There was something so awkwardly enchanting about the music playing behind the scenery of darkness, and underneath the sensation of cold earth. The somber tone struck them particularly effectively as they were, cooped up within netting propped against some lean-to structure, huddled next to some wall. They couldn't see their own body within the dark, yet lifted each finger above the netting. Giving them the faint perspective of where they were, situated slightly off-center.

The world smelled of carnival popcorn and cotton candy, taffy and peanuts, and something ruffled and rough like a circus tent expanded beneath their legs. Broken with shards of daggers scattered across the dark floor like shattered glass, there was then something dancing in the darkness, stepping with tantalizingly orotund footfalls from their cage.

There was something visible aside from the ambient black, and deep down some passageway they had to crane their neck and lean around to see, flame conducted symphonic roundness, centered above what vaguely appeared to be some odd kind of altar adorned with broken white bones, glittering jewel necklaces that reflected the ordered flame, and pikes forming claws around the orb.

They grasped the gritty, yet satin smooth cloth beneath them. Slipping on it as they pressed against their bindings, subtle as the ghost of breathing.

Voices were down the corridor, bouncing around with mirth.

They recognized the strange Costumers from before circled around the fire, shrouded and seemingly mummified into the background. The Darkners shivered.

Returning from silence, whatever was next to them made gentle woosh noises as it patrolled.

The joyful Costumers sat far too close to the fire, vibrating with laughter, every chuckle inching the stray ends of cloaks toward the altarpiece, and Kris could only barely watch, and blame.

Blamed for their ignorance.

Kris wanted to call out, to warn the dancers from their peril as the cloaked figures engaged the flame in such a manner as endearment, but their voice failed as whatever crept nearby reasserted itself, this time closer to Kris, only slightly outside of their peripherals.

They glanced nervously between the two. "H-Hey, your friends will catch fire. You should stop them. If you care." They felt robotic, ebbed on the inside. And it reflected in their dead, dragging tone and thick, murky voice, clouded with mucus.

They will not.

Kris almost flinched at the return of the voice inside their head, but had long grown used to it.

The jesters offer no hold on reality, par what they supplant within, for it retains prospect grasp.

Ambiguity.

Their eyes opened, then. The other gave them the vision they lacked, lightening the dark world with an offshoot of night vision. The floor was cracked, mottled brick, like any natural hill that sloped and you could reasonably slip down without proper footwear, like one could find on the outside of Hometown. The bricks were rough and gritty, covered with moss and bottle-green vines. Clean, solid walls towered upward toward the dark sinkhole of the sky. There seemed to be places where pillars embedded into the floor, reaching upward into stumps of marble with slammed tops, like broken pencil leads. Kris began to realize that certain places in the Asylum refused to obey normal rules, because even with the other's enhanced vision, it could not spot any top to the prison. Cold air came from the amputation of reality, and Kris felt the very human feeling of smallness underneath it. What made even less sense were the chalk-white tree roots poking through hastily made holes in the concrete walls and wrapping into knots of rope.

There was an incessant buzzing.

They tried to imagine what it was, and what they would do if they were making it. It was coming from every direction, and Kris thought it was flies buzzing around and nesting within the roots or hovering just above the missing ceiling. Maybe it was from the shards scattered over the bricks and reflecting the light from whatever lens the other had picked like applying certain makeup, and Kris found the idea of the beast with lipstick funny, just to show how delirious they were.

Pay attention.

Okay. Okay, they could. They shook themself awake, to pay attention for the computer, and craned their neck around to the other's liking.

Variables presented. Interloping within the experiment. Elaboration needed.

Kris knew it was talking to itself. They were too groggy and the other treated them like it, since it knew, it always did.

The initial harbinger is negligible. Simply gears within the world, crossing is inevitable. But the imprisonment of stars fails to stop the secondary harbinger. No other reasons exist for the existence of the Costumers.

Kris blinked. Underneath the net, they went to rub their eyes. Somehow, whatever had been nearby them in the darkness was gone, and they were truly alone. That gave them fright, simmering beneath the rambling beast inside. Consider this; you're surrounded by familiarity, people you consider trustworthy and honest, and then all of you were kidnapped after being brutally murdered in a different time - which you had to kill yourself to escape without actually dying - and now the voice in your head that supposedly knew everything was ranting and raving like a madman while you were clasped underneath a net wondering where your helpful friends were. Kris hoped the snark translated clearly without saying it properly.

They fumbled with the netting, attempting to claw it off.

It held valiantly, spreading leagues of cross-stitched material. Once it was off of them, they attempted to stand. Shackles halted their ascent, snapped tightly around one of their legs.

They felt for their sword but their sheathe was empty, and a scorpion sting of panic stabbed them before the other grumbled and quieted them.

This loss is not permanent. Reach for a save star.

Ah, dipping into storage. Kris's favorite pastime when the other was biting its thumb-equivalents.

Proper machinations are attested with resilience. Study, and then notation.

… whatever that meant, sure. Do that. Meanwhile, they'd reach out to the warm star, much like the fire in their peripherals. From there, it was simple.

And in seconds, Kris lined up the blade of their sword to the chains.

It would cause noise and alert the Costumers, so they needed an immediate plan. A floorplan, they prayed.

Looking from their own position, they noticed in a different light the dark-pocketed rooms around them, including the short ditch-length previously unseen in the hallway ahead, and how the tumbledown corridor seemed to glow like the gentle caress of the wind underneath street lamps.

Their sword was broad and built like a mule, with recoil sensors and unwieldy weight distribution.

They imagined it wouldn't be good to fight in the tight spacing, as their blade wasn't maneuverable.

If they had their Rapier at hand, they would feel more confident fighting the Darkners. With range advantage, tight spacing so only one could melee with them, they could win.

And then presented the ultimate problem. Given to these musing thoughts of the corridor, Kris forgot their immediate vicinity. Shaky ground, wide space. Shards of sharp glass to slip on, to cut them up, and enough room for the Costumers to float around in above. Not ideal for a desperate brawl.

Heavy clay stuck to them as they blinked.

Rampant, reckless endangerment of puppet is not ideal. To the sides of this room, there are three identical spaces. Hypothesis: Your allies are being held there.

Numbers. They definitely understood the other's repeated comments on having them.

All they would have to do is cut this chain…

It will be awkward. Stand as far from the anchor as possible, take aim. The operator will assist the precise motions of the slash.

Kris listened well, pulling away from the chain and onto the cobblestones. Their blade ran along the metal rungs, convex to the shackles.

Psychology can buy precious seconds. Allow the operator…

Kris tensed up all at once as a scream - Noelle's scream - screcked out the next moment.

All around the fire, the Darkners blocked the view of the flames and crept toward some unseen throughway. Each equally curious, the masks paused in contemplation before shrugging.

Again.

The second time, the Darkners looked downright invested. Kris heard some muttering to each other, and then the pathway cleared of them.

There was a sensory deficiency, but then the tone of the world shifted. Beating like an animal thrashing, Kris heard the clamor rise. Instead of expected laughter, the Darkners seemed worried around the corner.

Prepare yourself. There will be only one second hesitation.

The other seemed peculiarly worldly about the matters of Darkners, even before the Costumers. Was it somehow read-up on them? Could it extrapolate that quickly?

Darkners-

Kris's body delivered the first movement, inertia flowing as the other raised the blade high, awkwardly thrown above their head.

-are simple creatures. Merely the shadow of the light within the dark. Tainted, impure. Within them-

The movement swelled as it reached the cusp, and the other held strong - as it was, the blade howled through the air. And then, it fell upon the bindings. Sparks flew, great noise spreading like jam over the bread that covered every wall.

-the essence and seance of the connection of dark and light. Taken anew-

Again, the other rose the blade, and then chopped down. Noelle gave out a ghastly screech while unseen.

-their lives result from realitical distortion and emphasis-

The Darkners finally came-to, and then the whooshing of cloth in the night came.

-thus trivial pursuit for the farcical scryer. Pure Darkners come from the seas of dead ideas. Pure darkness, likewise. Furthermore-

The first Costumer rounded the bend just as the chain trembled underneath the Bounce Blade. The pink sword took longer than they thought to break it.

-keen awareness proceedings against the opposition-

The chain finally cracked and bent, and with a wailing metal roar, it snapped. Kris worked into a stance, readying their blade.

-allows advantage to be gained.

Kris rushed forward for a second before the other slammed the brakes, sending them skidding and cracking glass on the bent brick floor as a whorl of gusting, barking wind flew past.

"Zehahehehahee," the Costumer came toward them, hooked-beak mask skipping.

"Creepy assholes! Fucking clowns, circus freaks." Words suddenly tumbled from their mouth, as though every little biting thought was compressed from their mind like a tube of sparkling toothpaste. "Stand down or I will kill you," the other was letting them speak, no, almost encouraging it. "You hear me? I will hurt you. Take me seriously, or regret it."

If they wanted to harm your being, they would have done so. Diplomacy.

Well, good time to say that after Kris just insulted and threatened the Darkners with daggers drawn.

Offer parlay. Be mysterious. Be unpredictable.

They then, very awkwardly and very grateful for the other's minute, fine detailing of their expression, lowered their sword. "I offer parlay."

The Costumers giggled humorfully, pausing instantly. Something told Kris they were listening, and judging. The Darkners bumbled and bumped together.

Okay. Kris willed themself to relax, to be still, and the almost forgotten cool washed in.

Like stretching a fitted blanket over a bed, the other ripped at their expression, their posture, folding them into place, an alluring, self-absorbed smirk that made them feel filled with bravura, doubled by the proud posture they took, sweeping their sword behind them dramatically and standing taller, closed, like a spire of white and blue with their chest puffed and shoulders low. Their mischievous, forewarning grin was shaded by an intense stretching of their face that gave off rungs of pain.

"Taken, taken, offer of breaking earth and bread, human child, from not-the-dead," the closest Darkner spoke, rhythmically dancing like a motor or machine rumble.

Play along.

Kris mentally nodded. The action transferred with a wired twitch. This was not what Kris was expecting to be doing after breaking from their chains, and it certainly embittered the scenario. Why couldn't they just fight them? Like, well, like how Kris planned to? It would certainly be simple, and judging from the light, presenceless countenance of the Costumers, shuffling and muttering, Kris wagered their powers were trickster more than fighter, weren't they?

But the daggers still caught their attention. Glittering, crooked, and green.

Offenses against their patron is subsequent offense against experiment.

Kris glanced to the side for a second.

The operator will guide you. Take a bow, introduce the puppet. Include fanciful, farcical language and within that include their beings.

Kris gulped subtly, face never dwindling. Smooth, like butter on hot toast, they took a purposeful step backward and bent their knees. "A pleasure to make your acquaintances, Darkners of the Pirouette. As I'm sure you know…" Kris stared up at them from the crux of the bow, and they noticed the Darkners sharing some unknowable glance. "…I am Kris."

Explain yourself. Repeat after the operator - I come to you in desperation; pursuing this peace is response from the nature of my mortality. I appeal to you, as fellow children of the dark, to hear out my forsaken opinion as a ready plea.

Kris chuckled derisively. It grew into false humor. Nervousness bled into it. "I come to you in desperation. Truthfully, pursuing this peace is response from the nature of human mortality." The Darkner whirred curiously, giving a very 'floaty', very unnerving hop forward a few inches. "Please, find it within your hearts of hearts to listen to this…" Kris sucked in their cheeks, eyes peeling open some. "…this forsaken child's plea. I implore you to move yourself to sympathy."

Understanding and emulating opposition speech patterns remains significant to swaying, incontrovertible cogency. Speaking to those selcouth as familiar represents convalescent variability for sufficient diplomacy.

The Darkners chortled, and turned and whined to each other, forming a huddle of empathetic chirrups. Words were likely said, but not even the other understood them.

"Krehahehahee! Mystery, sprightliness. Complete internals of manipulation," another Costumer hissed, growling with a canine mask. It strode ahead of the other one, spinning. "Alas, then, oy gevalt, we entertain the entertainer."

Joke.

And why exactly would they do that? The Darkners were listening intently - they even angled themselves as though leaning in to listen.

Express traits of tragedy and comedy to appeal to their nature. You appealed using tragedy before the trap, and you exemplified the intrigue under the operator's guidance. Showing grasp of comedy furthermore increases quasi-positive endearments.

Continuous manipulation. How quaint. If Kris wasn't so anxious, this would be like a return to normal.

They still wondered something. Always did. Something that haunted their scattered sleep, like blurry visions of a, perhaps, better time. What originally possessed the other to such lengths? To kill? To control them? They were once… in something akin to a positive relationship. What changed?

They remembered the times when they first encountered the Dark Worlds. The other wasn't much, by then. Someone… some thing that was just… there. In the back of their head, sleeping, enjoying the sunlight. Basking in the world while Kris stumbled through life, occasionally asking them to do things, occasionally helping them do things. Like research in the library. It wanted something specific to skim through, like anatomy, or psychology, and Kris needed help with math or science. It was symbiosis. And then there were the times where Kris felt… lost, and it gave them a goal. Clean their body, wash their clothes. Tidy up their room, learn a new combo in a game. Talk to their friends, put the knife down. It helped them in ways other, disconnected people wouldn't. The perks of having a voice inside your head.

And no matter how tired, or how dreary it sounded, Kris could only ever see it as a force that genuinely wanted to help them. A kindred spirit, someone who felt pain and suffering and tragedy and may not have survived it. That's what they thought; a ghostly guide. A red heart. Tied to them with a strumming steel string.

But then, it never really gave them a reason not to think that. Curious, seeking some answers, a little firm on subjects. It never really 'took control' of Kris. Not in the way like it did now. They hazarded the change happened sometime just recently before the first Dark World. The first time ever, it demanded something. Kris tried to remember what but everything was just… hazy from just before everything went bad.

Variables alter, entropy changes.

It defended. Kris expected nothing less.

The needs of the many exceed the needs of the one. Compliance is rewarded.

…Kris gathered that it wasn't quite talking about them anymore.

Universal constants: There exists, in certainty, one greater than all. There exists, above all, one more, and once more, and once more. Patrons, they are called. Gods, they are called. Sobriquet upon moniker, upon facade, upon lie, upon lie.

Kris felt something itch inside their SOUL, imagining the harsh tone the other carried as the hollowed, dejected emotion it once carried.

Necessity included perspective. Bounds of comprehension expand. Ignorance dilates, an inverse to forces. The experiment is the only truth.

How does any of this - how do the Costumers, how does the plague - how does any of it factor into the 'experiment'?

Repeats. Motifs. Inevitables.

Everything repeated itself, like themes of the universe, unable to be stopped?

How fucking depressing. And how unexpected shocking it was - Kris thought the other was shaken, for some reason, and now, they concluded through their questioning that it was true.

To pull the wool over the other's eyes, or lack thereof, was almost cathartic, if not mortally frightening. Their pride was slammed and eaten alive by fear.

"Hello, human?"

This matter will be addressed at a later date. Punishment is due. A growing list. Address the henchmen.

Kris inhaled-

Joke.

"I'm sorry, this just all reminds me of a joke." The Costumers wiggled in excitement. Kris felt ungodly, some shameful things coming upon them. "About this guy; he heard voices and forgot things. One day, when he was lost somewhere, he just… walks on the circus, set up in the middle of a field. He blacks-out and wakes up inside, and he sees everything, all the acrobats, all the dancers, all the displays and freaks and strongmen and popcorn he could ever eat, and he remembers how hungry and starved he was for entertainment. But the thing is, he's tied to this chair, right? Real tight, ropes, chains, zipties." The Darkners peeled forward some, shrinking as they lowered to the floor, watching with delighted expressions on their masks as Kris went on.

Joke.

"So, he's sitting there and locked to a chair when this big fat clown comes in. Says, 'hey, Jed, you gotta get outta here before the Ringleader comes back.'" The Constumers winced a little, but let Kris continue. "The clown hands him a knife and steps out. The guy - of course - starts cutting at his bindings until they're gone. He gets up, cleans himself off and… just walks. Walks and walks. Until he sees the Ringleader and confronts him. He says, 'why are you keeping me here, do we know each other, how do we go on from this?'"

Kris smiled widely, now. The joke was either gonna flop or land. They knew it, and so did the other, but this was their only shot because the other wasn't giving them any inspiration and they already had the audience entranced.

"So, after a grand journey," Kris gestured, rolling their shoulders, "in front of the villain, in his eyes, the guy asks these questions. He would forget anyway, wouldn't he? Well…" Kris snorted. The Costumers listened to the punchline. "Not really, because they killed him the second after."

The Costumers glanced at each other in bantering-turned-awkward bewilderment. Seconds later, chuckles came from their group as the mood of failure set in. It was so bad it was funny. Ish.

"Hoohohookay, that was something. Could work on the material, though!" One Costumer suggested this before twirling in the air.

"Zehrhrhr, what a terrible punchline! All that build-up, and for nothing!" The Costumer giggled.

"Tsk tsk, you scared us when you said 'Ringleader'." A third one lamented.

The operator feels similarly.

One Darkner bowed to them, a show of meager appreciation. Kris observed as the entire fleet of masks bowed to them, wondering exactly how the hell their bad joke worked, and why the Costumers were even bending for it.

The Darkners swept their cloaks toward the altar.

"Come, this way," one said. Kris followed the Darkner further into the chamber, admiring the odd, intersecting ditches that followed each corridor like driveways. The flames flickered queerly, casting some faint shadows of figures across the walls. Their silhouette seemed warped, with a bloated chest, stout legs, and oddly enough, a small head. Kris would have snickered if it wasn't, like all things in this Dark World, weird. The Costumers waved toward the altar, gathering around with space for Kris. They saddled into their spot. There were five corridors from the altar.

"What do you desire?" Another Costumer added in with a question. Kris gazed absentmindedly at the hallways, trying to discern which was the exit. Each one had a solid wall of black, like fog. They couldn't make heads or tails of it. In front of them, the masks awaited an improvised answer, and between that and trying to plot an escape, Kris felt a bit overwhelmed.

The operator will discern. Answer the wardens.

"I just… want to go home," Kris sighed, jamming their hands into their pockets. "See mom… and my family, kick around Hometown… eat something actually filling."

The Costumers, five of them, each hummed with sympathy. There was the boney canine mask, the marble avian-esque mask, one that looked stocky and blocky and built thick like some skull, and another with green inlays and pearls surrounding a straight bill, and another yet with ebony embossings and golden trinkets hanging that furled in the wind and jingled like windchimes.

"We understand that, human. A world given birth from dark, ripped you away from your home and into sorrow-lands upon laughing-lands." The embossed one spoke, voice deep and reverberating, yet echoing artificially. It gave a histrionic sigh. "We, as a Troupe, summoned here for ritual. We, as a Troupe, locked here, undermined by a plague. Undetermined exactly how to exit. But we have ideas. You have ideas. Returning home; a shared goal."

A connection bridged.

"Can we help each other?" Kris pleaded, surprisingly genuine with a creaky wheel in their voice, face sullen as the other let them go. It was uneasy, and world-weary, and unassumingly tragic how the first thought that crossed their mind was how to exploit this. "If you know how to get into the Astrowall…"

The avian mask whispered. "…afraid it is un-so. We were locked out by the traitor candle, and taken from us was the stage inside."

The Viceroy betrayed them. Artificial means. He vacated them from his service. Speculation surmises abstruse avidity.

Moving along.

"You don't know?"

"We Thespians are only mortals." The canine hissed lowly. "But there is a way. There are… intruders into our world, disturbing the naturally laid order by entropy. They take their plugged ambitions to the doors of the Astrowall, and to the central cortex of this glorious Brain. Lead you," the mask raised its chin. "we shall lead you to them, and see. Very soon, calamity strikes."

'Intruders'? Well, if Kris didn't know any better, they would say that meant the Lightners that brought guns and military-grade hardware into Hometown, the mansion, and possibly Castle Town were trying to breach the biggest hurdle to Kris's mission. Hmm. And if they didn't know any better better, they would say the Coalition is their best chance at opening the gate.

Correct. Outside variables hypothesized to column one - positive.

Which left recon and a plan before they could advance. And their allies, of course. They vaguely remembered the two doctors that went missing, and wondered aloud about them.

"The Viceroy," the blocky one spoke in a tattered, hoarse drawl. "Took them inside. The lion, and the corpse. He mentioned offhandedly needing 'associates' to activate the facility."

"Are there defenses to activate? If we were trying to sit on their coattails and get inside, that could be a problem." Kris pawed their cheek, fidgeting. "We need to get there and figure things out before it's too late and they set up a perimeter. If we could get there and beat them before they hunker down at a good chokepoint," Kris smirked. Thinking of it like a game was funny when everything was on the line. "But we need to regroup, first, and I need my sword."

The avian mask seemed to gleam with knowing intent, and stuck a hand toward the flame. "Fire. Ice. Well, they don't mix usually, but this ice is glacius. Whatever that means."

The flame clasped around the Costumer's glove-like hand, flitting around it and roping around every finger and the Darkner's thumb, pulling them closer. The mask steadied itself on the side of the altar, leaning in, Kris imagining the equivalent of the being poking its tongue out. It felt around for a moment with large grasping motions. When it finally found whatever it was looking for, it tensed around it, and the fire began to dwindle. Kris watched in interest as the Darkner swaddled cloth around the flames like a hot-air balloon treading the sky, or the twines of a kite stuck together.

All at once, the fire died. The world turned to the gray-ish, black-white of a wet, raindrop spattered newspaper and bled like paints yet to dry on a canvas. Kris stumbled back a step. This darkness made them feel smaller than small. Like watching the world through a straw.

And then, the fire exploded back to life.

It roared, and Kris jumped backward out of the way of the lapping sea of combustion and sheltered down in one of the ditches. It roared over them like a lion, just clawing, itching, yearning to maul them.

And then it ebbed, back to the typical candlelight dancing underneath the starless sky or the deep, deep cavernous depths like a fickle finger of earth rising to accuse the darkened heavens. Kris took another beguiled look around, noting everything. Sharp. Smooth. Sharp was the altar, with claws, and with zealots with daggers and edged masks, and with a pedestal of grime and chalkstone, and runged with brittle, sleek obsidian. The walls were smooth, yet gritty, tugging at their clothes as they watched the fire dance.

And standing there, hovering like a moth on wires, brandishing their Hypothermic Rapier, the Costumer held the frozen blade from the icy hilt in an icepick grip that looked awkward and cut the Darkner's side. Kris winced, and began to climb the steep hill hurriedly.

Giggles rang out.

"Scared, human?" The canine guffawed.

"Alas, it is untoward not to warn." The embossed one hummed a chuckle. "Apologies…"

"Fine, fine. It's fine." Kris snapped somewhat. A little warning would have been nice. "Thank you kindly…"

My companion.

"…my companion." They reached for their sword. The Costumer handed it to them, hilt-first.

"You are not the only with storage devices. Fire supplies." The avian mask explained. "May we continue, once we free the fellow interlopers."

Kris narrowed their eyes. Better to question it, now. "You don't belong in this world? You mentioned being 'locked' here. Now, 'fellow interlopers.' Are you from… somewhere else? I'm not surprised if you say 'yes' - things have been hectic recently and this is barely a metaphorical cherry on top of the hypothetical sundae that's somehow in a fucking abandoned mansion." A Costumer tried to speak up. "And you said something about a ritual and being 'undermined' by a plague? How do impure Darkners stay healthy while…" Kris realized something and nodded. Talking too much.

"Too much, too fast. Too quintessential, too specific. Many points. A mosaic of questions we may answer." The golden mask spoke. Seemed there was a difference in social ability between them. "Recount them."

Kris inhaled. Composed themself and halted their jitters. "So, you're not impure Darkners?"

The avian mask spoke. "We are as pure as it gets, human. As pure as you. And as pure as that lambkin Princeling. Not quite the ruler he can be."

The canine added, cryptically, "Many of the too-few. One with strength without vitriol."

The embossed one chuckled. "Soon to grow, and to bud like the Bastion plants. May the Dark Maternity smile upon that subjectless Princeling." It cleared its throat. "The Bastion. That's where we came from. Servants to the Dark Lord. Merely petals from her lively branches."

"…Moving past whatever that meant. So, you came from somewhere else. This 'Bastion', like in the prophecy?"

The Bastion is unimportant. Insignificant.

"Wellhellhell, we suppose so!"

"Home." The canine let out like a sizzling grease pan. "Our Lord rules with fist of iron and claws of dark ebony authority."

"And yet," the avian chortled, "still better than Detroit!"

What the fuck is a 'Detroit'?

Do not worry. It cannot harm you.

The embossed one nodded. "Brothers, sisters, sibling," it acknowledged Kris. "Perhaps this discussion is better left for the overmorrow. We have many a thing to conquer today, so may we begin? First, secure the keys." The golden mask flashed with a lustrous jewelry gleam before it produced a keyfob from beneath the drapes. "Next, ascend from the darkness."

It beckoned them down a pathway. Alone, it went with them.

"Let us begin anew. Darkner, Lightner, bound by purpose and knotted with unbidden brotherhood and creed."

Noelle was hunched over into a sad ball, curled in on herself. Her white robes were blemished by dirt and grime, similar to Kris's labcoat.

The Costumer jingled the keys.

"…go away." Her voice was weak, trembling, with a slight wheezing whistle that made Kris feel blood sink in their chest like rain clinging to the inside of their sternum.

"Freedom comes a-callin', a-callin'. Pick up the phone."

Kris snorted. "Noelle?"

She shrunk.

Then jolted, stared up at them with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She sputtered underneath the net. Her room was exactly the same as Kris's room but noticeably chillier, and her net was fringed with melting icicles that pattered patterns down onto the bricks like drips of marker-dots. Her face was frozen in that dumbfounded expression, like she didn't think they were coming.

"K-Kris? Kris!" She fumbled with the netting. "You got out? How? Wait…" She slowed her excited grappling. "…was this an elaborate prank?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm actually just that good. I engineered an entire Dark World just to prank you." Kris quipped with deadened eyes and a blank expression. Even then, some hope bled into it. "We're gonna be okay, Noelle. These Darkners aren't bad. They're letting us go so we both can get past the Astrowall." Of course, there was always the fact that Kris, Susie, Ralsei, and Noelle were likely more dangerous to the Costumers than the Darkners were to them. It was just nature.

Somehow, the message translated through their posture, or through their bland tone, and Noelle gulped back some trepidation and let the Costumer approach.

Something amiss.

Betrayal of the Darkners?

Her emotional state is askew. The operator noted increased agitation before. It was filed as insignificant. Her state worsened at the sight of Darkner and puppet.

"Phew, I-I'm glad you talked them down, Kris." Noelle stuttered and shakily praised. "Let's go get Susie… and Ralsei… and get going."

She is feigning strength. The Darkner unnerves her.

Kris followed the gleeful Darkner back toward the altar, and toward the other pathways, chatting with Noelle underneath the foot of the awkward atmosphere. The Dark World tended to be like that; awkward, overbearing, foreboding; like you were being watched, or were vulnerable; like a bunny in a forest of dead, decayed grass while a bird of prey circled overhead, and Kris definitely felt much like the bunny this time around. Perhaps it was worthwhile to note that Noelle existed, but she looked at them like the bunny would a tree whose thicket was filled with rattling snakes - free from the bird but a whole different danger.

"Noelle, what was said about you… it still isn't true. You're useful and helpful, and we wouldn't be here without you." Kris attempted to quell her fear, because it made them burn with self-hatred.

They couldn't stand the thought of Noelle being… just being bullied for the team's setbacks when Kris was the one pulling strings, and thus the one to blame for any shortcomings. She wasn't strong enough for the Lobotomy; none of them were; Kris needed to get stronger; they needed to amp themselves up with everything going on; and the idea stayed in their head that Kris needed to make some changes very soon. As fractious as they were. It was galvanizing, a call. They needed to get things done, and do it soon, no prevarication about it.

They needed better acumen. They needed to edify themself, and friends.

Victory at all costs. Success by all means.

There was a great paucity of things, and then a great melange of them. The blackened sky, the barren roadways of whatever painting they were stuck in; and then there was life, people, voice inside and outside of their head, as well as a deepset drive covered by ostensible chatter and silence, like taps of Morse code. They were philistine; the world didn't matter, only the next step. One ahead of another. Like a puppet raising hands. Their crossboard of beams above that the other held moved; they sighed and watched as Susie, as Ralsei, stood. It was syndoche to call this progress; it was a cog in the machine that was betterment.

Time is sparse. Either gone, or uhtceare.

Archaic word. They believed the other had some explaining to do, very soon. It knew these Darkners.

Irrelevant. The equations posted for convenience are complex, difficult to perceive with due elucidation, parsimonious those capable. With fulcrum usufruct, negligence warranted.

Aye, fair enough.

Next came hazy blurs of scenes; storing their sword; the avian and the embossed proudly shadowed the group, led them down the fifth path. Outward onto a cliff-face overlooking what Kris assumed was the back of the Astrowall and somewhere toward the maintenance facility. Below, steel grates laid across mud and sod marked with tire tracks. Cold wind blew against Kris's cracked lips, jostled their sturdy coat. It was an almost picturesque construction site; swallowed beneath two lips of rock, speckled with rebar and concrete in some places; yellow-barred lights long dead somberly mourned the past; stiff breeze sent flying dust below Kris's feet; and the sobering feeling of the city kicked in with a push of vertigo, as Kris stared up at the improbably blank sky. It was savage - like the wild had not yet reclaimed the ruins of society. Just the brim, the edges, which lined a slope that rode around the outer rim like the ridges of a bottle cap. Strange smelling flowers grew, emitting a sour, dry scent that made Kris click their tongue against their hard palate and wrinkle their nose. Noelle was unaffected.

"Now, see, how the world works is strange, but cute." The avian monologued. "Years have gone by, near a decade, and yet the lively lichen from the city eschews this place."

"Uh, probably because chemical dumps or something. This place is, like, a skyscraper of scrap metal." Susie remarked gruffly.

"Most plants can't grow this close to a Fountain!" Ralsei chimed in, glancing around with his hands clasped behind his back.

That sucked. Kris wanted a potted plant for their room somehow. It was too dreary.

"Damn, I wanted a cactus." Susie remonstrated.

"Just past this canyon of desolation and annihilation, just up the lip of death and into the dredges and concrete of a world lost we will find the rest of us. All of the Poets. The Clockters, Chef Phago," the embossed mask recounted with a tremulous warble, head bowed, but Kris felt it was humble happiness instead of pain. "And the others of our Troupe. Our compatriots, clad in robes of spice and slices of orange-vigor. Ah, truly splendid, this sanctum of friendship."

Where is the bird?

"Whatever happened to…" Kris fell off as their mind combed for the name.

Anaphora.

"Whatever happened to Anaphora? The bird-lady that the Viceroy had with him when he met with us?" They tilted their head at the masked Darkner, furrowing their brows unevenly and tensing the corners of their lips.

"Oh, her. Not-Nevermore." The avian mask haughtily scoffed, shaking its head. "She repeated whatever he wanted, even up until he cast us all aside for dead and hid inside the Astrowall. Mutinous candle and his skanky broad."

The embossed one hissed laughter like a balloon. "Terueue, uncalled for!"

"What," the avian defended, turning to face the embossed one as they walked, "is it not verifiably true?"

"Well, no, it's not."

"But she is a harlot. Why else would she stay with that madman, even when he left her?"

"Loyalty," the embossed one rebuked. "Like… like a pet."

Susie crept closer.

"These guys are kinda… out there, aren't they? This is pretty weird. I'm not… I don't even know what to say."

"Well, they're helping us, so I suppose we can excuse their rudeness, can't we? It's not toward us, so I… wouldn't say it's our problem." Ralsei coldly intoned toward the bird. He was right. "Let's just ignore it, for now." He smiled.

Kris met Noelle's eyes, seeing just how uncomfortable she felt. They concurred, the visage of the stretch of land ahead forebodingly quiet besides the strangers, but at the end of the road, there was the destination.

It wasn't as long of a walk as Kris imagined. The other kindly provided that it took just over two minutes, from the altar to the end.

What would be behind that door? Legions of Darkners, all clamoring for battle; a motley crew of poets wanting to be safe; a cacophony of incompetent people wanting nothing more than to stay still while the world ended? And their fears were clearly founded on truth, as they approached the concrete bunker with odd edges, and the mask opened the riveted steel door open into a musty, damp corner that looked like a parking garage striped with dried tears and dusted with dander from an old clapboard home left to rot.

"This is all." The avian said, gesturing across the crowd as its dagger hung from its belt.

"All of them?" Susie questioned. "Heh. Thought there'd be more of you."

The embossed one. "Well… it's not as if we didn't lose some to the ghastly plague. Quite a few Lunatics out there were once Darkners, poets of high society, of the upper echelon. Some Loons are around, carrying riches."

Kris wondered how exactly the plague worked, on a smaller scale, to turn individual Darkners into Lunatics. They supposed not finding out would be best.

"I suppose meeting the group could be fun, Kris!" Ralsei recommended this as he tugged at their sleeves. They looked him up and down, slightly taken-aback, "They're going to be my subjects eventually, right? We should meet them now."

They glanced toward the embossed one. "Well? Go! Introduce yourself! We'll see what comes next in a moment."

They recognized some of the Darkners.

Specifically, there was an odd one - Chef Phago, the Costumers mentioned - muttering about 'yinz,' and 'yonz,' and 'mitosis.'

There was the bird, huddled against the far wall behind a pillar, shaking and trembling like a leaf inside a brewing storm, tears streaming down her face as she whined and whimpered.

The Clockters, in their aprons, clock hands ticking nervously. Little bushy eyebrows were pinned behind their glass faces, brushing awkwardly against the minute and hour hands.

Greet.

"Hello," they started, coming toward the first one. "I'm Kris." They extended a hand toward the anxious Darkner.

"Lightner, oh, Lightner," the waiter eagerly took their hand. "Save us! You've come to save us! Oh, joy! Those soldiers are blocking our way to safety!"

Noelle piped up for a moment. "T-The soldiers? Oh, o-oh, oh no."

Kris turned to face her as she clammed up, visage harrowed and distraught. The reindeer glanced from the Darkner, to Kris, and back again. They nodded and patted her shoulder.

She has yet to reveal what brought her here.

"Don't worry." Ralsei soothed the manic clock. "We're Heroes, we'll figure this out. Everyone will be okay." That individual Clockter looked overjoyed, but the others seemed disbelieving.

"Yeah, we'll kick some ass. Always works. Believe it or not, we have a lot of experience with it." Susie smirked and readjusted her scythe, "We're not pushovers."

"Kris, do you think we can beat them?" Ralsei inquired in a whisper to them.

In warfare, no. With tactile planning, victory can be attained. Be confident.

Kris inhaled a deep breath. "Yes. With careful planning, victory can be made." They felt the other's words were easiest to use.

Susie exhaled frustratedly. Kris wondered what her problem was - they noticed she seemed to avoid them recently, but they supposed they knew why. She must hate them. She definitely hated them. For being so… so, so Kris. They felt pangs of remorse for what they did to her, but it was just another thing on top of everything else. They were scum, weren't they. Lying to their friends, attacking Susie like that, making Noelle do what she did. Hell, they lied to the Costumers, even though they seemed to be nice enough. And now they were looking down upon the Clockter for being so whiny, with some abjectly annoying voice that sounded like a coward, while Ralsei was stepping up and calming the obviously passive creature and they just hated how much it felt like Ralsei was ignoring them even though they knew he wasn't.

"Look, guys with guns? Not many great plans that'll work against that. Can't outplan bullets," Susie contested, shrugging.

"I'm sure Kris can come up with something! Right, Kris?" The bonhomie Prince looked at them with such trust it physically stung.

"Oh, 'Kris' this, 'Kris' that. Come on," her bitter tone made them itch. Fuck her, so angry. "Why does Kris have to make all the plans, huh? Why don't I make the plan. Actually. How about we do it as a group, for once? Kris has gotten lucky and all that stupid crap but we need to look at this… differently. From a… from a different view, I guess. Make sure we're all alright with it first."

Ralsei rocked on his feet, puffing his cheeks. "Well, Kris has made good plans so far! We've made it to the Astrowall with their plans! We can't possibly blame them for the Lobotomy on the tracks."

"Yeah, well, look at everything else. That spider thing? Luck. They didn't even have a plan for those Lunatics when you guys were cornered." Susie stood taller over them, staring down with a frozen, fake smile at Ralsei. "Most of the plans after that were Detter's. And then with the café, I got us through the gates, and that whole fight with that cloaked dude was just brute force."

The Darkners in the room, who had been staring at the silhouettes of the Heroes in the darkness, seemed to shuffle awkwardly. Kris heard weeping, and murmurings of woeful hopelessness.

Leave. Reconnoiter the future battlements. Removing this argument from the sight of the Darkners is paramount to instilling adulation.

"Guys." Kris called quietly.

"Kris can do it, I know they can. Susie, why doubt them? They've been a wonderful leader so far." Ralsei was not afraid to face her down, and did so with valiant strength.

"Kris is fucking violent, dude." Susie threw her hands up and shook her head frenetically, a sneer set on her face as she croaked back toward him and raked his figure with growing disdain. "That's all they have, and I know it's rich from me. Remember, you talked Queen down. You mentioned the Roaring first, and Kris just… copied you for Rouxls and the other guy."

"Guys." Kris was a little more insistent.

"But, Susie, I didn't even tell them about the Roaring. Kris must have meditated, which meant they-" Ralsei seemed excited at the prospect, gesturing while looking at his paws.

"Blah, blah. They didn't make the plan, 's the point."

Command respect.

"Guys!" Kris finally shouted.

Everyone turned to stare at them, and Kris felt picked apart like a dissected flea underneath some infernally warm microscope. Yet, the other gave them what they needed; a hardened gaze, to peel hides; a squared, staunch posture to exude authority and dominion; and the solid, unflinching tone to carry it fully through the room, garnering some looks of surprise, and some of respect.

"Take. It. Outside." Kris emphasized each word with their face, making sure their acrimonious mood carried. "Arguing in front of these… fine Darkners is not what we want to do, okay?"

The embossed mask agreed with a chirrup. "Yes, yes. Right. Right this way, Heroes. Let us surveil the threats." It pointed past the group to another door. Kris huffed and surged past Susie and Ralsei, Noelle hot on their heels as the embossed mask shared a peculiar glance with the avian mask. "Do be quiet out there - they are patrolling the perimeter."

The door opened into a metal cage suspended over a slight-decline ramp, walls lit by industrial lights. Kris could see through the steaming mesh of metal that the wide ramp, like a huge, uniform hill, directed all traffic to a particularly open field beneath the visible stars, with uniform spaces marked with tape, underneath uniform lights and identical crosswalks. The concrete was even and masterfully laid, light gray and only slightly yellowed by weather. The embossed mask's slippers tapped against the grating with a metallic whick, whick, whick, as it walked forward, guiding them up a staircase and onto a catwalk not covered by round metal shielding.

"This complex was built with four levels. The first, the second, the third, and the basement. The first - the entrance - is guarded by blast doors and houses the village." The mask explained this as it led them across the open plains of tape and paint, metal shavings and trash littered about beneath them. "The second is the office. That's where they store all their precious data and blueprints. The third is thought to be the control center, where the Director Interim made certain this world ran smoothly while a cure was found. To cross this boundary to the Astrowall proper," the mask led them up another set of stairs at the end of the exposed catwalk, this time anchored with rivets against some buildings - like watch towers. There were vents and steam, metal, and milky-white windows that glowed. "The blast doors were sealed due to the Viceroy's efforts, and now, the soldiers…"

They climbed up to solid ground from the staircase, hopped up an uncomfortable ledge one-by-one, and held bated breaths as they took a bird's eye view of the scenario. It was… worse than what Kris could have ever imagined. Dozens of soldiers stood guard, or patrolled, or clicked laptops placed on crates and wired into big black boxes with antennas, with large beeping red lights that were just the width of black-gray camouflage patterns the soldiers of the Coalition wore as they oversaw the small courtyard between two building complexes. The mask hurriedly pulled them down and ducked them, and Kris saw through the other's eyes how bleak and fortified the clearing was. It was just like a normal hangout, but riddled with an overbearing military presence that included dozens of rifles; some vehicles puttered quietly, like ghosts, next to the grouping of soldiers, acting as generators; radio towers that rose only feet from the ground; explosive packages rigged against the towering, looming doors, prepped for explosion; and lights, flashlights and lanterns, placed sagaciously, strategically along the singular bridge that illuminated barricades and mobile cover.

Outspoken but silent, Kris felt a visceral reaction to the absurd odds they faced.

Dozen yards away, perched on top of the opposing building. A sniper.

Oh, Jesus Christ, this was not going the way that gave them even a single shred of hope. They saw home fade away from sight, and pictures of fear - spiders, knives, empty rooms - fade in.

Stay calm. The operator is formulating equations. Chances minimal, yet variables understood.

"As you can see, Heroes, this is not even close to possible."

"Holy shit, man." Susie sounded winded, and Kris watched her mouth gape with fear in her heavy brow. Her eyes darted around. "…it's not cool when you're on the receiving end of this, huh? Any other time and…"

"I don't think these Lightners are friendly, Kris." Ralsei settled with a harrowed look, glued to their own. Noelle's expression was down-right haunted, and she looked like she saw straight past the barriers of cement.

The other collected data, formed postulates.

Preliminary analysis reveals potency and puissance, this military force remains competent. The likelihood is deduced as severely depressed, but opportunistic scrutiny reveals possibilities. The operator concludes four precise results. First, diplomacy. Lightners maintain fidelity to compassion. Lightners rarely harm compatriot Lightners. It is a possibility. Risk of death is meaningful and significant.

Kris felt their heart pound, and pound, and beat and attack. Talk to them? And get gunned down for being the first creatures to approach? No way. Wouldn't work. They would be on hair-triggers.

Observed. Second, stealth, and tarry. Bide time and await the explosion. If sufficient, smuggling beings inside behind the force is possible. The overarching predicament is not relieved. The risks are minimal. The Roaring presents deadline for action. Third, sabotage. The operator can locate precise information and coordinates. Allocation of the weapon used by the sniper could prove useful to impairment of enemy operations. Posted, well-placed shot on the explosives may trigger detonation and consume the force in carnage. Risks are significant for this process. They will search.

Kris relaxed some. Both were plausible ideas, they supposed. Kept them relative safe.

Fourth, full frontal assault.

And there went Kris's blood pressure.

Swaying Darkners with presumable proof of strength could encourage an offensive. The numbers match.

So, they'd have to lead a group of Darkners against guns, actual guns, and hope to survive?

The survival of the immediate group is easier than the survival of pawns. If the goal is to get past the blockade, sacrifices are insignificant. Accidents occur in plans. It is… inevitable.

Wow. That was… completely on-brand harshness. Kris was almost surprised.

But what would work? Actually work?

Option four. The operator concludes option four maintains the most optimal chances of success. Do not feel remorse for them. They are dead, no matter when or where. All creatures die.

Great…

Kris steadied their breathing. It was a lot to absorb. A whole lot, and they didn't know how to do it alone. The other was basically telling them to get dozens of people killed. It wasn't like they could argue - it was the Darkners or them. The world could end if the Roaring happened, no matter how natural it was. Kris gazed at Ralsei, who smiled warmly and blinked at them, and then to Susie, who turned away. The only one who seemed out of sorts was Noelle, who met them, then turned, then sputtered, met them again, turned, met them, and hid her face behind her hair. That… was a good reaction. It was real. Surreal. Truly, it was good. Kris felt the same way, stuck between two rocks, unable to hold either back, and they laid against the wall and let their head fall back as they relaxed their heavy shoulders and listened to the sounds of the world. Above, the skies burned with tumors of stars and a ring of vibrant color surrounding the narrow Fountain.

They needed to make a decision. Not for the way they would prevail, the other would make that decision, but rather exactly how they would live with the knowledge. To kill dozens, different than outright, but rather with their full trust and loyalty. Like a cult. They felt guilty before it even happened; their skin itched like hell, suddenly, and their coat was too thick to scratch, just too thick, and their sweat rolled like beads beneath their warm clothes.

They itched to do something. Maybe to reach for something sharp or to bang their knuckles against their calves, because it was just easier that way.

Images of all they had done came soaring back. From what they did with Noelle, to even before that when they pushed Noelle and everyone they ever knew away to just stay inside their room and rot. From how Susie used to smile at them and joke around with them and Lancer and everyone, to how she pointedly ignored them now. Flashes of faces covered in ice, or swamped in pain and drowning in it, to faces disapproving of their actions, or faces sad at their presence, it was all too much to recount. It physically throbbed on the inside just how much misery Kris was privy, or a tool to orchestrate. Too weak. All too weak. And now, they were weaker still.

And now, they would bend still.

Still weak. Weak, weak, weak.

Still sad. Still pathetic.

Still a waste.

Still a puppet.

"…tell everyone to gather outside," Kris ordered their friends, face blank and grimacing internally. Their voice was thick with disuse and mucus, and regrets, but they didn't clear their throat. "I have a plan." They stabbed their Rapier into the ground. "I have a good one, too."

They sat there for a few minutes. The others paused around them, waiting in vain for them to move, but Kris just buried their head into their hands and waited.

Minutes passed silently. Kris shuddered with an emotional groan occasionally. The other let them stay there as it scanned and rescanned the battlefield.

Kris just felt tired. Consumed by everything. Being alone was nice, for a few minutes. Helped calm them where they could just… be real for a minute. No one around besides the sniper across the way. They could just breathe and relax, ignore the rumbling fear and thrumming shame that filled them until it was time to pick themself up by their bootstraps and suck it up before the other decided to add more punishment onto their outstanding sentence.

But eventually, they had to.

Victory at all costs.

Victory… at all costs.

Compliance will be rewarded.

0-0-0

Everyone was outside. The bird, the Costumers with their funky masks, the Clockters in groups, a stray Sharpcrawler that seemed passive enough, Ralsei, Noelle, Kris, Susie, Chef Phago - everyone sat around a rock, like a boulder lectern, and awaited whatever was happening.

Tensions were thick, and could be felt in the air. Kris themself hung around the outside of the rock as the embossed Costumer tried to explain what the plan was. Clearly, by the numerous calls of dismay… it wasn't very convincing.

It was trying to calm down an outraged Clockter.

"You want us to fight those menaces? They destroy hordes of Loons like they were sweeping the floor of crumbs!"

The Costumer sighed, "Yes, but we will die here anyway."

"Oh, chromo. Yinz really believe we'll just roll over and follow you blindly?" Chef Phago floated closer, flecking… slobber(?) all over the mask. "Yonz are stupes, thinkin' n we'll fall for yanz scheme. Why do we 'ave to do it? Yetz Lightners're capable, right?"

A chorus of silence followed, punctuated by agreements.

"Yeah, what'd you think we are, squeezes? We're not stupid, masked man." Kris gritted their teeth as a Clockter spoke up, suddenly with a backbone. "I'm not listening to these… these children! I'm a gentleman, and an adult! I say we stay right here, where we are safe!"

Threaten.

Kris began to approach, pushing off their wall.

"Yonz see this? Yinz see this? Metaphase, this is revolution against this tyranny! We've had enough of followin' n a leader! The people rise-!"

Kris took out their sword. Time for some intimidation for silence, they supposed. Wasn't exactly their forte. Still, laying the broad side of their Rapier against the Chef and letting it chill him to fright did wonders to shut his mouth without being necessarily aggressive. More like… a prank, really. Ice cubes down a shirt.

They pushed past him and waved the Costumer away. Their friends timidly approached the centerpiece, too, and gathered around them.

Make a speech.

"We have to." Kris splintered the concrete with their Rapier, the other leading their voice to ring out across the hovel everyone sat in. Instantly, they had the attention of the Darkners. "We can do it!" It fell flat.

Everyone stared at them, gawking, unsure and prudent.

"We have to make it inside, we have to break through," they shouted, hoping to inspire them, "and we can! We have to!"

They climbed up higher, gazing out staunchly across the field of bodies and tearful eyes.

"You are abandoned. We are lost. But home? Home is just that way," they pointed to the cliff that led further inward. "A place with no pain, no screams. A heart for all!"

"Oh, mitosis, but how can we? Chromo, this is insanity!" Chef Phago spoke up in hysterics.

"We can, we will." Kris repeated their mantra. The other bled further passion into it, strong, emotional, and certainty began to permeate from their extending voice. "Would you rather sit here and wait for the Roaring or fight for a better world!? A world without misery!?" They gestured broadly, sweeping their arms over the crowd as though rousing them.

Silence.

Pure, utter silence came from the crowd as they murmured wordlessly, shifting, glancing at each other, contesting their own views against their friends. A Costumer whimpered. A Clockter ticked manically. The crowd met them with opposing visages.

They are hopeless. Try harder.

As soon as Kris went to redouble their efforts, "We need to do this!" Ralsei had cut in, jumping up onto the rock-turned-lectern, raising his shoulders to address the crowd. His nervousness broke into his voice, but a kingly prominence sent the crowd railing. "We need to save the world!"

"And go home…" Noelle plainly stated, restrained, as she stood up from just below the edge of the boulder.

"We need to rally!" Ralsei boomed. Some Darkners flinched. "For the world! For the Roaring!" His voice was certainly greater than theirs. He actually cared, after all, and it had some Darkners doubting themselves. Kris supposed that was how Darkners usually reacted when they tried for peace, but it had been so long and Kris forgot how to put that sliver of truth into their efforts.

Kris met Ralsei's gaze. There was something meaningful in his eyes, then he slid back to the crowd to stir them up.

"For the fallen!"

Kris joined in. "For the forgotten! We rally for them all!"

Noelle chimed in with a gentle pitch. "For… for the people we need to take care of!"

"For the Fountain!"

"For us all!"

Like magic, there was a mighty clamor in the crowd, where some of the Darkners began to stand taller and reach for each other. Slowly, a rising, deep thrum of words began to eclipse the bitter murmuring.

The crying bird cleared her tears, watched this unfold. And then, probably the key moment, squawked. "For the Fountain, for the moment! For the life, for the death! To the death! Kree!"

Then, the other Darkners began to chant themselves. Kris watched with a budding, tiny hope as they rose, slowly easing their voices in.

"For… for the next day!"

"For the time left on the clock!"

"For the Oversoul."

And just like that, all vicious and godly rioting began, Darkners clapping and shouting, howling in impassioned, wild chants about what they cared for, who they cared for, what they wanted to fight for. Some, their lives. Others, their own. A few, the fate of the world. A very few, money and power. The cries melted together, a storm of fury, of sadness and regret, all bubbling upward like a volcano of earth and pitch, a choir of angels screeching their holy grail and soil.

Noelle joined in again, "This is so weird… but… it's time to go home!"

"TO FIGHT!" The crowd called back.

Susie roared her own guffawing. "TO KICK ASS!"

The crowd supplemented her. "TO TAKE NAMES!"

Ralsei. "To save the world!"

The Darkners. "TO BEAT BACK THE NIGHT!"

And then the other sent them forward, "Come forth, warriors! March! March! March!"

"MARCH! MARCH! MARCH!" The crowd sang in agreement.

Kris felt tremors of something shaky and quiet rise, something dangerously close to hopeful, foolishly optimistic strength.

"For the Fountain!"

The crowd shrieked, the peal of the crow punctuating it.

"For the Dark World!" Kris ripped their Rapier from the concrete and pointed it skyward, toward the Fountain. What a beautiful moment, and surprisingly easy compared to what they thought it would take.

The crowd went crazy, beating their limbs, clapping, screaming, laughing and crying with smiles, grins, frowns, growls, dancing and jigging, summoning their weapons of knives, bramble branches, ornate whips and elegant canes, tea pots filled with scalding steam spilling over and into the air.

Susie scratched the horizon with her earth-shaking quake of a call to arms.

"WHOOP THEIR ASSES!"

"HUAH!" The crowd called.

"For the sake of the Lightners! For the world! Save the world!" Ralsei raised his fist with a fireball curling inside like a hot flame of hell.

"SAVE THE WORLD!"

"March! March!" Kris called again! "March!"

"L-Let's win!" Noelle called loudly! "Let's march!"

"March! March!"

"MARCH! MARCH! MARCH!" The crowd reaffirmed.

The other took their hand, pointing their sword forward wordlessly, guiding the uproarious crowd forward.

Kris dropped down; the crowd split around them and their crew.

"Fight!" They called, at last, and the mass of raging bodies crept forward like the bow of a ship, Kris the point of power, the tension, the figurehead and ram.

And onward they went, to the Astrowall. To freedom! To the Fountain.

And Kris wondered if they were a good leader after all.