Everything once fresh, green, and draping in mildew in the forests of his mind weaves into the dry winds of a spiteful desert. Leonardo shakes away the curiosity and, instead, targets on a small fennec fox in the middle of this landscape. Did Zera change into a normal fox again, he wonders as the creature scratches its ear, but there isn't water for her anywhere. Nowhere! But it has to be somewhere, like a watering hole, or since this is Anavrin, Land of the Weird, he can wait for a group of politicians or Girl Scouts carrying buckets of water. Anything, just anything to retain some sense of balance again.
Once he tries stepping forward, his feet hit the ground as hard as lead. No other limbs budge, and he panics when seeing the fox scampering in the opposite direction. Calling her name multiple times doesn't work.
"What is this!" he screams into the stifling air, the pretty blue sky now stinging his vision. "I honored my end of the bargain; now you do the same! You promised to release her!"
The wind mocks him, giggling in wispy bursts, and faint glimpses of sparkles twist above his head. Cloth hovers on his sides, an anomaly he's quick to judge since he wasn't wearing anything before, and as he peers behind him, a mystical element befalls his sight: the cape he's wearing is an extension of the very desert scape. No wonder he can't move! It's all a dream, or a fragment of the real dream, or more than likely, he's losing his marbles to Anavrin's essence.
Because if this is all truly a dream...
...then she's not real, either.
"What could you change to make your dreams come true?" The voice strikes like a sharp blade with the last word resonating in his ears. Suddenly, the desert feels hollow around him, although it's not changed in presence. The cape loosens its grip around his shoulders, and he immediately leans forward, ready to go at any moment. "How far will you go?"
"As far as I need to go, Faceless One," Leonardo breathes, closing his eyes, "I know that Fate is unkind, and doesn't discriminate. I'm here because of a reason. Everything has a reason."
"You believe," the Faceless voice seeps into his head, prickling the fabric of his nerves, and sync with the turtle's increasing heartbeat, "in an absolute Design, that the gifts you so delicately prepare will bend the world in your favor. Simple Turtle, you know so much but execute very little of it."
Faceless' voice and words breed darker, sporadic thoughts for Leonardo the 'Rook', who is without a helping hand. Hiding underneath human feet for so many years and protecting the footsteps behind them, wondering where roads lead, how far he can push his training, familial relationships, trusting the right people for friendship, elevating his sense of worth, overcoming temptations, and if his family will ever accept things the way they are, even Raphael, flash behind his eyes.
No... no, maybe it's his own heart who has a tougher time surrendering, he realizes as his eyelids part and gaze upon the eve of a desert storm.
"I miss you, my child," Faceless moans and evolves from the sand, forming a grainy image of Master Splinter. The base reaches great lengths on both sides, further than his naked eye could see, and Splinter towers into the air and his distorted black eyes bare into Leonardo's frame. His father's presence overwhelms him, and he drops to one knee, yet never rips his eyes away from the storm. "You are resisting, and your defiance saddens me."
"Sensei," he begins softly, and his childhood innocence bubbles forth, "...Father, I'm lost and this maze is -"
"Your heart is gravitating towards another." Sand bits rumble with the Sensei's stern words, "It is foolish to encourage this behavior."
The Rook's throat burns, and the sand oozes between his fingers as they clench the earth in torment. "What is real then? If this is a dream, why would you say such polar opposites to me, Father? First, you accepted her, and now you..." his voice catches, barely able to finish the rest, "...discipline me?" He would rather cast away his swords than disrespect his elder; however, a very tiny, but steadily growing, part of his being screams for the chance to explain and, ultimately, understand.
"Have you forgotten my teachings and the wisdom I offered to you, my brave child?"
"No, of course not-"
A sand-quake croaks beneath their feet. Its sinister backdrop pushes fire on Faceless Splinter's temper; he snarls, "Mute your words until your master is finished! The Yen Room was nothing but your own fantasies, and fantasies of a undignified young man. Your actions shame those who have worked hard to lead you down the right path."
The storm, the sand, and face and voice of his Master intimidates Leonardo, and his eyes remain unbalanced. It's nearly impossible to conjure any words, anything at all, to the Father, even if, by chance, it's only in his head so he resolves to muting his words, as Father demands.
"We will meet strangers and mold some into our souls," Splinter continues, his form increasingly whipping and binding together, "but even if we feel strongly for a fraction of those strangers, it is not wise to act on such emotions prematurely."
Yes, she was... is, a stranger, he realizes and sincerely faces through the sand waves and into a bleak eastern horizon, and maybe he did trust her too easily because of his predicament. She opened her arms, as jagged as they were, for him and promised to help him. What is falling in love anyways? What did he fall in love with? Her gratitude? Is he even in love? Love is a huge, endless cocoon with tiny butterflies squeezing from its gates, and it shouldn't be said or taken lightly.
"Your life is dedicated to the Warrior, and your swords are not only the defense, but a graceful shield. When you choose a person to protect, it is the skin, the muscles, and the blood from your body, and it is ingrained to your core until all the blood evaporates."
He feels his eyes balancing again as his view is clouded, and grain descents from Splinter and on his head. It stings like needles, and his knees soon quiver from the approaching sharpness on the desert floor.
This landscape is going to eat him alive, if his fortune doesn't change quickly.
"She remains here, Leonardo, in a make-believe land, and you rise from a cold slumber."
He can taste the environment now, and an oddity slithers beneath his skin. He raises his arm for closer inspection, and tiny brown spiders, or insects or something, dig out of his pores and race wildly across his body. More and more and more, and they move so fast, and eventually consume his upper torso. All sand, he concludes, and it mutates in his mouth until gagging and puking is the only relief.
"Stop fighting against me, my son."
Before the storm can devour his brain, Leonardo reaches into seeded memories, and through every lesson, lecture, and confrontation, he never recalls a time when Splinter discourages a rescue or doubts a steadfast feeling, even if death is a possible consequence. Death follows them with hammer and nails, Mikey's old joke whispers in his clogging ears, and the team's resolve has always been to fight until the last organ stops pumping.
Faceless Splinter hesitates momentarily and levitates a few feet above Leonardo's body, anticipating his turtle "son's" next move.
The Rook spits and gags through the thick sand in his mouth, "I'll wake up..."
The assault wears thin, and Splinter's form unravels at its molecules and materializes into the Faceless Voice, perching high on a granulated pegasus.
"...when I get damn ready!" he coughs particles from his mouth, heavily salivating and retching. From his toes and stopping right at his chin, his body temperature chills, and purging the sand sends ripples of icy shock through his nerves. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it rattles his stomach fiercely. Regaining a sense of balance is a conflict between his legs and brain, similar to two elks competing over the chance to dominate. There is no winner here, even if he breaks free from the terror-scape, rescues the lady, and flies out of Anavrin on wings of stars and thunder. Heartbreak is imminent; loss is absolute.
Parting the sand in uneven clumps, the form of a Mouser machine targets at him, snapping its jaws, whipping sand into the storm, and skirting towards him. His legs still wouldn't obey, and as the Mouser gains speed in both its own legs and jaw like a vicious sand shark, Leonardo respires his fluids and grime, his brain feeling like it might explode at any moment from the pressure, and shoves his head into the Mouser, gnawing and slashing it to pieces. The monster keeps returning, another one each time and he never relents, either. Hordes of sand mousers surround him, all itching to devour him, and they crawl and snap, buzzing around him.
Leonardo can hardly breathe in the storm, and he can't see beyond the mousers anymore. He growls in his heart, feeling like a fool for getting stuck inside a fortress of make-believe sand and wind. Why is he scared of a little storm? Raph, Mikey, Don. They wouldn't be scared of this little nightmare or these silly mousers, and sand mousers, to be exact.
Deceitful laughter overtakes the storm's cries. The new eyes in the middle of the storm apprehend Leonardo, drowning the tempest to a dull clamor. Like soldiers, the mousers clump together and give form to the brain and voice they've only ever known: Baxter Stockman, with his departed eyes and vicious lips breaking through the mounds of rotating sand. Nothing but cackling and jeers, the same old looney Stockman, even in this Blunderland.
Leonardo stabs his arms through the air."That's annoying. Go away!" Every time his mouth opens, it invites more dirt, but being able to snap at Stockman is worth the risk. The lunatic's own body has been mutilated and carved into prosthetics; the sand and the wind seem fitting for a new Stockman anatomy. It's the logical next step.
Only, the retort fuels Stockman's deranged antics, and the noise aggravates his tender stomach. More sand scorches on a roller coaster ride through his throat, clawing its way through his mouth and nostrils. Tears fester through his eyes and as they roll down his face, they cut like blades against his cheeks. Sand cakes everywhere and leeches out of his pores, festering in his organs, bloating and crushing him. His body sinks further, with Stockman and the mousers slowly disappearing from the feet up to their heads, but the noise stings and churns inside his being.
Why am I losing control? How is this possible? It's overwhelming. When am I going to wake up?
Those same words repeat until the darkness arrives and the suffocating environment muffles all brain activity. No sight, no smell, and very little thought.
Wake up...
At least the suffocation pauses, giving time for ragged breaths.
Need to live...
Dry and barren, he swallows as slow as possible.
...this is going to take a while.
Leonardo holds for many turns, and when the earth rumbles beneath him again, he has utilized the time given to him, and a plan awaits for his enemies.
A landscape of treachery and skilled secrets, the desert claims victory over the fresh soul. The turtle bravely resisted its suffering, and the poignant struggle tastes divine, fueling its withering cracks. Life can now slowly return to, even heal, a destitute embodiment. Absorbing the soul will take a long time, but the wait will be far less than the time an opportunity finally presented itself.
Yes, this one will do perfectly, such an exceptional blend of maturity and innocence. Seventeen years of life will provide an acceptable morsel, the desert stirs in anticipation, moaning and curling the ends of its sandy reaches. The belly ruptures, disturbing contents around it and crackling the air, firing dust a few meters. The world is ravenous and is hasty for its bait.
Leonardo feels the sprinkles of ground bounce off his shoulders, and keeping his head and eyes low, he anchors hard against the quake. His mind remains mostly quiet, aside from the spills of earth grumbling in his ears. The wait is next to forever, but eventually the notorious view of a haughty desert enemy creeps back to his limited, but clear, vision.
The curtain rises, and now it's showtime.
If the environment infests his body, why can't he take advantage of it, too? He swiftly grabs both handfuls of sand and crafts a magnificent bow and arrow in the air. The target is locked in his sights, and the desert thrashes around him.
"You parasite!" it threatens and sends a mighty storm against him, "you're too weak in your world, and you're even weaker here!"
His eyes are on fire from the storm, but his heart burns brighter. "I will save myself, the girl, and go home. I can go two ways: through your mouth or through your ass. No more games! Choose!"
The desert's anger strikes at him, enough to knock the burn out of his heart and into his stomach. The bow and arrow dissolves out of his grip, and a deafening chuckle pounds in his ears. Something slithers around his ankles, gravitating up each leg. Tentacles, he dreadfully remembers and materializes a knife from the sand, pushing himself against the storm, and cuts into the threat, practically attacking blind. A short worth taking!
It works, something does anyways, when the desert viciously punches him in the jaw. Leonardo almost laughs at his predicament, stopping himself only because he chokes on the sand in his mouth and throat. He spits until it hurts too much to spit anymore.
Anything his hands can spawn from the sand, even katanas, he lashes against the enemy. Each time, the sand becomes needles in his hands, worse with each attempt, until the enemy retracts every sand particle from the floor. Leonardo sits on his quivering knees, balancing on his knuckles, and never looking away from his target. Towers of sand stand over him and out of reach, no amount of jumping or running towards the weapons help. His enemy controls it all. Completely.
And his quivering knee doesn't shake only from the physical toll. Leonardo breathes through the thick air, this is a little worrying now. I guess he means business, too.
His courageous heart kick-starts the flame again, but it staggers when familiar, dark faces pierce from the walls of sand: Hun, Bishop, and Stockman, all growing taller and wider. Mousers crowd at their feet, snapping their grainy jaws again, and the enemies scream at him, none in unison, and only random insults and threats. He can't understand anyone.
"Come at me then!" Leonardo vaults on his feet, limited balance returning, and stands ready to attack. Only, none of them moves towards him, and instead, conglomerate into thick mud, shooting heavy bullets in his direction. He dodges the first set of five, strikes at a near miss with the sixth, and it bruises his fist since it feels like punching a brick wall. The missiles fire incredibly fast, and he dodges as many as he can, taking a few more hits to the shoulders and legs. Eventually, he uses his own shell as a shield and blocks his head until his next move. Too many of those missiles are being blown at him, and soon, they'll have to stop... soon, he hopes.
His shell creaks under the pressure, and the pain devours him. His screams are fuel for their torment, and the missiles push harder. He watches cords of sand vomit from his mouth, slopping on the bare, rocky floor, and the idea finally strikes him as quickly as the next missile. The sand inside his body belongs to the enemy, too.
It's my final chance, Leonardo resolves, gagging himself, and while I have my standards, I want to see my family again.
Some of the next missile's charge collides with his skull and he curls in agony.
And her... my pretty lady, and hero, too.
Enough regurgitated sand and mixed mud clumps bubble at his feet, and he scoops into his hands, creating a sword and a shield large enough to protect his body. His heart beats solidly again, even through the misery and turmoil.
But the missiles have ceased, and as he peeks over the shield, the familiar faces are one giant nightmare: the Shredder, guising as a monstrous sand dragon with eyes as real, cold, and dead as ever. Leonardo freezes for a moment, taken back by the sudden change, but thaws into the hero he needs to be: to save himself and to save her.
The Shredder dragon moves with powerful tracks, smashing into the walls and brushing dangerously close to Leonardo. His sword impels as trained as he can manage, with the sand slowly consuming him from the feet up. Small blows aren't damaging the dragon, and it cruises along the death highway, roaring and snorting sand through its cave of nostrils. With all of the walls down and trapping the young turtle, the dragon dives for its last strike.
When it hits him, Leonardo replays the eyes coming closer and engrossing him. The sand reaches to his chest, making it harder to swing at the opponent, and his final chance slips out of his grasp. Shredder has his bitter revenge. The jaws drape him in foul-smelling darkness and when they clasp over his body, it slams the breath out of his bruised body. He's still alive, barely breathing, but the blood still flows and the brain is wet and beating.
He feels a cool rush sensation running up his throat, along the veins in his arms and settling at his fingertips. Water. It feels like water, and the coolness regresses icy and brisk. The liquid sensation bristles on his fingertips, and he rubs them slightly, water trickling from them. Tears roll out of his eyes, drain out of his beak, and stream from the corners of his mouth. Inky patches of sand appear around him where the water is leaking; he watches the fluid gain momentum and gush out of his pores, like mini-waterfalls cascading into the dirt.
It keeps coming, bleeding out of him until he passes out in the middle of a seemingly-quiet desert, the remnants of a massive storm all but a memory.