Opening Act

by CountingWithTurkeys

Redemption and recovery may come at a steep cost, but the Rehearsal is over and it's time for Bonnibel and Marceline to decide if the price is one they're willing to pay.

24. Latent

Real talk: Wow, another hiatus! Sorry guys, this was unintended; I had a massive kidney issue that left me bedridden for a couple of weeks, followed by severe (unrelated) dental work and a whole host of other health issues that made it hard to write for more than a few minutes at a time. I'm on the mend, though, so hopefully that'll be the last interruption now that we're approaching the end of Opening Act.

I've been getting this question a lot in comments and on my Tumblr lately, so I'd like to take a moment to address it. A lot of you guys have (correctly) pointed out that while OA has focused a lot on Bonnie's failings as a partner and her sins I haven't really touched on all of the ways Marcy isn't exactly a saint. This is intentional. Musicology is a trilogy, and it's a slower-paced one at that because it deals with a lot of emotions and emotions are complex and messy. While I can't really get into why we've looked so much at Bonnie up until this point I did want to assure everyone that I'm fully aware that Marceline isn't blameless. Come on guys, you know me. Everything I write is connected and eventually comes back around, and that includes [DATA EXPUNGED].

Content Warnings:

Graphic violence (mild compared to what you're used to from me)

German

Cryptic warnings

Did you really think I forgot about Marceline's ability to [REDACTED]?

---

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Because we don't need to-"

"Bonnibel," Marceline sighed. "I'm sure."

Judging by the princess's frown she still wasn't certain that Marceline was, in fact, sure. A silent countdown began in the back of the older woman's mind, and exactly as predicted the moment it hit 'zero' Bonnibel was pushing the subject again. "I understand, but no one would blame you if-"

The vampire felt her eye twitch, but no bark or bite followed. In retrospect, she shouldn't have expected her lover to accept her decision to return to the Grasslands readily. She should have expected her attempts to persuade her that the queen didn't need to investigate the damage and attempt to ascertain what happened for herself. Whereas Princess Bubblegum was firmly a woman of science who saw emotions as tedious and counter-productive, Bonnibel had grown more sensitive to her previous predilections and was now overcompensating; Princess Bubblegum forced Marceline out of her comfort zone before she was ready, Bonnibel pushed her back even when she was.

Marceline couldn't fault her without being Ooo's biggest hypocrite. This new, protective Bonnibel was much more palatable than the sociopathic apathy she was accustomed to, but the younger woman had yet to learn when and where to apply her newfound protective streak. Marceline, on the other hand, had centuries of experience on her and so understood that what had to seem obvious to her had to be incredibly stressful if not confusing for the candy golem. She trusted Marceline. She didn't trust herself. Which meant that she didn't trust that she wasn't unintentionally pressuring her mate into doing something she didn't want to.

In all fairness, she was learning quickly, as she always did, but therein lay the problem. You've learned to accept 'no', but you're still wigging out about accepting 'yes', huh? Logically, Bonnibel knew Marceline would have to return to the Grasslands sometime. Its sheer size aside, it was the agreed-upon location for her soon-to-commence concert. More importantly, though, Bonnibel had been trying her hardest to keep the demon in the dark of any and all progressions into the investigation of the Grasslands Incident. While Marceline appreciated the thought it made her paranoid. What could be so bad you don't want me to find out? Bonnibel had promised that wasn't the case at all, that the investigation really was at a standstill, but that seemed too plausible. The scientist hid her lies wrapped in convincing truths, always had, always would. She was supportive, but she was also paranoid. Old habits die hard or they don't die at all, huh Bon? But then Marceline had her old bad habits to break.

After the festivities celebrating Finn and Jake's new stations in life Marceline had thrown herself into her work, finalizing her setlist. Bonnibel had left her to her art, resuming some semblance of her other royal duties so her queen could craft her music in peace, letting her channel those pieces of herself that needed to be expressed into something grotesque and beautiful. She didn't really mind Bonnibel being around while she worked, just as Bonnibel never really minded when Marceline hung out in her lab, quietly observing and pretending she wasn't there. This was different. This wasn't just a concert, and the princess knew it. This was her first Grasslands concert in years, her first concert after her living nightmare, the first happy anything since the incident that had wasted the Grasslands and injured dozens, if not more. It was the first time The Scream Queens had been back together, at least on the surface; Marceline had been fine traversing Ooo as its ne'er-do-well bard, but her bandmates had been content with a prolonged tour in the Nightosphere. They were happy to have their favorite bassist and vocalist back, but they weren't virtuosos like her and needed their pieces in advance to practice.

Marceline was happy to oblige, but the more she created the more unfulfilled she felt. So much was being said, but something was missing, and sitting on the bed looking for something to say wasn't helping her. The more she stalled, trying again and again with different instruments and musical styles, the more frustrated she became, and the more frustrated she became the more her thoughts turned to the Grasslands; to Bonnibel's suitor confession; to the nightmare; to every tragedy that had befallen her in the past year and change. It made something in her soul itch and she couldn't shake the sensation that whatever that missing thing was it couldn't be found in the Candy Kingdom. Her gut, that precious instinct that had kept her alive and was responsible for leading her home, told her that whatever it was, it was in the Grasslands.

"Are you sure?," Bonnibel asked yet again.

Marceline stifled her groan of exasperation. It wouldn't help anything, and it would be messed up to make her princess feel guilty for what her own gut was telling her. "Bon," she began, less firmly this time. Gentle hand, Marceline, she reminded herself. "I'm sure. I'm missing something here, and I don't think I can move on until I find out what it is."

"And you're sure it's in the Grasslands?"

"Yeah. Look," she began, taking a pink hand in her own and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "I get it. I know you're worried. If this was reversed I'd be worried about you too, you know? But I gotta see for myself what I did."

"Marcy," Bonnibel frowned, "we still don't know it even was you. My research has been inconclusive."

"Would you tell me even if it was?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "False hope is one of the cruelest things I could inflict upon you. If I had a better idea, I would tell you. I promise."

Marceline's smile was half-arrogant, half-sad. "Then I gotta see it. Maybe I won't have any bright ideas when I do, but we won't know unless I try, right?"

Bonnibel's frown deepened. She didn't like the logic, and she didn't like that Marceline was the one to come up with it. Nothing good ever happened when her vampire was logical. "...I'm calling Finn and Jake," she concluded.

Now Marceline's groan of exasperation made it through. "Bon, come on-"

"Marceline," she interrupted gently. "I promise, I'm not doing this to handle you-"

"With kiddie gloves?"

The accusation wasn't that far off, and that was the problem. It was time for a different strategy. "Let's presume that there are only two possibilities. The first is that you are correct and the tragedy in the Grasslands was your doing. If that is the case Finn and Jake will be able to shed light on what their investigation revealed as we are exploring, which will help me devise a strategy to prevent it from happening again. The second possibility is that you aren't correct, and someone, or something, caused this that wasn't you. If that's the case-"

"I can take whatever it is, Bon," Marceline scoffed with a snort.

"I don't doubt it. But," she emphasized, "it cannot hurt to be prepared, if nothing else to protect me in the meantime so that you can act without distraction."

Marceline started to argue, a low rumble emerging from the back of her throat. With it, the candy golem knew she had hit the correct note. The demon might be willing to risk her own life and limbs, but she would never risk her mate's. It wasn't the kindest gambit, but it was both accurate and effective. "...Fine," she grunted, turning to the door. "But just to protect you. Guess they might as well get used to it, since it's the official job now to make sure you're safe. 'Least when I'm not around."

Though the sarcasm was familiar the bitter tone seemed out of place. As did the tension in the vampire's shoulders, the way her jaw was set, and how she snatched her bass like it was a weapon, not a beloved instrument. From behind, Bonnibel's expression softened and she pulled her best friend to a halt with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

Marceline clenched her jaw, weighing some internal war anew before sighing her tension away. "...Sorry, Bon." Guilt prickled her soul, the knowledge that she was lashing out in a way that not even she could justify hanging over her. "Just… feeling weird, I guess."

The hand from her shoulder slid down until their fingers laced. "About the concert? Or the Grasslands?"

"Yeah." She tried to stalk off, but the hand had a firm grip and it was quite obvious immediately that her vague answer was unsatisfactory. "...The Grasslands. The concert. Your thing with the suitors. Just… a lot of stuff has happened lately, or is gonna happen. Just a lot to process, you know?"

That was much better, even if there was an enormous amount to unpack. Logically, the comments regarding the Grasslands and impending concert were the most relevant, and there appeared to be at least a fleeting possibility that there was something else about Marceline's healing process that was distressing. However, that all took a big back seat to- "Marcy, the suitors-"

Now Marceline turned, squeezing the warm hand reassuringly. She didn't fault Bonnibel for focusing on that comment above all-else; it was one of the oldest still-lasting arguments in their relationship, a disagreement that had survived centuries of their development, both as individuals and as partners. It was also one of the ugliest fights, perhaps the only quarrel to ever leave emotional scars on both women. Yes, the vampire had proved her point to Princess Bubblegum hundreds of years ago at one spectacular Princess Day in particular, but then that was the point, wasn't it? Marceline had proved her point to Princess Bubblegum, the role. She had successfully persuaded the monarch to let her circumvent the problem, but in her own arrogance she had assumed that was the end of it. No more maimed love interests, no more potential paramours demanding her princess's attention, distracting her while she data mined information from her fellow monarchs.

Marceline had never even thought to consider that Bonnibel the person despised the entire fiasco. In hindsight it made sense, of course; the candy golem had always been fiercely independent and proud, not just of what she had accomplished but what she would accomplish in the future. She was enamored with her own potential, and though it often turned problematic, her pride could, had, and would continue to do great and wondrous things when properly applied. The demon had always loved that about the younger immortal. There was just something beautiful about watching the woman you love acting in her natural environment, fulfilling the potential you always knew she was capable of. While it was unrealistic to expect that everyone would appreciate this about the young scientist, for her ego could cause incalculable damage when mis-applied, the musician had never thought of the ramifications of those marriage offerings. Marceline always saw her as an equal partner. To other kingdoms she was a trophy. Marceline never treated her with reverence, she treated her with respect. Those suitors doted and fawned over a woman they thought of as a mindless beauty and worthy arm candy. It was no wonder she found it so nauseatingly insulting.

The worst of it was, of course, the fact that Bonnibel hadn't said anything about it, not because of her incessant need to control the flow of information or because she didn't trust her queen not to violently retaliate, but because she didn't want to hurt Marceline with the truth. This hadn't been a way to punish the singer, or a question of trust. It had been a mercy. A misplaced one, but an understandable one given the circumstances. "Bon," she began softly, "it's okay. I don't blame you for getting mail, even if it is super-creepy mail from strangers wanting to make you into some kind of accomplishment. I don't blame you for not telling me. All things considered, I can kinda see why you'd think I'd wig out and go hunt some suckers down. If anything…" She trailed off, only to sigh her guilt. Bonnibel deserved to see Marceline swallow her pride for once. Even now, especially now, it was becoming increasingly clear that the singer wasn't innocent in the historical toxicity of their relationship. If Bonnibel was going to bend how could Marceline not show her that she was trying to change as well? "I'm sorry. That you've been dealing with this for so long on your own, and that I wasn't exactly righteous in making you feel, you know. Supported. It's really been eating at you. I can tell."

Now Bonnibel returned the gesture before resting her head on the taller woman's shoulder. It took until Marceline wrapped her arms around her waist for her to decide how to respond to prompt. "I've… gotten used to it. I was quite embittered for a few centuries, and it is still certainly an annoyance, but I suppose it comes with the territory. The more powerful I become the more of these pronouncements and declarations of intent I must contend with. Regardless," she pulled away with a kiss to Marceline's cheek, "it is far less important than what we are contending with now." She turned to her wardrobe, fishing out her messenger bag and letterman jacket. The vampire might not feel the cold easily, but Bonnibel was aware how cold the weather was getting. "Let's be on our way. I'll call the boys to meet us at the stage. They can escort us to the site and apprise us of what they have learned along the way."

"Man, I really gotta get a new phone," Marceline mumbled to no one in particular as she led the way out of the room. "Who knows what LSP's been up to without me-"

"Marcy!" The demon fell to a halt, turning in time to see Bonnibel catch up. A familiar parasol was thrust into the older woman's hands and she smiled sheepishly. "I would prefer you not burn to True Death, thank you. You're powerful, not invincible."

"Yeah, yeah," Marceline groaned, trying to repress her own smile. Poorly.

"You say yeah, but-"

"Bon. I proms. I'm not gonna go challenge the sun to an arm wrestle, okay?" To emphasize her declaration she unfurled the parasol, resting it on her shoulder in preparation for their trek to the outside world. "See? We're good. 'Sides, it'll be dark in a bit."

Bonnibel scowled, pulling her phone out of her pocket. There was no sense in pushing the matter; Marceline was behaving, at least when it came to recognizing her vulnerability to sunlight, and that was the best she could realistically hope for. When she sighed she let go of her ire. "...Alright. I just want you safe-"

"I know," Marceline interrupted softly. Understanding had dawned on her, and all at once she felt like a right dinger. "You're worried I'm gonna freak out like at my house, huh?" There was no response, but that in of itself spoke volumes. "I get it. A thing happened, and if our sitches were reversed I'd be the same way. How about this? If I think it's all too much I'll let you know and we'll just head back. I'll just work on my jams and get everything all set. Cool?"

Bonnibel sighed. "...Alright, Marcy. As long as you're certain. But I'm bringing some jars for soil samples." Before the discussion could cycle back to where it began the princess returned her attention to the task at hand. Just as she anticipated, the phone connected immediately.

"Hey Peebs! What up?"

Despite the tense atmosphere, the candy golem gave a small smile. "Hello, Finn. Could you and Jake meet us in the Grasslands? Marceline wants to investigate the situation for herself, and I was hoping you could update us as to what you have discovered since you began looking into this… issue."

She could hear Finn's eyes brighten. "Oh, math! Is this our first task as real-talk knights?!"

If that was what it took, sure. "Yes. Consider this your introduction into knighthood. You and Jake-"

"Protect you?"

Marceline snickered at her mate's eye twitch. She despised being interrupted, and the boy's excitement was loud enough for the entire castle to hear. "...Yes. While I'm certain nothing will happen, it-" will put Marcy's mind at ease "-is better to be safe than to be sorry."

"Rhombus! We'll meet you there, Bubs! See ya in a bit!"

With another sigh, the young scientist pocketed her phone. "Well, that was simple…"

"Natch," Marceline smirked as she took her now-free hand, shoving several small jars into her arms. "There's your crud. Alright, let's rock." Bonnibel shot her a pointed look as she muttered her appreciation, delicately placing the glass bottles into her messenger bag. Without waiting until they were safely outside, for the vampire seemed to take personal offense at the very idea of safety, the queen scooped her lover up, delighting in the brief involuntary noise of surprise that escaped her. "Man, Bon, control yourself! Wait until we're alone!" With a mad cackle, and barely enough time for the pink-haired woman to catch the life-saving parasol, the musician was down the great hall, out the door, and beyond the castle walls. "See? Everything's fine!"

When we get home you are getting such a talking to about personal safety. It was a nice thought, but not one that would ever come to fruition. Bonnibel knew to pick her battles, and centuries of experience had taught her that she could only get Marceline to take the sun and its ability to kill her seriously every so often. Why would that change? Instead she only shook her head and held the parasol at a safe angle, shielding her best friend from the deadly ultraviolet radiation. At least she had been right about one thing: the seasons turning meant that the days were growing shorter, and soon the night would fall. A small shiver passed over her, though whether it was from the cold or the unsettling feeling in Bonnibel's chest as she imagined what could possibly go wrong with this little field trip, she wasn't sure. Either way, Marceline held her closer, cackling laughter petering off as the couple left the safety of the Candy Kingdom.

Though she knew it was an entirely illogical thought, Bonnibel couldn't help but wish she had taken more time to survey the damage herself. She hated not knowing what it was they were going to find, hated leaving anything important to chance. Yes, she had reviewed everything about the Grasslands Incident repeatedly, scrutinizing every detail in search of answers and reassurances. Every testimony, all of Doctor Princess's findings, Finn and Jake's discoveries, soil samples, everything and anything that could give any hint as to what had happened had been analyzed and inspected over and over until no new information could be gleaned. Logically, the only avenue she hadn't explored was Marceline's input, and so it made perfect sense to involve her queen, at least now that she was reasonably certain that there was no way further otherwise.

But it was risky, and without realizing it Bonnibel curled her hand around the vambracer snug on her mate's arm. She'll be alright, she promised herself. Though her past reactions were volatile and concerning Marceline had been making great strides in recovering, healing both her physical and mental trauma nicely. She was even beginning to eat again, even if her new favorite food source, aside from the princess's undergarments, were the red jelly beans she produced courtesy of her elemental abilities. Weird, but food nonetheless.

So what's got you so bummed?

Bonnibel allowed herself to sigh, but only mentally. There was no way she could give a satisfactory explanation as to the fact that she was having mental conversations with a figment of her self-consciousness that had manifested in the form of the disembodied voice representing a figment of Marceline's self-consciousness. Even for the couple that was just too bizarre. I feel as though I'm missing something.

I've heard that from you before. Nothin' new there.

Well…

Well?, Rechte prompted with a purr.

...Perhaps you're right, and it's misplaced paranoia, but-

Can't shake the feeling somethin' bad's gonna happen? Ya gotta learn to trust her, Bon.

Yes, but-

That's kinda what it comes down. Just a question of trust. Let her do the thing, 'kay? Maybe something will happen, maybe not, but ya can't keep her in your candy tower forever, right?

"-not even listening, huh?"

The knowing snicker snapped Bonnibel out of her mental conversation. The warmth of her blush brought her back to reality. "My pardon!"

"Your what?," Marceline asked with a wry smile.

Bonnibel's cheeks puffed and she crossed her arms, indignant. Well, playfully indignant. "You know my what, you butt," she grumbled as the vampire landed. It seemed the older woman had elected not to land within the Exclusion Zone erected after the injured had been vacated and any debris worth salvaging had been rescued. Instead she had opted to land on the outskirts, leaving the damaged area at the edge of the fading sunlight. Bonnibel allowed herself to be lowered before thrusting the parasol in the now-free grey hands, smirking to herself triumphantly as she hefted her bag securely over her shoulder.

Aside from clearing out the rubble and rescuing the injured, not much had been done with the decimated territory. Not even scavengers or vandals seemed interested in the scorched land, nor the piles of rocks and sticks that were once houses. In the glimmer of the last light of day the mangled remains of what were once personal possessions decorated the broken land, sparkling as if they had always meant to be there. As if there hadn't been a horrific accident that had upended countless lives and changed everything. Remember why you're doing this, Bubblegum. Yes, Bonnibel had to remind herself, there was good coming from this. Marceline was at last returning to her music, her natural environment, to lift the spirits of those whose lives were uprooted, her own included. The money would be used to fund the rebuilding of the victims' shattered lives, and for Bonnibel to source reagents and curatives to ease their maladies. It was a gesture of good will, a way of demonstrating friendship and well-wishes that no other kingdom could possibly match. It isn't a competition, of course, but if it were-

"Yo! Peebs and Marce!"

Marceline yawned dramatically, leaving Bonnibel with the task of greeting her knights. "Good evening, Sir Finn and Jake." The vampire snickered, and not even an elbow to the ribs stifled her glib humor. Not that it dampened the brothers' good moods. It was strangely heartwarming, Finn's beam and Jake's grin at the use of their new titles. "Thank you for joining us on such short notice."

Finn waved the pleasantry aside, good mood too bright to be dampened with such formalities. "Anytime, Preebles! So, what's the happs today? Concert stuff so you need to scope out the turf?"

With the coming night encroaching, Marceline folded her parasol, its light *click* a small but precious reassurance. "Kinda. Finishing it up, but… need some inspiration, you know?"

Jake raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the outskirts of the torched and forlorn Grasslands for what could only be described as 'dramatic effect' but returning his attention to the demon. "So you pick here? Like… this all of Ooo and you pick this exact spot? I dunno man, seems like you're asking for somethin' bad to happen. I'm all about inviting trouble, but not when it's like… morbid crud. Not good for the soul."

Marceline rolled her eyes, resting the parasol against her shoulder. "Look, you dweebs have done all you can looking into what I did here, but I gotta see it for myself. Not gonna move on without it, and it's a mondo mega distraction. So, I'm gonna check it out and see what's there."

Finn frowned, picking apart the self-accusation from all of the other pretty-sounding words that tried to bury it. "I'm still not sure this was you, Marce. Like I told Bubs, no one's really sure what they saw."

"'Sides the giant thing and all the fire and-"

Finn elbowed his brother. "Yeah, something bad happened, that's pretty obvs. I just… don't think it was you. Call it my hero's intuition. It's never wrong."

Marceline shook her head. Finn's attempts at comfort were endearing, and it was becoming less and less difficult since she left the Nightosphere to remind herself that the boy meant well in his reassurances and platitudes, but in this case his comforting was misplaced. Whether or not the queen was guilty- I am, you all know it you just don't wanna see it for yourself -she was the only person left who could potentially shed light on the tragedy that hadn't made an attempt to do so yet. With the sheer quality and quantity of the destruction wrought in such a short period of time the absence was messed up, even by her standards.

But that was exactly why she was bringing Finn and Jake in the first place. No one, herself included, knew what they were going to find now that they were equipped with the likely-culprit herself. The entire day was a giant blur for the musician; her only remaining memories were viscous and of the emotional turmoil, not of the events themselves. Even seeing the kitchen was a memory mired in repressive red tape, and though Marceline was certain that was a rare gift from her subconscious it did hinder her ability to accept comfort from her friends and lover. Repression was kinder than reality, but it might not be doing her any favors this time.

Bonnibel, traditionally, would happily disregard the older woman's feelings in her pursuit of the truth, but whether it was the soulbond or her own personal growth the candy golem had been growing more aware, both of herself and those around her, and while she might still readily neglect the feelings of most Marceline was the exception, and she knew it. Ironic, huh? I'm actually a person to her now, so I can't believe she won't lie to spare my feelings. Finn, on the other hand, had always been skilled at the art of discretion but his trek into the vampire's mind seemed to have pushed him in the opposite direction, encouraging him to speak up even if he was afraid to hurt those he cared about. It was odd, thinking about the boy as becoming a man, but he was growing more mature by the year, whereas Marceline would always have her mind cemented at the prime age of nineteen. A year ago, she would never have trusted her best bro to make the tough call and stop her if the evidence pointed to her guilt. Now, after everything, she had no reason to doubt him. Even if I wish I could, huh? Jake was a fine middle ground between the two, a wild card to be sure but one who had a concept of consequence. Bizarre, amorphous memories of thorns and heartbreak had been trying to pierce through the Vault of the demon's mind. Though they had yet to succeed something about them had led her to her own gut instinct, and it bid her to trust that although Jake might be a coward on the surface he was loyal and armed with weird but inarguable wisdom. Even if it was often selective.

"Look," Marceline began, "I get that you've gone over everything, but you don't know-"

"What you're capable of?" Finn's smile was understanding. And morose. "Maybe not everything, Marce… but I think we get it. Maybe on, like, messed up paper you could do something like this. I just don't think you did." That gave her pause, and it must have made its way to her expression because the sadness in the hero's grin melted away. It was, instead, replaced with something reassuring. "There's a diff between whether you can do something and whether you did, you know? So, if this is what it's gonna take for you to snap out of your funk, let's adventure it up!" Done with the conversation, the human flashed her a dual thumb's up before turning to stalk into the cordoned-off section of the Grasslands.

It was when he turned to lead the way that Marceline realized he was wearing his sword, and against the crushing atmosphere of the pressure she was putting on herself she smiled. It was masked into a derisive smirk before she could be caught. "Look at what we got here, Bon. Sir Finn's getting awful big for his-"

"Marcy, you're being distasteful," Bonnibel's sigh was laced with humor. "Though it's quite a relief to know that he and Jake are taking their new positions seriously."

Marceline snickered, floating after the brothers. "Wait until you tell 'em I literally outrank them."

Bonnibel shook her head, following after her mate. "I believe I'll let you have that honor," she quipped.

"Really? And it's not even my birthday!"

"You never remember when your birthday is. For all you know it could be today."

"But it isn't." Marceline paused. Then. "Is it?"

Bonnibel's chortle was knowing, loving, and amused. "No, Marcy."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I remember when your birthday is, even if you can't be bothered."

"Well, as long as at least one of us does," Marceline sniggered. "Besides-"

"Hey, ladybros?" Finn's voice interrupted the immortal pair's banter, but it was the tension in his voice that truly got their attention. "We're here."

Marceline frowned. Not waiting for Bonnibel's almost certain impending cautionary words, the demon floated forward, joining the boy. He said something, perhaps an encouragement, perhaps just a matter-of-fact description of what had happened, but the musician tuned him out. Already engrossed in the sight before her, practiced eyes raked over the mutilated landscape, taking in every small detail as she crossed the threshold into the calamity for a better view. Whether she liked it or not, whether she could even admit it or not, she was born for this.

The first thing Marceline noticed was that there was a very clean divide between the Grasslands as it should be and the area that had been decimated by the accident. Landing to kneel closer confirmed her suspicion; the grass and soil crumbled in her hand, decaying into dust at the slightest provocation. She had expected, given her experience with fire, that the grass would have been scorched into something yellow and brittle but what remained of the plant life was pallid and grey, as if the very life had been ripped from it. Even the ground felt more like clay than dirt, and under her gloved hand she could feel the consistency as sludge. It sparked a memory in her mind, something amorphous and vague that reminded her of her childhood, and how the world looked just after the bombs fell.

With a frown, Marceline narrowed her eyes and pulled her gloves free, tossing them to the side thoughtlessly. She was too focused on her task at hand, concentrating on carefully scooping up some of the mucky ground. It, too, crumbled and fell away in her hand and she wrinkled her nose in disgust as she dusted off the remnants. For good measure, she pressed the palm of her hand into the ground, but rather than give way it seemed firm. With a grunt, the vampire stood and turned to Finn. With his friend's cheerfulness having evaporated he lost his own. "You said no one died when this happened, right?"

Finn shook his head, not daring to draw attention to how quickly Marceline had lost all humor, how tense she looked. "Right. Doc Princess said there were a lot of weirdo injuries, like limbs fusing together and stuff, but no one actually, like… died."

"Hm." After one last survey of the boundary that segregated What Should Be from What Shouldn't Be, Marceline pressed deeper into What Shouldn't, scanning the ground, the sky, anything and everything that seemed mundane to everyone else.

"What's wrong, Marcy?" Just like Finn, Bonnibel noted the abrupt change in her mate's demeanor, how focused and anxious she was. It reminded her far too much of the way she had behaved when the trio first dragged her out of the Nightosphere and she saw Ooo for the first time after her self-imposed exile, after the pocket dimension had had months to bring out the worst in her. "What's up?"

"Hm," she repeated. Then- "What'd the peeps say about what they saw when this went down?"

Finn and Jake exchanged a look, but it was the dog who spoke, rubbing his arm uncomfortably. "Uh… the village peeps said they saw a big bat or bird thing reign fire from the sky. They said it wrecked the place up. The ground, the buildings, them… pretty much everything. Said it happened really fast, too. When we got here nobody thought they got a good look at it, 'cause it was dark."

"Did they say anything about the fire?"

Jake turned to his brother, but he only shrugged haplessly. "Uh… no. Just, you know. Fire. Why?"

Marceline ignored his question, and his muttering of 'rude' under his breath. Something was clearly agitating his friend, and an agitated demon was a violent demon. Even if that demon was one of his best friends. Finally, she straightened, turning to face her friends as she did so. "So aside from a giant thing and fire, sounds like no one's really sure what happened here."

"Yeah, I think they were too worried about, you know, living." Finn elbowed his brother. "What?"

"Dude, have tact."

"It's alright, Finn," Marceline exhaled. "I get it. It's cool. But…" She looked away once more, scanning the land with a cautionary expression. "I'll be right back. Stay here, okay?"

And then there were three. Once he was certain his invisible ladybro was gone Finn turned to his liege, no longer masking his look of concern. "You know what this is about, Peebs? Marce seems really tense."

Bonnibel shook her head, turning her attention to the ground. Had Marceline seen something in the dirt that she hadn't? Had her instruments missed something, overlooked some detail that a trained eye never would? If so… what was that eye trained to see? "No, I don't. I expected this to be upsetting for her, but she seems oddly focused."

Not focused, Bon. You've seen this behavior before, right?, Rechte whispered from the back of her mind. She's tracking something.

Indeed… It wasn't a possibility Bonnibel wanted to entertain, but sometimes reality was uncomfortable. "Stay close, boys."

"No worries, Pubs. We're not gonna let anything happen to you and Marce, you know that!"

Bonnibel repressed her chuckle. It was an outlandish thought, Finn protecting Marceline, but it came from a good and honorable place. You'd hate that, wouldn't you Marcy? "I know. But-"

And then Marceline was back, her sudden reappearance causing Jake to yelp, then gesture rudely at his friend as she stuck her tongue out at him in derision. "So, here's something you guys missed. This whole scorched Ooo thing is in a circle." Finn and Jake stared blankly at her, and all the singer could do was rub her temples to repress the headache that had been mounting since the moment she crossed the threshold into madness. "Fire doesn't work like that. It spreads until it's either put out, or until it runs out of things to eat. It doesn't just… stop."

Bonnibel tightened her grip on her bag, making a mental note to gather additional samples of the destruction's border. "What does that suggest to you?"

Marceline glanced at Bonnibel, her expression hiding her disquiet well. Just not well enough. She seemed to sense that, because she quickly looked away from her lover in favor of her friends. "The peeps who got hurt… are they acting alright?"

Finn rubbed his chin, mulling that question over. In all honesty, it hadn't occurred to the young hero to follow up on the victims' conditions, or to hold any sort of follow-up interview. After turning them over to Doctor Princess for treatment both he and Jake had reserved all of their efforts for helping to spread the word about Marceline's concert, gathering samples for their princess, and helping to rebuild whatever structures they could to leave as few of the Grasslands denizens homeless as possible. "I'll be honest, Marce, I haven't actually talked to any of 'em."

Jake shook his head in agreement. "Yeah, we've been leavin' that to the doc and Bubblegum."

There was a small wince, unnoticed by anyone except for the candy golem herself, that presented itself just as Marceline turned to her princess. She expected the older woman to ask her about the denizens' conditions, or for any input Doctor Princess had provided her over the course of their treatments. After all, Princess Bubblegum had made it her business to assure that any and all necessary supplies were made readily available to the practiced doctor's exacting specifications, lending no small effort to the recovery effort to assuage the pain inflicted from the incident, and to detract attention from her oldest friend. Yet Marceline didn't ask about any of that, didn't inquire about her lover's efforts at all. Instead she did something much more unexpected. "Go back to the castle, Bon. Take the dweebs with you. I got this."

"No." The word was out of her mouth before Bonnibel could think better of it, but even if she had thought better of it it wouldn't have changed anything. After all, the Grasslands Incident had caused such enormous distress in her queen, caused more than one panic attack about what she possibly did and triggered more than one nightmare about what she was capable of. Both immortal women had a fierce independent streak, but they both had limits; Bonnibel couldn't be trusted to care for herself when left to her own devices, and Marceline couldn't be trusted not to tear herself apart in the depths of her own self-disgust. This, trying to send not just the brothers but Bonnibel herself away so abruptly, was cause for concern, a detraction from her normal behavior that the candy scientist couldn't ignore just because she was being asked to. Marceline's eyes narrowed at the younger woman, a challenge that clearly screamed 'back off'. The shift in her demeanor was abrupt and concerning, but that only cemented the pink-haired woman's decision. Something was going on here, and she wasn't going to let Marceline suffer it alone. Especially when she was refusing to be forthright as to why. Aggression of any sort aimed at the candy scientist was uncharacteristic, and that wouldn't stand. "I'm staying." Unless you can give me an exceptionally good reason as to why I shouldn't.

Before an argument could erupt Finn slid between the two women, raising his hands in a calming gesture to both of them. He had seen this before; Marceline's look, Bonnibel's staunch refusal to listen, the posturing and agitation. Yes, he had seen this before, they all had. Almost a year ago, when the group was first preparing to enter the Nightosphere to convince Hunson to give his daughter the amulet, when Bonnibel had presented herself in a bright pink outfit that the surface-dwellers learned would only make her a target. Marceline had that same look then as she did now, and even if Bonnibel was too entrenched in the spectacle to see it Finn knew it wasn't one of ire. She was afraid something was going to happen to her. What's got you so freaked out? But that couldn't be asked directly. Marceline, even now, couldn't admit that she felt fear on occasion because in her mind fear was exclusively for prey, and Finn knew that she had spent the better part of her millenia-long life proving to herself she was not prey. Not anymore.

"Alright, easy guys," Finn spoke softly. He was a hero, he reminded himself, and sometimes that meant protecting those he cared about from themselves. Sometimes being a hero meant saving a village from a fire-breathing dragon. Sometimes, though, it meant just pacifying a budding situation to prevent it from escalating into something unforgivable. And, sometimes, that meant taking a gamble. "Marce, if you're worried about Peebles you know that's why we're here. Jake and I will protect her while you do your thing." Whatever that thing is.

"Cool, you can all do that from the castle."

"What'cha hidin', Marce?" Her head whipped to Jake, who crossed his arms and tapped his foot. When she narrowed her eyes at him he narrowed them back. It was his 'juicy gossip' face, and Finn was grateful for the support. "I've seen that look before. Spill it and let the truth set you free."

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"Then why you so afraid something's gonna happen to us?"

Us? Finn raised an eyebrow. Come to think of it… she did say that we should go with P-bubs. She wouldn't need protecting at the castle…

A growl emerged from the back of Marceline's throat but Jake stood his ground, either his concern or his love of gossip evidently greater than his normal lackadaisical attitude. He was calling her bluff, silently declaring that he knew she wouldn't hurt him just because she wasn't getting her way. Was she a terrifying super weapon? Yes. Was she also their best friend and their staunchest defender? Also yes. And so he called her bluff and, in the end, he was right, and the growl strangled into nothingness. How the flip… But that question evaporated into nothingness as well. It wasn't a question she wanted answered. Instead she looked away, the view of the decaying wasteland, small as it was, a more palatable view than the expressions of her friends.

"Marcy?"

The concerned prod broke her. It always did. "...If the fire didn't stop 'cause it was put out it stopped 'cause it ran out of things to eat. Lots of grass out there, so…"

"So you don't think it was eating the grass?"

Marceline shook her head, looking back to Finn. "I don't, no. The ground doesn't look like any fire damage I've ever seen. Trust me, I've accidentally torched stuff lots of times, and when you burn grass it gets brittle and yellow… but it doesn't crumble like that, and ground doesn't look like that. This wasn't normal fire."

Jake gulped, blurting out his question before he could think better of it. "Demon fire?"

I wanna say no, but… "...I can't rule it out, I guess. The only time I ever made that much demon fire was at the Fire Kingdom, when we were with Pheebs."

"Perhaps a different demon?," Bonnibel inquired. "Though demon insurrections have become less commonplace in the past couple decades it still happens, doesn't it? Pyrokinesis isn't unique to you, it's a decidedly demonic ability."

"Different demon?," Marceline murmured. She mulled that over, trying to place its probability in the grand scheme of things. Her memory of that evening was hazy, but she could not recall seeing anyone else of her kind in the Grasslands. It would be unusual and highly unlikely regardless; demons that fled the Nightosphere gravitated towards the Fire Kingdom and Phoebe's sympathies, and during her self-exile to her homeland Marceline had made it her business to channel her volatile emotions into a violent protection of her adoptive world, preventing any other demons from breaking free to Ooo. They had tried of course, at least at first. Whether it was hatred for Bonnibel, thirst for the bounty on her head, or simply the promise of a new life out of the oppressive pocket dimension, the demons had been quite eager for a jailbreak the moment they learned their Heir had returned to the Citadel.

But the Nightosphere brought out the worst in Marceline and made her bloodlust not just easier, it made it addictive. She hadn't been in a fantastic state of mind when she returned to her castle, and if anything her mood had only grown more toxic the longer she stayed. After the first poor fool had tried to sneak out the vampire had snapped, butchering countless demons to prove that her message, centuries old, still stood: present yourself as a threat to Bonnibel Bubblegum and forfeit both your life and your soul. Her father hadn't stopped her. If anything, he had encouraged it. "I don't think so, Bon. Def not," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

Bonnibel raised an eyebrow curiously at the behavior, but set the matter aside for now. Later, in the privacy of their chambers, she would gently inquire as to how Marceline could be so certain. For now, though, if she didn't want to be forthcoming the princess wouldn't pry. It's for a good reason, isn't it? I'll respect that. "Very well, though if you are correct and this fire ran out of something to eat-"

"We still don't know what that something is." Finn shook his head, puffing his cheeks and blowing. "Maybe we should ask around?"

Jake groaned at the prospect of starting his investigation over again. "And ask what? And who? And what are you doing?" That last question was directed squarely at his onyx-haired friend who was, for the second time, kneeling and feeling along the ground.

"I'm gonna be real, guys. I don't think anyone up here is gonna be able to tell us anything new. Everyone was too busy just trying to get out of the way, and all this junk… it's really messed up."

Finn and Jake exchanged a look. "Uh… why'd you specify 'up here'?," Jake gulped. "You think someone in the Nightosphere would know more?"

Marceline straightened, shaking her head sadly. "No, I don't think they've got anything to do with it. But… if the living can't tell us anything, that just leaves the dead."

Jake's eyes widened. "You're gonna raise the dead again?! Uh uh, no way, I'm out of here-"

Finn grabbed his brother's shoulder, stopping him from slinking by. He had seen Marceline's necromancy abilities before, and though the idea of resurrecting the dead was, understandably, something that could make any reasonable person's skin crawl, it wasn't something particularly malicious. She had even used the ability to assure she had an audience for a child's birthday party. "Not that I think it's a bad idea, but… we're not exactly near a cemetery or anything."

Marceline's chuckle was bitter, her look faraway. "Ooo's changed a lot since I was a kid, Finn… but the bodies from the bombs are still there, deep underground. Until their souls are claimed the dead see everything."

The natural follow-up was to ask why their souls hadn't been claimed after a thousand years, but a warm, pink hand on his shoulder halted Finn's question. Bonnibel's smile was strained and knowing, a gentle imploration for him not to press this particular topic. He nodded, silently promising that he wouldn't tread that path. Not until or unless such time that the demon was ready to discuss it. Instead he picked a different route. "Is that why you wanted us back at the castle? 'Cause I've seen you raise the dead before…"

Marceline exhaled strongly. "Finn, you have to understand. Souls are… they're hard to explain to mortals. They're sensitive and they're stubborn. Mortals don't really get it, but stuff like funerals isn't just so you can say goodbye. It's like a sign of respect. When souls don't get that they start to corrupt, which makes it harder for peeps like Death or my dad to find, which just makes it worse. When you saw me do it before it was in a cemetery, right? So they were chill, and I tipped Death off after so they could go to Dead World, or wherever else he's going to send them. Here? These guys have been down here a long time, and I don't know what's going to happen when I bring them up."

Finn's trepidation became a smile. "You were worried about us?" Not just Preebs? Her glare was as impotent as her growl had been, and the young hero was touched. Not that he would say that, he was pushing it as was. Who knew where the vampire's temper was these days. Thanks, Marce. "We're not leaving you. I get that you can take care of yourself, but it sounds like you don't even know what's gonna happen."

Her eyes narrowed in challenge and Finn's hands raised defensively. "Not your problem. Both of you, take Bonnie and go back to the castle. Let me work."

"Not happening. Sorry." He wasn't sorry, not even a little. Jake's thumb hooked to his brother, indicating his agreement.

When Marceline looked to Bonnibel for support, she didn't find it there either. "He's right, Marceline. You don't know what will happen, and I'm unwilling to leave you here under these circumstances. I agree to stay back with Finn and Jake, but I'm not leaving you. We're not leaving you," she amended.

"...Fine," she grunted. "Just… stay back. Okay?" Though it started off as a snarl, the request ended resigned, almost relieved. Bonnibel nodded, offering her a reassuring smile before retreating to a safe distance, pulling Finn and Jake along with her. Marceline watched after them, her hand clenching into a fist. It was the only outward sign of her anxiety, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "...Okay." The demon closed her eyes, stretching her palm over the disturbed ground.

There was an art to the resurrection of the dead, and like any art there was no single way to go about it. Some, like the Lich, accomplished the goal by commanding the deceased to rise, controlling their bodies like unfortunate puppets no matter what the souls trapped inside wanted. It wasn't a method Marceline or even her father particularly approved of; it was sloppy, a means to an end, the work of someone who just wanted to make his mark on the world but not put the effort into the loving craftsmanship befitting a true virtuoso. Hunson, on the other hand, saw resurrection as a business transaction, just as he saw everything and anything as a business transaction. The act of necromancy was an implicit contract, wherein the dead would be set to some task and in exchange their souls would be brought to wherever it was they were meant to be, rather than left to rot in the ground. The implication of this explanation had always been that should they refuse to cooperate the man had no issue in leaving them where they were, never allowing the souls to truly find peace. He would disturb them time and time again either until they cooperated or, if the moment had already passed, until he got bored. Death cared not for the affairs of the living; he saw ferrying the souls to Dead World, the Nightosphere, or wherever else they belonged to be his endless task, a chore and a dream job rolled into one.

Unlike the Lich, Death, or her father, Marceline had always considered herself an artist in every sense of the word, an adept who dedicated herself to creation and expression. It was her opinion that all souls had something to say, if only you knew how to listen and cared to do so. Regrettably, almost all of the universe was deaf and their speech was otherwise incomprehensible. This was where she came in. Whereas her father only cared about that which could bring him profit, however he was defining that word at the time, Marceline offered an opportunity for the dead to fulfill some purpose, if only they would lend her a hand in whatever it was she aimed to do. Still, it was uncomfortable at best, for while the Lich cared only for their bodies, Death his pencil-pushing, and Hunson only for his immediate gain the queen had never been able to tune out the voices unique to souls, voices that universally cried out in agony and frustration at what they had become, at how the world around them had moved on and abandoned them. Souls longed for a home, and the longer they went without a mortal shell the more vindictive and fickle they became, the more the happiness they had in life decayed into sadness, anger, and a thirst for revenge. It only got worse in the case of traumatic death, especially when these deaths left behind grudges against the living for the gift they so often squandered away.

Marceline's art wasn't revival, it was to help souls pass in peace, if they would only indulge her for a time. She wouldn't just shove them off on Death or trust her father to be impartial, she would judge and categorize them herself, knowing that the human part of her, small as it was after a thousand years of unnatural existence, tended towards sentiment and mercy. She did not command their bodies or control their forms. She crafted a narrative they could fulfill, created circumstances wherein their unique situation would be of benefit and they could have a purpose befitting them as individuals. More often than not this ran counter to the corruption that rotted souls away, restoring more of themselves, of who they were in life. In short, the Lich commanded, her father bribed, Death went through the motions, and she rebuilt.

Some souls, however, could not be reasoned with. For any number of reasons, be it natural or someone else's doing, some souls were so far gone and corrupted that they were unrecognizable, whoever or whatever they once were nothing but a memory with no one left to relive it. In those cases souls were beyond redemption and could only be contained within the lower levels of Dead World or the Nightosphere itself, enraged that they had been so invaded and warped beyond all hope or return. Lacking their original mortal form these souls would craft a new shell, some form that befit their torment and brutality. In those cases someone had to put them down, securing whatever shards remained and hoping something good would come of it. In their final moments some shards of their living sanity might make themselves apparent, just long enough to be grateful that she was the one who found them and to fulfill the implicit contract she was known for offering.

Marceline hated raising the dead, hated it from the moment she first tried to bring back her mother and saw what she had become. In time she learned the nuances, learned that if a mortal died peacefully or was honored by the living they remained peaceful until collected, but it never stopped feeling wrong and dirty to her, and so she refrained from necromancy unless she was either certain it would end well or knew there was no other option. It was nasty business and dangerous work, particularly here and now. She could only hope that whatever souls lay deep in the ruins of the old world were untampered and held no animosity against her for disturbing their slumber, because if they were vengeful it was impossible to know whether they would turn against her out of wrath for having the nerve to call upon them or against her best friends for the audacity of still being alive. But I have no choice, right? If I'm right about what happened here we've got the world's biggest problem ever. With a frown, the queen looked over her shoulder, spotting her mortal friends and their reassuring gestures, and her lover and her understanding smile. The former said, 'you can do it!'. The latter said, 'I'm so sorry you have to.' Marceline ripped her gaze away, knowing that she was stalling. Instead she flexed her fingers, phrasing her command very carefully in her mind before committing to it. Here goes nothing. "Though the living are blind the dead are not, arise and tell me what they cannot!"

Screaming filled her mind. Even before the soil groaned and the air choked with the repressed wrath of the dead, the screaming gave them away, warning her of what was about to happen. Narrowing her eyes Marceline fell back, drawing her axe in preparation. Despite their promise to focus on Bonnibel, both Finn and Jake wasted no time in hurrying to her side in what should have been a heroic gesture but what was, instead, a really good way to get themselves killed. The princess herself joined the brothers, knowing that something was terribly wrong but unwilling to leave herself out in the open and alone. She could handle herself against many things, but ever since her possession by the Lich Bonnibel had developed an almost phobic reaction to the walking dead, her lover excluded. Not even Marceline could admonish her for joining the trio. It put her closer to the danger, but it also put her within arms length of the three people who cared about her most in the world. Jake caught her as she stumbled over a sudden fissure, leaving Finn to draw his sword against the unseen threat. "Marce! What's happening?!"

"Something's pretty grucked that I woke it up!," she called back.

That didn't bode well, and Finn set his jaw against this invisible enemyt. Sure, the ground had ominously shook and quaked the last time he saw his ladybro raise the dead, but she hadn't looked so on edge back then. He didn't know what could possibly elicit that reaction in the immortal queen, but he did know that he had sworn an oath to keep his princess safe. "What do you want us to do, Marce?!"

A snarl escaped the vampire, a sound of frustration more than anything else. Her eyes flickered to the boy briefly, just long enough to see the steely determination. "Take Bon. Protect her."

"From what?!," he called back over the cacophony.

Me. Marceline bit her tongue against the truth. Now wasn't the time for crippling self-doubt. Whether or not the young heroes knew it, she was their immediate superior, their friend, and the mate of their liege. Her priority, her duty, was to the three of them. "I don't know what this is, but it isn't friendly!" And then, she swallowed her pride. If there's one person who could take me down if I bloodlust besides Bon, it's Finn. 'Sides, he's gotta get used to this now, before it gets uglier. "Jake! Hang back with Bon! Finn, you're with me!"

"You got it, Marce!" Over Bonnibel's objection, as well-founded as it was, the dog retreated with the candy golem dragging her feet behind. "Sorry, Bubblegum, but I'm with Marceline on this one! If anyone knows about the unnatural creepy-crud in the universe, it's her!"

Even when he stopped, his grip didn't loosen. It was a good call. "Jake, let me go! You don't understand!"

He did not let her go, but his tone did become more understanding. He'd seen that look in her eyes before, that panic. It was the same look she wore when Navigator resigned herself to her fate, to the knowledge that The Only Way was for her to sacrifice herself. It wasn't something born from a logical conclusion, it was the product of profound, unaddressed trauma. "Look," he replied not unkindly, "if something starts to go sour lemons I'll jump in and help a bro and ladybro out, okay? But if I let you back there and you get hurt? I'm a dead guy, and not 'cause of that thing in the ground. Finn's got this-"

"Jake, I have to-"

His paws gripped her shoulders, pulling her back. "You gotta stay safe."

"If anything happens to her-"

"Then I'll help out," he promised. "Look, I know you got some-" real obvious junk to work through "-experience with Marce doing dangerous crunk, but we're experienced heroes, with business cards and everything. We've got her back. She ain't out there alone. Dog's honor!"

Bonnibel didn't like it. In fact she loathed the logic because it was so infuriatingly sound. On paper, at least, it made perfect sense: let the experienced hero and walking super-weapon handle whatever this threat was until either it was dead or cried 'uncle'. She only hoped it really would be that simple. Somehow, she doubted it. Nevertheless, she had nothing concrete to base her assumption on, only her own experience. And that's what worries me.

Marceline knew why Bonnibel was so anxious. She may not remember the time she spent with her psyche shattered, but it didn't matter; Marceline wouldn't be so calm if it was Bonnibel rushing into danger she herself had inadvertently caused. I'm gonna need to grovel so hard for this one. But that was a problem for Future Marceline. Present Marceline had a preternatural threat to dispose of, and a human to babysit while she did it. "Alright, Finn. Here's the dealio. When whatever this thing is breaks through, let me talk to it."

Finn gaped. "Talk to it?"

"If it's got some of its original personality in there still I might be able to talk it down. We're not here to kill it, remember? I need it to tell me what it knows." Then we can kill it.

Finn hesitated, but slowly nodded. "Yeah. Right. Gotcha, Marce."

Marceline frowned, but nodded. It was hard trusting Finn to act reasonably. But that's not on him though, is it? He's growing up, I'm not. This is too weird. Dealing with sentient walking corpses made much more sense. "Alright, give up the freaky earthquake and show me what I asked!" The quake stopped, but when Finn stepped forward to investigate Marceline lifted her axe, blocking his path. He opened his mouth, perhaps to object, perhaps to ask what the hold up was, but the vampire only pressed a finger to her lips and tilted her head. She could hear something in the air, something soft and whining. Finn's perplexed look told her that this wasn't something he could hear, which meant it was in a language he was not attuned to. In a betrayal of her anxiety, she tilted her axeblade outward towards the damaged ground.

A hand, immense, skeletal, and decrepit, creeped its way out of the trench formed in the ground and Marceline instinctively pulled Finn back. It was large, much too large for any of the creatures that called the Grasslands their home now and it was unlike anything she could recall ever inhabiting this area in her relative youth. Bits of mottled green and grey flesh clung to the humanoid bones, waving against the twitching digits. A snarl escaped the vampire as her own hands morphed into claws, a reflex to some threat she couldn't yet place. Finn's voice, distorted, pressed her for what was wrong but she had no good answer. Instead she focused on the monstrosity as it pulled itself out.

Four heads, humanoid, avian, beastial, some amalgamation of the three followed the hand out of the tomb of soil and stared at the two summoners, eyes hollow as they came to attention. Two jaws were missing, a third hanging by its skull by the shredded remains of tendons that shouldn't exist. A massive ribcage comprising a mish-mash of different sized ribs and bones that had no place in a torso shielded what was once organs, now unrecognizable and little more than mottled sludge. More body parts protruded from the creature's back, merging with the surrounding terrain and whatever else it was that lay beneath Ooo's crust. Even before the monstrosity pulled itself free of its impromptu grave it was obvious that its enormous size easily dwarfed both of its summoners. Finn gripped the hilt of his sword, preparing a practiced stance should it prove not only horrifying to look at, but violent as well. "What do we do here, Marceline?" There was no response, and the young hero chanced a sideway look at his friend. "Marce?"

Whereas before Marceline looked uneasy to the point of distress her expression was now blank, knuckles of her claws white with the strength of her grip on her axe. "Es ist ein Greuel...," she whispered. Her eyes slit and a snarl, animalistic and full of rage, roared from her. Keep it together keep it together don't bloodlust don't bloodlust control it control it control you could kill Finn keep it under control-

"Wha-" A preternatural screech filled the air and Marceline broke her stoicism, covering her ears as her eyes screwed shut. A loud hiss of pain escaped her and Finn sprung into action, clutching his sword with one hand and Marceline's arm with the other. "Hang back!" He yanked, silently apologizing as he did so only to yelp in surprise when his back hit something solid. Something warm. Something furry. Instinctively he turned, but a paw caught his arm before he could decapitate its owner.

"Chill, brother. Just us," Jake eased.

"Wha-" Bonnibel slipped past him and he watched as she gripped Marceline's shoulders. Her voice was hushed and practiced, her posture controlled and focused. "Jake, what the-"

"Sorry, man," he interrupted with a regretful smile. "Couldn't stop her. She saw Marce wig out and was off like that." His fingers snapped for emphasis. "So what are we- Oh fuzzbucket!" Jake pushed Finn down, just in time to avoid a cylindrical, boney projectile an unnatural shade of blue from impaling them both. "Whatever this thing is, I don't think it's friendly! What do we-"

"Es ist ein Greuel!," Marceline barked, interrupting Jake's astute observation.

"Beruhigen. Atme tief ein, kleine Fledermaus," Bonnibel soothed, hands squarely on her lover's shoulders. It seemed dangerous to Finn to tear the experienced necromancer's gaze from the thing she summoned, but if there was anyone's judgement in the world he trusted, it was Princess Bubblegum's. Most of the time, anyway.

Marceline took a deep breath, closing her eyes when Bonnibel's hand came to rest on her left arm. When her eyes opened again they were dilated, her claws returning to hands. "...Okay. I'm good. I-" The trembling reassurance died in her throat the exact moment her eyes widened in alarm. "Get down!" She didn't wait for acknowledgement; even as she was exclaiming the warning an immense telekinetic force drove Finn and Jake to the safety of the ground, where they met a disoriented Bonnibel.

Finn blinked his surprise away as he felt a chill crawl up his spine. He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder, ready to face whatever unseen enemy was poised for a strike. Instead he found another boney projectile embedded deep in the decrepit grass, exactly where he had been standing. Oh nuts. If Marce hadn't done that we'd all be de-

"Finn!," the vampire barked. "Let's go, hero boy!"

There was a familiar musical teasing in Marceline's voice, but its presence was drowned out by her visible growing rage. Her eyes were slitted again, her hand twitching into a claw and back again as she levelled her axe. Finn called back an affirmative, but once the demon returned to her target the young champion looked not to her, but to his liege. "She's alright, right P-bubs?"

"Yes," Bonnibel replied after a long moment, too focused on her oldest friend to control the uncertainty in her voice.

There was something there, something she wasn't telling him, but now was not the time to inquire. Regardless of whatever was happening with Marceline she wasn't the one actively trying to kill Finn, or his friends. "Kay, sounds good." It would have to. It merited further response, but not here, not now. Now was the time to draw his freshly-forged sword and join his ladybro in defending what remained of the Grasslands from whatever monster she had unintentionally summoned. "Leave me some fun, Marce!"

"Then hurry up!," Marceline snarled with a laugh as she drove her blade into one of the creature's arms. It hissed, but when it tried to pull away it found the musician's strength was too great. "Beat its butt until it chills out!"

That seemed like a reasonable course of action, and certainly one Finn could get behind. While the undead monstrosity tried to pull itself free of Marceline the human wasted no time, driving his sword into its chest cavity. An inhuman screech escaped it, increasing in volume as dark sludge began to ooze from the hole. "Oh, sick! What the fudgecake?!" Marceline called back, something about that being what happens when you die, but Finn pushed her comments aside. Were they valid? Probably. Were they important at the moment? Probably not. What was important, though, was the sickening crack that preceded the creature pulling its arm back. Or what remained of its arm. Unable to pull the whole appendage free it had instead settled for breaking its wrist off in Marceline's grasp, off-blue and white splinters of shattered bone flaking off when it succeeded. "Watch out, Marce!" At his warning she glanced up, just in time to fling herself away from a large shard that burst into countless pieces upon hitting the ground.

Now free of its captor, the risen creature pulled back, evidently not feeling the traumatic injury. Instead it turned on Finn, slamming its stump into where he was. Or, where he would have been, had he not rolled out of the way before he could be flattened. Unfortunately for it, that maneuver meant that it needed to bring itself lower, and the boy was more than happy to take advantage of that opening by stabbing his sword into its empty eyesocket. "Something in your eye?! 'Cause there is, and it's righteous justice!" This time the monster screeched, its remaining hand reaching for either Finn or the sword, it was hard to tell which. When the hand got close enough Finn shot Marceline a grin before pulling his sword out, dropping just in time for the boney hand to slam into its owner's face. Finn laughed, even when he landed on his tailbone. At least the dead grass cushioned his fall. "That's what you get, son! You want more? 'Cause I got all night!"

The creature turned, all four of its heads coming to focus on the young hero. Another preternatural screech, this one so cacophonous that it drove Finn to cover his ears, escaped it. The human closed his eyes to regain his focus, opening them just in time to evade a second boney projectile, this one aimed at his chest. "Nice shot! Except ya missed, ya donkus!" Levelling his sword, Finn drove the blade once more into the monster's chest. This proved to be a mistake he realized all-too late; the screech returned, and so close to the source the young champion's head felt like it was going to split open. The sound, coupled with the vibration coursing through the risen construct's chest, was too overwhelming, too agonizing.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Finn knew that roar, even muffled by the otherworldly scream. Acting on instinct, not even opening his eyes, he pulled back and took his sword with him. When the sound changed pitch, becoming more like a wounded animal than a monster, Finn allowed his eyes to open. He found Marceline, in the same bat form Usurper so favored, gripping the monstrosity's massive wings. It, wings and all, was engulfed in a blazing white fire and before he could help himself Finn found himself pitying it. The smell of burning, ancient flesh made his eyes water and he shielded himself from the noxious smoke, peeking as much as he dare and trying not to have deja vu to the moment he watched one type of evil burn another type of evil alive in the nightmarescape of Marceline's mind. He thought he should say something, try to calm Marceline down or refocus her attention, but even in her animalistic form there was just something off about the vampire. Something about the way her fur bristled, the way her fangs were longer than he knew they typically were, how intently she stared at her handiwork when it collapsed to the ground set him on edge. "Marce?," he asked carefully. A cackle that could only be described as deranged answered him.

The bat turned its head to the boy, its expression unreadable. Only through years of training, and years of friendship, did Finn know that the worst thing he could do at this moment was draw his sword against his ladybro. The pair stared at each other, Finn willing himself into a more friendly stance. "You okay?" He kept his tone calm and concerned, as if what had just happened were a normal everyday occurrence and not something that was cause for alarm. The bat said nothing, tilting its head as its eyes bore into Finn's soul. Searching. Finally something not unlike recognition crossed Marceline's face and she seemed almost startled. Whatever emotion gripped her returned her to her right mind, and she in turn returned to her normal humanoid form. Only then did she let the creature's wings go, letting her fire smother. Finn approached to ask her what happened, but she turned away just as he opened his mouth. If he didn't know any better he could have sworn she seemed something like embarrassed, something like nervous.

"So what now?" Either Jake had missed Marceline's temporary lapse into malevolence or he was saving his own questions for later. Given by how close he was standing once he made it to his brother's side, Finn guessed it was the former.

"We wait." Marceline stared at the now charred remains of the skeletal creature, not even acknowledging Bonnibel's approach. At least until the younger woman kissed her cheek. How strange to see the princess engaging in such displays of affection publicly, even if it was around the two mortals responsible for bringing the couple together again.

"Du hast die Kontrolle nicht verloren. Ich bin stolz auf dich," Bonnibel whispered with a sincere smile. Whatever it meant, Marceline allowed herself her own tiny smile, relaxing just enough for Finn to release the breath he didn't know he was holding. This also warranted follow-up, but perhaps now was not the time.

"So what now?"

Marceline's eyes darted to Jake before returning to the smoldering pile before her. "Just wait. They're still there."

"They?" Despite the ominous words Marceline lowered her axe, resting the blade against the ground. Finn and Jake exchanged a look, and when the dog shrugged Finn followed suit, sheathing his sword. When the pile of bones and scraps of flesh twitched he reached for it again, but when his ladybro watched calmly he took it as a cue to follow her lead. Marce knows what she's doing. Right?

Even with every confidence in his undead friend, it was hard for Finn to resist re-drawing his sword when the monster that just tried to kill him re-animated. With jerky movements it rose, but something seemed different. It took the boy an embarrassing amount of time to realize it was that almost all of the hollow eye sockets were glowing with a soft blue light. Only the one that Finn had driven his sword into was spared. Not that it mattered; the creature didn't acknowledge him. All four of its heads were focused on Marceline. It spoke then, surprising him, not because it did so but because it spoke with a composite of several voices. It was, to say the very least, an unpleasant sound that reminded him of a metallic echo. "Heir to the Nightosphere," it stated by way of greeting.

"What happened here? What happened to you?," Marceline replied. There was a sternness in her voice neither Finn nor Jake were accustomed to. That more than the monster made both uneasy.

"Both have the same answer, Heir," the skeletal construct replied. "Something awoke."

"Yeah?" Marceline raised an eyebrow. "Why here?"

"We do not choose when we are called." The singer frowned, turning that response over in her mind when her former adversary continued. "Reality may not be able to touch you, Heir, but it touches everything that surrounds you."

"So… what? I'm done with prophecy, but prophecy's not done with me?," she sneered sarcastically. "This is my fault? Is that what you saw that the living didn't?"

That gave the creature pause, but not for long. "We saw memories washed away. Something awoke," it repeated. "The affairs of the living are mutable and taste of grief." Marceline's sneer dropped. "Though none love a thankless task, to forge the path light your pyre."

Something about Marceline's expression darkened. "I lived better when I didn't know what that means, you know."

"Such is horror. Understanding perfectly," it agreed.

That was where the conversation ended; before Finn realized what was happening the demon slid her claw-shaped hand into the construct's chest. This time there was no screech or screaming, no noise at all, except for the clatter of bones dropping to the ground before disintegrating into dust. When Marceline withdrew her hand it was closed into a fist. She fixated on it, knuckles pale from the strain of her grip. "Hey Bon? Still got those jars?"

Bonnibel nodded, tearing her gaze away from the spectacle to better aid in her search through her bag. When she found a particularly large one she unscrewed the top, holding the glass open for her lover. Marceline accepted the container with her free hand carefully placing the contents of her claw in with practiced precision. Jake, unable to resist whatever it was that was happening, craned his neck over just as the top was replaced. "What was that all about? And whazzat?"

Marceline made it a point to ignore the first question. "It's an amalgamated soul."

"A wha?"

She sighed in irritation, but it didn't seem to be aimed at the dog. Much to his relief. "If it's alive, it's got a soul, right? Well, this is what happens when something slams souls together. They're not supposed to be that way."

Jake blinked, but took it as an invitation to snoop at the jar's contents. The older hero wasn't sure what it was exactly souls were supposed to look like, but this made him shudder and his fur stand on end. It was black and translucent, bouncing and floating off of the vessel's walls lazily. Jagged and pointy, it was hard for the dog to judge its size or true form. Looking at it made his stomach churn. "Gross." He pulled back, tilting his head at his friend. "Wait. Why do you need a jar? Can't you do like Hunson and absorb it?"

Marceline shot him a pointed look, but there was more fatigue than annoyance. "Like you just said, it's gross. I don't want this thing in me!," she growled wearily. Then, strangely, she sighed, her temper ebbing back unexpectedly. "Sorry. It's been a long… I don't know. Year? Whatever." She shook her head, gripping the jar as tightly as she dared. "Alright, later dweebs. I'm dropping this thing off in the Nightosphere."

Her free hand shifted into a grey claw, but before she could tear a hole in time and space Bonnibel grabbed her arm, not hard but enough to stop her. "Wait."

She did, but judging by her expression it wasn't willingly. "Bon, this thing is-"

"I know, I know. It's… unpleasant at best. But-"

"You wanna study it?," Marceline scoffed. "It's gross, Bon. Besides, if something is fusing souls daddy's gotta know. Probs Death, too."

Bonnibel bobbed her head, but didn't pull her hand back. If anything, her grip around the vampire's arm tightened. "I know. It's concerning at the very least, but we're going to have to visit the Nightosphere shortly to see your father regardless. Surely this can wait until then?" The grip grew rigid.

Marceline opened her mouth to argue, a flicker of her temper trying to ignite. But there was something in her favorite green eyes, something about the iron grip over her arm, something about the nervous quiver in her voice that only someone who had known her for hundreds of years would notice. Instead of fighting or asserting that she was, logically of all things, right, the onyx-haired woman closed her mouth. This wasn't an attempt at control. This was about fear. She's still worried I won't come back if I bail back to the Nightosphere. Yes, intellectually speaking, it was completely absurd that Marceline would run away now, after every good thing that had happened over the past few weeks. But the vampire knew all about doing and feeling and thinking things that weren't the least bit logical, things that made no sense. These were things that couldn't be reasoned with, things that were more insidious than knowledge could ever be. And none of it is stuff you're used to feeling, huh? The grey claw returned to a hand, which cupped Bonnibel's cheek. Marceline's expression softened. "Yeah. It can wait," she agreed. The sigh of relief warmed her. Worth it.

"Uh… it might not be my biz, but why you gotta go back to the Nightosphere? That place in nuts-to-the-butts!"

Marceline glared at Jake, but there was no bite to it. She was about to add one when Bonnibel sighed, resigned to some fate. "Marcy, we have to tell them. They have a right to know."

"Tell us what?," Finn inquired, clearly worried. Given the events of the previous year or so, and the risen creature's ominous if not cryptic message, it wasn't an unfair leap to assume it was something bad.

At least this time it's good news, right? Not that Marceline could expect a human to understand. That still didn't stop her from pulling back her sleeve and lifting her arm. Though the finer details of the vambracer were lost in the dark, the moonlight glimmered off of the royal gem, giving it a soft almost ethereal glow. Both brothers gawked at the sight, clearly putting the pieces together about where Bonnibel's missing crown was. "So, this'll take some explaining-"

"Is that Peebles' royal gem?!"

Bonnibel rubbed her thumb over the aforementioned gem. Its warmth was reassuring and calming, grounding her against the awkwardness of the impromptu conversation. "Yes, Finn. Well, it was. This is… difficult to explain-"

"Nah, I get it. It's the soulbond thing, right?" Jake shrugged at Bonnibel's rare shocked expression, at Marceline's quizzical eyebrow. "You've been a lot more chill lately, and that was a pretty important in… you know." He tapped the side of his head, his smirk knowing and smug as he directed his look squarely at the queen.

Marceline looked to Bonnibel for some guidance and received a subtle nod in reply. "...Yeah. It's a soulbond thing. Bon melted down her crown and used her gem to bind our souls. I guess it's like a prosthetic soulbond, since… yeah," she trailed off awkwardly.

Finn grinned, and when he went to fistbump his undead friend she found herself returning the gesture, though whether it was out of latent elation or habit she wasn't sure. "Woah! Congrats! Right?" Marceline nodded. "Mathematical! So, you guys are…" What's a tactful way to ask this? "Good? Soulbonds are serious bizniz, right? 'Sides, doesn't matter if it's prosthetic as long as it works, right?"

Marceline's eyes darted to her friend's mechanical arm, glad that in the dark of night no one would see that, or her hesitation. "...Yeah. To all. I guess it's like… I dunno."

"Demon marriage?," Finn ventured.

When Marceline tensed Bonnibel repressed her laughter, finally releasing her light grip on her lover's arm. "Alright, boys. Thank you for your assistance. While I'm admittedly not quite sure what that spirit meant this is the greatest lead yet into what happened here."

"Think Hunson's gonna know?"

Marceline's snorted. "If anyone's gonna know, it's my dad. This'll be a fun conversation."Both the soul thing and the soulbond. She shook her head free of the thoughts, turning to stalk away. When Bonnibel slipped the jar from her hand to slide into the safety of her messenger bag she didn't protest. "Well, this was fun, but I gotta finish my set."

"So the concert's still on?"

The vampire turned, but didn't stop. "A week! Band's not as righteous as me! Needs more prep!"

Now Bonnibel's chuckle escaped her. The good humor had returned to her queen. She had even seen fit to retrieve the parasol she had carelessly tossed away. "Well, it looks like she's inspired again, and we have renewed insight into what happened here. This was a rousing success, I'd say."

Finn smiled. Yes, this was a great improvement over the last time the four were together, beating the butt off of a monster. This was almost pleasant, almost fun. Almost like the old days, before Marceline put on the amulet and had her psyche shattered. I missed this. Even in his mind the words were whispered, as if admitting it were admitting some greater truth. Let's put that one right in the Vault. "I'm glad she's going forward with this," he asked under his breath, wary of his vampiric friend's superior hearing.

Bonnibel smiled, though her tone was not as hushed. "I am as well. Thank you for accompanying us, boys." It wasn't the tone of voice a princess used to address her knight. It was the tone a friend used to express her appreciation.

Jake waved his paw, blowing a raspberry. "Please, Bubblegum, this was like a warm-up for us. Profesh knights like us eat monsters like that for brunch!"

"Professional? I suppose that will be a relief to Marceline."

"Yeah!" Jake paused. "...Why?"

Bonnibel's smile was innocent. Too innocent. "She's legally your commanding officer."

Jake choked on his indignation. It was just too big to swallow. "SHE'S WHAT?!"

More was said between Bonnibel, Finn, and Jake, and though Marceline was too far away she was grateful for the fact. Once she was a decent distance away she glanced over her shoulder, briefly, just enough to be sure she was alone. Her ears picked up on three voices chiming with laughter and she smiled at the sound. She had forgotten how much she had missed the simple pleasure of adventures with her friends, beating up bad guys who weren't her and listening to Bonnibel science about it throughout the process. It was, of all things, calming, a reminder that there was something greater than her own thwarted bloodlust to contend with, that her makeshift family hadn't changed despite what had happened. What they had all been through. What I put them through. The thought was bitter, but the demon pushed the self-pity away. It was a nasty habit, and one that she had to break of herself if she had any respect for the sacrifices that family had made and were still making for her. Stop it. The steadying breath grounded her. They're all growing, right? Well, now it's your turn. Let's see what you got.

After one more quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone Marceline turned her attention to her hand. She narrowed her eyes in concentration at her upturned palm, willing her fire forward. A white flame greeted her, small but undeniably there. The fire was extinguished as quickly as it came, but Marceline's grin remained strong. Rock. I knew it! It was a small flame, and took more concentration than she'd like to admit to conjure, yet unlike any flame she had summoned before in her Unlife this one began as white and stayed that way, without any hesitation of orange. It was a personal accomplishment, one that she couldn't wait to share with her friends. With Bonnibel. When she looked over her shoulder a third time, she easily spotted the younger woman in the dark, and her smile softened until it was no longer triumphant, but was instead affectionate. She knew now what Phoebe had been trying to tell her. When the undead monstrosity came within an inch of killing Finn the clarity hit her with full force, the pieces of the stupid puzzle snapping into place. As foolish as she felt she couldn't wait to tell Bonnibel, or the friends who had worked so hard to get her this far. There was just one thing left to do first.

As much as Bonnibel praised the older immortal's growth and progress Marceline wasn't blind to why it was needed in the first place. Princess Bubblegum was an inarguable sociopath, and though Bonnibel had let the role consume her the demon wasn't the only one hurt in the process. Bonnibel herself was just as much as a victim, and though she was unwilling to hold Marceline accountable the queen knew she was responsible, just as much if not more. Bonnibel had trusted her best friend, but in her complacency the onyx-haired woman had let herself submit to her new role because as much as it hurt her it also fulfilled some of her darker urges, and because she had been afraid to confront her lover. And for what? I wasted time. I can't really ignore that without being the world's biggest wad. Things are grock now. Coulda been that way a long time ago. Except she had been a coward. She had seen what would happen if she had challenged the toxic mire that was Princess Bubblegum and Marceline had run, every time, for hundreds of years. I'm done running. It was a statement, but more than that it was a promise, both to herself and to Bonnibel. Princess Bubblegum had failed Marceline, but Bonnibel had faced that truth and found a balance between herself as a person and herself as a role. Now it was Marceline's turn. How could she owe the woman she loved anything less?

This'll be a concert you'll never forget, Bon. Not if I can help it.