blackish-grey everything. Dust and stone, ancient fossils, withered roots, the stench of death hung heavy like memories of ages past.
With a thud, Tusk dropped right next to him. Chance managed to pull himself to his feet, gagging at all the Infection that coated him; it seemed easy to wipe off most of it, at least, but it'd stain. Also, he looked fucking freaky now, being covered in the stuff. Oh, God, how much had gotten in his hair? He'd have preferred to vomit it on himself over this.
He pulled his gun out of his pants, snapping it open to check it. Six bullets, all loaded and ready. Pulling one of them out, he eyed it, as if expecting to find some invisible seam his magic left behind. His hand grazed his Geo pouch on his waist.
Looking up, everything was quiet at the top of the cliff. The Broken Vessel wasn't following them, yet, which was good. Chance didn't know where this tunnel led to, but he hoped it worked as a detour back around to where Jeremy was. He didn't want to have to go back through there, if possible.
"C-C'mon," he huffed, the adrenaline withdraw leaving him feeling like a deflated balloon. "Let's get the hell out of here." Tusk followed, wordless as always. Chance got the strangest feeling that even if Tusk could speak, they'd be dead silent right now.
(That was another Vessel back there. One of Tusk's kin. Corrupted, zombified, trying to kill us, but they could still feel pain and when their leg blew off they still screamed–)
A light caught his attention. Chance glanced up; they'd stumbled upon what looked like a great pale shrine, polished plate metal and wireframe silver, spiraled into the shape of a Hallownest Seal. Lumaflies danced around it, little beating wings of light and Soul; except they were different than usual. They were brighter, more dense with magic, and yet less tangible.
Tusk stared up at them, their light shining on their pale mask. No expression, no reaction, yet something in the air about them seemed wrong, maybe their stare into the light a little too forlorn.
"Tusk…" Chance kneeled down, patting them on the back, before he realized that he had no idea what to say. We'll make it through this was self-centered, I'm sorry would only make them feel worse, and Let's do it for them felt somehow wrong.
His head was scrambled, too panicked to come up with anything comforting, so he just pulled them into a hug.
Tusk seemed to seize up, maybe disgusted by the Infection all over him, but they melted into the embrace. Cold, tired, half-dead, lost in a dark cave with only a metal monument to illuminate them.
Minutes or moments passed, Chance wasn't paying attention, but eventually Tusk pulled away. They turned to the light of the Lumaflies above them, and leapt into the air. They froze, floating, all the glowing little bugs around them reacting to their presence. They spiraled around like solar systems orbiting a black hole, pulled in by the sheer gravity and absorbed into Tusk's self.
They warped, bubbled, and burst out in a pair of silvery, ethereal wings.
The flash startled Chance, forcing him to stumble back before Tusk floated back down to the ground. Even as they receded, the Monarch Wings had a faint, ever-present glow on Tusk's back. Those wings were beautiful, their form blinding and perfect to his mortal eyes, their shape and ratio enthralling, seeming to spiral out invisibly.
A plus B divided by A, is equal to A divided by B.
"...W-Wow," Chance mouthed. It seemed to transform part of Tusk's cloak to accommodate the wings; or maybe the cloak had become the wings. Either way, he hoped it'd turn out to be a handy upgrade. "Alright, let's try to find a way outta–"
The sound of a nail being driven into the earth. Chance spun; the Broken Vessel, body melting apart, was still hunting them down.
They hopped up, before freezing in mid-air for a moment. They can fucking levitate?! They launched themselves towards him, nail drawn, ready to slash his head clean off of his shoulders.
Tusk's wings flared out, beaming like floodlights into the Broken Vessel's eyes. They stumbled, trying to shield their vision, misstepping and collapsing to the ground in a heap. Chance was stuck staring at them for a heartstopping moment before Tusk tugged on his pant leg, pulling him towards the entrance they came from.
"R-Right, go, gogogogo!" Chance sputtered, nearly tripping over the Broken Vessel as he ran past them, jumping down and running to the cliffs he'd fallen down just a minute prior.
The Vessel was already rising to their feet, hot on their tail. Chance was sweating, his lungs burning, his Crystal Heart pounding like war drums in his ears. The cliffs had a tapered edge, so it'd be a bitch to climb them, but he didn't have a choice! He resorted to jumping up to grab onto the side, and then throwing his legs forward to get a foothold, practically climbing on the ceiling like an extreme rock climber.
Tusk leapt up halfway to the top, before those blinding wings flew out, shooting them into the air with a second wind, comfortably reaching the top much faster than Chance could. He grit his teeth and kept climbing–
The Broken Vessel, their whole self coming loose at the seams and still fucking hunting them like a Terminator, had grabbed onto Chance's ankle, their nail in their other hand to cut it off.
(FIX ME, they cried, screamed through their brief Soul bond, staring dead into his eyes. FIX ME.)
Chance shook his leg as hard as he could, using the Claws to give an extra punch as he kicked them square in the face, forcing them to let go and fall painfully to the ledge below. He half expected their body to go splat.
Back in their old arena, the metal gate was still in their way. Wasting no time, Chance darted forth and grabbed either side of the bars, his muscles burning as he willed up the full might of both the Mantis Claws and the Crystal Heart. Screaming, he managed to pull apart a wedge just wide enough for them to slip through.
They were running like hell now. Chance kept looking over his shoulder, taking a potshot or two at the Broken Vessel; but even when he hit them in their Infection bubble, it didn't pop, only absorbing the bullet within the orange slime. He should be thankful that the same trick had already worked twice.
Chance nearly fell into the spike pit hallway. He only hesitated for a moment before he grabbed Tusk and channeled the Crystal Heart into his legs – he was definitely overexerting this thing – and rocketed off and breakneck speeds.
The Broken Vessel stood at the edge, watching them fly off. Their body was dying, a prisoner in their own flesh. They'd pushed themselves too hard and they couldn't fight anymore.
But they would obey Master's orders. They would obey Her orders through their dying breath and in the life beyond.
Their orange prosthetic leg grew swollen, bulging, until it ruptured with enough force to launch them across the chasm, chasing Chance and Tusk even as they were airborne. They could never stop, they could never give up, for no reason other than because their Master said so.
Chance made the mistake of looking over his shoulder.
They were gaining on them, nail in hand, Infection exploding all over every surface behind them.
They reached out to them with their claws.
Desperation.
Eruption.
Struggling to keep his arm steady as they flew, Chance aimed his gun between the Broken Vessel's glowing eyes,
and
dropped it.
…
"Deep Focus. It takes longer, reaches deeper, but the output is so much more than I could manage on my own. It can even heal things I'm not touching."
Six bullets, all loaded and ready. Pulling one of them out, he eyed it, as if expecting to find some invisible seam his magic left behind.
His hand grazed his Geo pouch on his waist.
…
Chance's gun fell far, far, deep into the spiky abyss below. The Broken Vessel didn't get time to react, because just as it slipped out of his fingers, Chance's hand clenched into a fist that lit up like a pale sun.
With the Deep Focus he'd been pouring into it, even as it fell away from him, his magic still shined through the revolver, causing it to glow.
The bullet embedded into the Broken Vessel's orange tumor was called back to the gun that Chance had dropped.
The Vessel flailed as they were suddenly yanked downwards, headfirst, into the fields of razor-sharp iron spikes below them. Their entire body was ground against the endless sea of thorns, sparks flying as they dropped their nail. Their porcelain skull scraped like nails on a chalkboard.
They tried to pull themselves out of the spike trap, but the magic kept pulling them back in, thrashing and bouncing against the spikes as they slid down. The Vessel's cloak was clawed and torn and shredded completely off. Their tumor caught onto the spikes, and their whole body flipped over as it was ripped half off, orange and black gore trailing behind them as they tumbled and rolled through hell.
Their legs and arms were nearly ripped off, their mask was barely holding together, cracked and scraped like an egg, and their entire body was covered head to toe in deep lesions that bled orange and black.
And finally, at the end of the hallway, under the ledge that a horrified Jeremy was watching this all on was a wall of spikes, against which the Broken Vessel finally went splat.
Chance had removed one of the bullets from his gun, and in its place, wedged a small Geo into the cylinder. Flying out of his sleeves was a small swarm of Lumaflies, darting down into the chasm of spikes and gore to retrieve his gun, the cold weapon returning to his palm.
The first thing he did when they collapsed safely on the other side of the hallway was scramble over to the ledge. He wanted to vomit when he saw the twitching remains of the Broken Vessel; they looked like an egg had been cracked open to reveal a yolk of pus and tar.
He felt distant from himself, knowing he was yelling but not hearing anything, as he tried to pull them to the top of the ledge. Their chitin screeched and cracked against the iron thorns as he managed to drag them up without falling in himself, pulling their obliterated body against the dirt with a trail of back and orange following them.
"C-C-Chance," Jeremy tried to say. "What–"
Chance's mind was whirring so fast, he didn't even hear anything, but he felt his voice strain and he could see a blurry image of Jeremy flinch back. Some part of him was screaming guilt, but he was still panicking, still fighting.
He could fix them, right? He could heal them, fix their Infection. He could heal the Vessel that looked so much like Tusk, yet was only a horrifying reflection of his own disease.
His Deep Focus poured into them, and the gore that spanned half of the thorn hallway came back and forced itself together like a gruesome jigsaw puzzle. Their body looked normal again, no lesions or melting, no Infected prosthetics, no hole in their head for a ballooning tumor to taunt him from.
Oh, God, they looked just like Tusk.
Their limp form was laid across his lap as he tried to shake them awake, tried to keep pouring Soul into them, screaming at them, at himself, at the cold-hearted goddess who did this. He kept waiting for the moment when their fingers would twitch with life, or they would reach up to dry his eyes, but it never came.
Orange tears ran down his cheeks and dropped against the Vessel's black chest. He pulled their chest close to him and cried into their corpse.
They never moved again.
Chapter name and summary are a reference to Master of Puppets by Metallica.
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Two Princes by Spin Doctors
We Could Be So Good Together by The Doorsa
fuck i have no idea what to write here anymore. Maybe I shouldn't say anything. Maybe I should just let the shock value and/or cliffhanger of chapter endings be. This fic *is* coming up on some major events in the next few chapters, so I gotta be careful with what I say.
This chapter is hopefully brutal and gut-wrenching, and I had a lot of fun with it. The next chapter we're working on is for MR, and it should *hopefully* be a short chapter (relatively), so there's a possibility that we might post 3 chapters in this calendar month. That'd be cool.
Anyway I'm not gonna force out notes, I can always edit these later. PLEASE leave a comment, and thank you for reading! Our Discord server code is PYXCv9tUPg