"There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles! /
(She came!) Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee! /
(She came!) Blood in the streets, the town of Chicago! /
(She came!) Blood on the rise, it's following me~!"
Content Warning:
Mass murder, mass suicide, gore, body horror, graphic depiction of drowning
Generally a lot of people fucking dying horribly :(
The congregation shuffled slowly, languidly, through the hollow caverns. Their heads hung low; the deep hoods of their purple velvet robes hid their faces and figures up to the cuffs of their wrists, which carried silver gleaming short-nails in sickly orange claws. They marched in file.
The silent cavern began to widen, and the strange group spread out in measured pace across the beach of the underground lake. The ethereal blue water seemed to stretch a sapphire mile, the cavern as bright as a summer day. They stepped into the water, the tide creeping up their ankles, the soaked coattails of their robes drifting behind them.
They formed a circle, the cool, crystal water up to their knees. No words were spoken as their nails were raised.
Their movements were simultaneous, mechanical, as though scripted. Every bug present impaled the one to their right, and were impaled by the one on their left; orange blood trickled through cracked chitin and stained ceremonial robes.
All of them dropped dead in the water.
The quiet tide took the disease away from the shallows as they kept bleeding, their bodies gone limp, the water barely deep enough to be suspended between the surface and the drifting sand; the blood spread outward like a cloud, like a river. Infected hemolymph pooled from their corpses and seeped into the pure water, tainting it tangerine.
From the beach to the very depths of the Blue Lake, where it all filtered down.
The water was silent as the final ripples of their suicide went flat. Then it shifted, as though alive.
6:25
The time was six twenty-five in the morning.
Chance thought his harpoon was the coolest shit ever.
The taste of hastily-cooked meat lingered on his tongue—Crawlid this time, and courtesy of Hornet. He'd needed her help to not burn it, too; he could see her frustration mounting the entire time, before she bit back whatever she was going to say. He appreciated it; he'd been unconscious for four days, he could think about Jeremy when he had a full stomach.
Tusk had slammed the bell to the Stag Station with a little too much fervor; the clanging gave him a headache as though Tusk had whipped their nail right into his skull instead.
He decided to instead fidget with his new weapon, which was collapsible from either end so it could work as a shorter weapon when needed, or if he just got sick of carrying the massive metal stick around everywhere. There was a ring on the opposite end for a line to run through, as well as several more along the rod itself—when the rod was collapsed, they were all right next to each other, so he could probably keep it stringed up even then.
The dart was a toggling head—that is, the very tip would come off, rotate, and get stuck inside whatever he stabbed with it, so even when he pulled the main shaft of the harpoon away, the line would still be attached. It would burrow deep into flesh until he could rip it out with his bare Claws.
It wasn't a spear. It wasn't just meant for killing.
It was meant to ensure nothing would ever escape him.
"It's kinda badass, isn't it?" Chance waved it in Hornet's face, grinning like a kid the whole time; he was sitting on the bench, leaving plenty of space for her, but she preferred to stand. Her dark eyes followed the harpoon's dart, but if she had any comments, they went unsaid. "Why'd Iselda keep a thing like this around, collecting dust? Did she ever go hunting with it?"
Hornet's mandibles clicked. "You ought to get over your awe soon, if you're to use it with any efficacy. What's our plan from here?"
Chance paused, then sheepishly put the harpoon away to focus on serious matters. "Well…" It was still cool, though. "Our first stop is the City of Tears. We're gonna try to cure a guy named Lemm, and also do… something, about Lurien the Watcher. I dunno if we're unsealing him, o-or killing him; hopefully not the latter, I mean…"
He bit his lip as Styx came rumbling up the cavern, making small talk with Tusk, who replied with charades.
"...We're going into a city filled with Infected. They're probably all too far gone for us to cure, which is why Lemm is our priority, but… It's been days, Hornet. Who knows how much time She'sspent planning for us; we're walking right into a trap, and I don't think we have any other choice."
As he spoke, Chance had pushed himself off the bench and onto weary legs, Hornet following him as they pulled themselves onto Styx's back with short pleasantries. Tusk immediately took their place on Chance's lap as he shouldered his harpoon.
"So there is no plan," Hornet's voice was something approaching an agitated hiss. "No way to know what She has waiting for us down there."
"Not like any of it's gonna make a damn difference."
"And you just expect everything to be okay? That She'll let us walk away unscathed?"
"I didn't say that."
Styx thundered on in silence.
6:32
Everything was wrong in that nothing was wrong.
The City of Tears was silent when Styx dropped them off at the King's Station, minus the incessant rainfall; Chance couldn't recall coming to this Stag Station before. Did Tusk come here of their own accord at some point? Did Hornet?
They weren't immediately ambushed by Infected, which Chance supposed was a good sign, but it did nothing to soothe his paranoia. He and Hornet both slowly crept off of Styx's back, eyes scanning the station, which was completely lifeless beyond themselves; Tusk hopped off and waved to Styx as he hastily thundered away, perhaps aware of the imminent danger.
No words were exchanged as they stalked down the hall, leading out into the central chamber of the King's Station—it was lined with high walkways and bridges, stairwells winding up and down, a drab blue on every cold, stony surface. It felt like an MC Escher house in how its very air twisted around them; a bustling public center turned frigid and inhospitable.
The architecture was just so overdone, there was so much to look at, that Chance almost missed the figure in front of them—
His gun flew from his waist.
"Freeze!"
He didn't know why he didn't just shoot the bug immediately. But he paused to take him in; it was a short and stout bug, no taller than Tusk with how he hunched over, a stumpy cane in his thin hand and a broad rucksack on his back. He looked elderly, his chitin ashen and brittle.
But there was a strange and steady stillness in what should've been frail limbs; his only sign of life was the tangerine glow in place of his eyes.
Chance tensed at the look. It was a solid orange; there was nothing left in this bug.
So why was he just staring—?
"Aye… Be not swift to draw arms on a stranger, stranger," the Infected bug chuckled, his voice hoarse. "You might make someone nervous."
Chance's gun lowered in confusion. He spared a glance at Hornet and Tusk behind him, who were similarly bewildered; Tusk offered a shrug in return.
With his gun lowered, the Infected bug whistled and kept going on their way, proceeding down the stairs perpendicular with the mouth of the hallway. He had nothing to do with them.
Chance stepped forward, gun raised. "H-Hey! I didn't say you could move—!"
Another bug swept past him before he could react. It was a taller beetle woman, wearing a ragged cloak to shield her from the rain and a row of beaded necklaces; her eyes similarly glowed a headlight tangerine.
She rushed over to the older bug and took his hand, helping him down the stairs. "Please be careful, sir!" she smiled, earnest and warm, "That pack of yours looks mighty heavy!"
"Oh!" the older bug perked up as he eased himself down the steps. "And you're mighty kind, young lady!"
"O-Oh, please, do not flatter me so! I merely—"
"What the hell's your deal?" Chance raised his voice, causing the two Infected bugs to turn and stare.
An awkward silence stilled the room.
"Er… What is that in your hand, sir?" the beetle asked him. "I-Is that a weapon?"
"I know you're in there, Layla,you fucking freak," Chance snarled, leveling the gun barrel right between her eyes. "You're in both of them, hell, you're in the whole damn city. Quit playing these fuckin' games and show yourself!"
"Hey, what is your deal?!" the beetle glared back. "What are you even talking about?! Are you mad?!"
Hornet stepped forward, her silk shimmering at her side. "It is not us who are mad; that Light glows in your eyes, not ours."
"L-Light? What Light?" the older bug asked. "Is that a compliment?"
Chance shouted at them, "You don't even realize you're both Infected?!"
The beetle seemed to pause at this. "In…fected? What—"
Both bugs suddenly slumped over. Chance's face paled as the beetle was cut off mid-sentence, her body going limp while still standing upright; like an animatronic with its power cut, or a man possessed. Their orange eyes, already solid in color, glossed over as all expression left their faces like the souls from their bodies; a hint of drool dripped from between the older bug's mandibles.
No longer being supported by the beetle's now-lax hands, the older bug leaned away and tumbled down the stairs, like a discarded doll.
Chance, Hornet, and Tusk all watched in horror as neither bug even reacted to the older fellow's chitin being cracked and broken with impact after impact by the jagged stone stairway, his cane falling out of limp hands and tumbling. Orange hemolymph stained the edge of every step.
Then they snapped back into focus. The beetle blinked, straightening up. "Huh? What in the world was I doing just now…?" She turned to Chance. "Er… What is that in your hand, sir? I-Is that a weapon?"
The body at the bottom of the stairs wasn't moving. Infected hemo pooled around him.
It was only then that Chance heard the soft white noise all around them; whispers, footsteps, laughter. Slowly, he turned, his gaze scanning over the rest of the King's Station.
It has become a bustling center of activity once more.
Dozens, maybe hundreds of Infected bugs had crowded the building, shuffling and stumbling their ways around the criss-crossing bridges and walkways and stairways. A group of bugs were making conversation on a bench, before they all burst out laughing. Two bugs were reading a newspaper, and didn't watch where they were going until they ran into one another. Several were running as fast as they could, rushing to make appointments they were already late for. An Infected mother carried her Infected hatchling through the crowds.
All three of them, possibly the only ones un-Infected in the entire City, spun in dizzying horror, realizing all together that they were cornered from the very start. This was the Radiance's opening move: to take every single zombified bug in the City of Tears, and make them…
…Act normal.
The beetle turned down the stairs, only to gasp in horror when she saw the corpse at the bottom. "O-Oh, Gods, oh, Gods, t-t-that's a dead body! S-Someone, anyone, please get help–!"
She slumped over again. Chance held his breath.
When she came to, she looked at him again. "Er… What is that in your hand, sir? I-Is that a weapon?"
6:36
Tusk rode piggyback on Chance's shoulders as he and Hornet shuffled onto a packed tram car, Infected surrounding them on all sides.
Excluding Hornet doing her Spider-Man thing between the taller buildings with her Silk(thus leaving him and Tusk behind), and several open roads that would only leave them more vulnerable, this was the only way to the City square.
The Tram lurched beneath them and ground along the rails, unabated by age. Chance warily eyed the Infected hardly inches away from him, electing to stand with his back to Hornet's in case they tried anything.
Nobody had tried anything yet. Everyone was just… living out their normal lives. Except they were zombies. They were Infected. If Layla wanted to attack them, She'd had dozens of opportunities already; why was She letting them approach freely? Something was horribly wrong. He almost wanted someone to try and bite his face off.
A shorter grey bug in front of him huffed, sneezing. "E-Excuse me!"
Thin tangerine phlegm stained the front of Chance's shirt. His gaze was hardened and dark, suffering the remainder of the tram ride in silence.
6:43
The City Square was as busy as it ever was, before the world ended. What must've been hundreds of bugs were coming and going through the broad space, running to escape the endless rain, ducking out in small stalls and storefronts to barter, all circling around the Hollow Knight memorial like it was a guardian angel.
There was hardly room to breathe as the three approached.
Hornet looked somehow ill, dizzy on her feet. "This place… it feels like a resurrection. Both of the city and of my memories. The sounds of the City square… I have not experienced this since I was small."
"Yeah, well…" Chance found himself mumbling under his breath. Every living thing in this City was a spy for Layla. "A 'resurrection' sounds like bad news to me. For every one Jesus, you get a million zombies."
He ignored Hornet's bewildered look to scan the square for anything unusual. His eyes immediately landed on the window to Lemm's shop, a wide glass pane that overlooked the entire square; it was shattered, the curtains drenched by the rain. Glass shards lay scattered on the sidewalk below, Infected bugs carelessly strolling over it barefoot, not even noticing their feet all being sliced up, the rain washing orange blood between the stone bricks.
Chance gulped. Then something orange pulsed in his vision.
The Hollow Knight memorial had transformed in an instant; the three Dreamer statues were collapsed rubble, broken by the orange vines that crept and coiled up the statue and tainted the fountain waters tangerine. Infected blobs bloated up in the eye-holes of the Hollow Knight, giving them tangerine headlight eyes.
Sitting atop the hellish and bastardized monument, nestled between the Hollow Knight's massive horns, was Lemm.
Hornet startled, her needle flashing. "What the—when did he get up there?!"
His eyes were glowing orange, and his entire body was feverishly shaking. He held a fragile teacup and saucer haphazardly in one hand, the china rattling against itself, while he tried to pour tea from a kettle with the other. Much of it spilled out of the cup, onto his hand and front, and into the fountain below. Chance wondered how he climbed up while carrying all of that.
The relic collector seemed as terrified as he was entranced, and was mumbling something to himself: "B-Billie Jean, ish not m-my lover; she's just a girl, w-who claims that, I-I am the one—!"
"Lemm!" Chance called out, earning some confused stares from the other oblivious Infected.
Lemm suddenly shot back to life, and with a strength Chance wouldn't have expected of the old bug, flung the fragile kettle right at his face. Chance threw his arms up, yelling as the sharp china and scalding-hot tea splashed across his front, cutting up his arms and burning his skin; blessedly soothed instantly by the cool rain.
"YOU! YOU DID THIS TO ME!" he howled from atop the statue; none of the other zombies paid any mind to him. "You—! You did… you did this! You did this…!"
Chance, still trying to heal himself, looked up at Lemm with an arched brow. His voice was beginning to warp, something supernatural forcing itself through him and out of his throat, until his shaking stilled and his furious screams turned into delirious laughter.
"—You did this, Chance!" Layla's voice called down to him. "You did this to yourself!"
6:45
Her words welled up something sick in Chance's gut, and his hand flew to the harpoon on his back, gripping it for support. He thought he'd snap the thing in half; he didn't know what his expression must look like from up there, but he hoped Layla knew that the only thing between Herself and his blade was distance.
Layla, wearing Lemm's face, slumped down where She was sitting, propped up on the Hollow Knight's head like it was a throne. "How did you sleep, love? While you were resting, I was awaiting this moment; I've learned from what you did with Iselda. I cannot let that blasphemous darkness tear my new friends away from me, so I've decided the best strategy is to simply keep my distance! How tragic, that we cannot be closer~"
"Can you not talk like that when you've got a ZZ Top beard? Thanks."
Layla howled with laughter, and for a heart-stopping moment Chance thought She was going to send Lemm's body falling backwards off the statue. "Oh, you kill me, Chance! But I know what you are thinking: 'YES, I've been TRYING to kill you!' And I fear that's the one wish I cannot grant."
Fuck, She really could read his mind.
"My offer from earlier still stands: kill that Vessel, and I'll make you a god. I'll even sweeten the deal with the lives of all those that you Blessed with my Light. But otherwise…"
She snapped Her fingers. The entire City square came to a halt.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"The whole world is watching."
Every pair of tangerine eyes, all still as statues, unblinking. A crowd of hundreds had them surrounded on all sides; he somehow knew that the halt spread past the square, and that society had stopped on a dime for the entire city. Hornet was immediately on guard, a hair's breadth away from decapitating the nearest Infected.
So this is what She wanted. Chance wanted to vomit, a sick chill running down his back with the frigid rain.
"I can't let you get close…" Layla lounged between the statue's horns. "...but I can't let you leave, either."
…
Chance took one step forward.
6:46
A familiar force cut his mind in half, like a knife of blinding light. The whole world went pale and hazy, ethereal dreamcatchers drifting through the air, and the statues of the Dreamers, reduced to rubble and half-submerged in the fountain, began to glow.
Three cloaked figures appeared before him.
"Oh, Gods, it's you ," Layla groaned.
A shrouded cyclops, a masked jellyfish, and a hooded monster.
Is this not enough, human?
Have they not proven themselves already? Him, and the little shadow?
He has only proven himself unworthy.
Chance wavered, gritting his teeth, but he stayed on his feet. Mentally, he tried to push back against the voices that were drilling into his brain; or he pictured doing it, anyway.
You have no ties here beyond your own guilt.
Do you think you can fix this yourself? The chaos has gone on long enough.
Better chaos, than a vain stasis.
The ghost of the Beast, Herrah, had her massive spider-legs embedded into a nearby building, climbing across the walls to observe from across the City square. Monomon's tentacles coiled around a nearby Lumafly lamppost, keeping her tethered as her body drifted as though without gravity. Lurien stood just before Chance.
A strange symbiosis between Vessel and Man. The Gendered Child, too; they seek to break the Seals.
…My…
Our duty holds, our Oath holds. They cannot be undone—
"They will be undone, you Casper-looking cyclops!" Chance shouted, pointing at the mirage of Lurien. "Look around, your Kingdom's already gone to shit! I don't know how you think I can make it any worse!"
Lurien straightened up, the single eye of his mask glaring back.
…You are not invited to find out, human.
Hornet stepped closer to him. "Chance… What are you saying? Who are you talking to?"
"Don't worry," he whispered, proceeding to worry her even more. He shouted back to Lurien over the rain, "And what'll you do?! I'd like to see you seal us away again!"
We will do what you force us to. For Oath and Duty; for King and Country.
"Your 'King' is gone," Layla spat. "I am all that is left."
Silence. Dreamers, has this not gone on long enough?
Monomon coiled a little tighter around her lamppost. Herrah's gaze seemed distant, focused intently on something else. Layla rolled Lemm's orange eyes. Silence sung.
"I'm undoing the mess you left behind, that you failed to fix," Chance said. "All of you. And I'm starting with you, Lurien."
You will lay no hand on us, nameless outsider. Walk away.
He glared. "My name is Chance."
The fate of the Kingdom has no place for you, nameless one!
"I said, my name is Chance!"
Let this dead world SLEEP, and BE GONE—
—Lurien was cut off by Chance's fist in his dumb masked face.
The hallucination immediately dissipated, the hazy world solidifying again. With the power of the Crystal Heart and the Mantis Claws running through his arm like a live wire, there was a shockwave in the air from the impact, where Lurien was once standing.
…It was just a hallucination.
Directly behind where the mirage was standing, was an Infected bug of slim build; Chance's punch had completely caved in his face, and he flew backwards, landing in a bloody pool in the fountain.
The other Infected bugs seemed to startle awake; the crowd of hundreds who were staring at him the whole time. Gasps, distant screams, orange eyes darting between the mutilated body and the orange blood on Chance's fist.
They can't even recognize themselves as Infected.
Atop the statue, Layla's grin stretched wide across Lemm's face.
"Chance…" Hornet breathed in horror, "What have you done?"
6:48
Of course, Tusk took this as permission to start fighting, and plunged their nail straight through another zombie's face.
Chance reached out, "Tusk, wait—!"
"MURDERER!" someone cried from the crowd. People scrambled away from the bodies that had fallen, orange hemo pooling and thinning in the rain. Chance's head whipped around, his eyes flickering back and forth around the square.
Panic was spreading through the crowd like wildfire, and the screams went up like flames.
"Oh, Gods—! Oh, Gods, his head, it's—!"
"The Guard! Where is the City Guard?!"
"Shh, look away, child, look away, and everything'll be okay—"
Tusk yanked their nail from the Infected's face with a squelch of hemo and shattered chitin, and promptly swung it at a fleeing bug's legs, lobbing off their foot with a scream of agony from the poor bug.
"Tusk, STOP!" Chance shouted. "They're not—They're still—!"
He choked as someone ran up from behind and ran him through with a shortnail, the blade's tip protruding from his chest. It shattered his ribs and punctured a lung; he fell to his knees coughing blood as he tried in vain to reach around to the small of his back, trying to grab the handle to pull it out. Oh, God, it was going through his chest—
"I-I got 'im!" someone shouted from behind him; a cowardly bug who scrambled away as soon as he'd stabbed Chance in the back. "I got 'im good! He's—"
Tusk leapt over his body, and with an eruption of blinding moonlight, a Vengeful Spirit shot from their small body like a cannonball.
It practically vaporized Chance's attacker, and kept going into the crowd behind him, shredding apart the Infected in an explosive bullet train of limbs, gore, and tangerine blood.
The screams turned to terrified howls.
Chance, already stunned by the pain, nearly screamed himself as the nail was yanked from his back and thrown to the ground. Hornet stood over him, "Heal yourself, quickly—" Chance could barely hear her over the pouring rain, the howling of the blood-soaked crowd, and the low hum of his own healing magic. "—So these Infected can respond to pain, and behave as though un-Infected…? Is She trying to guilt us into retreating? Restraining ourselves?"
"Oi! The girl's with 'em!" A burly bug roared, approaching. "She's with 'em!"
He went to grab Hornet's shoulder, but his hand paused just above it.
Hornet turned to look him in the eye; caught under all of the bug's fingers were thin, silvery strands of silk.
"...If they can feel pain, then perhaps they'll stay out of our way."
Her silk tugged. Every single one of the bug's fingers were bent backwards until they snapped.
Chance stared in horror as the bug fell back, screaming as orange blood streamed down his arm, begging for help and mercy.
Oh God, oh God, what the fuck is happening, it's just a slaughter—
"Oh me, oh my, how out of hand this has gotten!" Layla said from atop the statue without a hint of remorse or surprise in Her voice, "This is sure to turn into a bloodbath soon enough; I'd best make my exit!"
She unfolded a dainty blue umbrella above Her head. For a heartstopping moment, Layla, in Lemm's body, leapt off of the top of the statue into the open air above the crowd—
And floated there. Chance could barely see through the shimmering rain, but it was as though She'd just stepped onto an invisible platform, suspended in midair.
Can… Can Lemm fly?
She kept hopping through the air, invisible to the rest of the masses that had turned into a panicked, blood-soaked riot. Holding an umbrella above Her head as She floated past like a zombified Mary Poppins, Layla sang a quiet lullaby to Herself.
"When evening falls, she'll run to me! / Like whispered dreams, your eyes can't see~!"
In his momentary confusion, three other bugs had tried to tackle him to the ground, grappling with him as they tried to shove him into the Infected fountain water to drown him. He struggled to stand against them.
The only thing blazing through Chance's mind was that She was getting away.
"No—NO!" Chance screamed.
His hands sharpened into Claws.
"Get BACK HERE!"
—In an instant, he'd cleaved straight through their bodies, carving out a gaping bloody chasm in their abdomens. People turned into bodies; their shattered chitin and blood blended into one; tangerine hemo splattered across Chance's face.
His ears were ringing. He felt somehow distant.
He wasn't thinking anymore as he shoved the eviscerated corpses aside and Clawed his way through the Infected masses, sprinting after Layla.
6:50
Someone threw Tusk through a window into a nearby building. This was the most fun they've had in days.
The Infected crowds were going feral, their illusion of sanity falling away like curtains; possibly because Chance had left. They were all pushing through the window Tusk had just flown through, tumbling over each other; one of them was nearly cut in half on the sharp glass still on the windowsill, pressed down by the dozens of other bugs scrambling to get through. They all fell into the glass shards on the floor, unfazed by how it cut and shredded their chitin, softened by the pulsing Infection.
The whole crowd swarmed toward Tusk, cornered.
They held their nail at their hip, and dashed forward.
Their pale mask seemed to turn black as night, melting into ink as they phased through—
—they sheathed their nail a split second later, with flair.
Several of the Infected suddenly froze on the spot, realizing the Vessel they were attacking had suddenly appeared behind them. Then their bodies all split wide open, Infected hemo spraying in the air like a geyser.
Sharp Shadow had shredded them.
…There was inky Void stained on Tusk's paws still. They smeared it onto their porcelain mask, drawing thick angry eyebrows on their face, before throwing themselves back into the fray.
6:50
Layla, in Lemm's body, was still dancing ahead of him on the street; the crowd had thinned, but somehow She was still keeping Her distance, taunting him.
Something strange was happening; Layla wasn't just floating, the rain around Her seemed to be slowing down around Her, like She had an invisible force field. She twirled Her undersized umbrella in Her hand, and Her levitation act began to lower Her back down to the street.
"But liiiife's not a wheeeel, with chaaains made of steeeeel-!"
As soon as Her foot touched a cobblestone tile, it began to glow.
"So bless me~!"
It was enough to give Chance pause as She kept dancing down the alleyway, the ground She tread shining like the sun, and fading as soon as She danced on. Dull stone became a lightbulb, and Layla was a live wire. Everything She touched turned to gold.
"Come the Dawn~!"
She leapt up onto a Lumafly streetlamp, the pale light becoming blinding as soon as She touched it; even the pole itself began to glow. Chance's lungs burned as he redoubled his sprint—She was right there, She was cornered, She was—!
Layla danced on the pole and spun around. When Her body went behind the thin pole, She vanished.
Chance stumbled to a stop in bewilderment. The song ended, the light faded, and he was alone in the rain.
"Come the Dawn~!" Her voice sung disembodied through the air, startling Chance into high alert; was She just invisible? She could hit him from anywhere, anytime—
Behind him was a glow. He spun; a ways away, another lamppost was glowing bright, and a figure seemed to phase into existence, spinning while hanging off of it.
It wasn't Lemm.
A moth of snow-white down and silvery wings drifted into existence. Her face was pitch-black except for yellow headlight eyes; a three-pronged tiara crowned Her head, and She wore gleaming metal leggings with blades for high-heels. Her dark face was flanked by six dove-wings, like an otherworldly angel. Golden curls of sunlight hair flowed as if without gravity down Her back; a soft, pale-white boa snaked over Her shoulders and down Her front, bubbling like sea foam.
"Come the Dawn~!"
…
Just as Chance made his approach, a massive crowd of Infected surged from around the corner behind Layla.
"THERE HE IS!" One of the bugs pointed at him, and armed with dozens of nails and shields and spears, they all charged, chanting him as a murderer.
Unfazed and divine—impossibly, none of Her fur seemed to be getting wet in the endless rain—Layla gave Chance one last sly, sultry smile over Her shoulder, as she turned heel and strode into the crowd with Her head held high. Even in the midst of their blind fury, the rioters flowed around Her like water, none of them even coming close to Her. The tiles glowed under Her heels.
Just before the crowd subsumed Her, Chance caught a glimpse of something strange: attached to Her rear, trailing behind Her just inches above the ground, was an albino mermaid's tail; the fin was horizontal, like a whale's.
His brow furrowed. She vanished.
Dozens, hundreds of bloodthirsty Infected bugs charged Chance in a narrow street. Some were still stained in orange hemo from the massacre in the City square; sane or not, they looked like a proper zombie horde now.
There were far, far too many of them to face by himself.
—The swish of silk. Near-invisible threads shot through the air, and Hornet came flying close behind, high above the rioting zombies. Her eyes landed on him, and she swooped down like a hawk, speeding past the surging crowd as Chance started running the other way.
He jumped onto the lamppost that Lemm had vanished behind and Clawed up to the top, just before the Infected could swarm him—
—The entire lamppost began to glow golden, like it had before.
Huh?
The horde caught up, and he had to kick them away as he climbed higher, just as dozens of silk strands caught around his body and airlifted him away to safety; the light faded as he left.
He could hear Hornet straining over the rainfall. "Ngh-! Lose some weight, damn you—!"
They jerked in an awkward direction, and his arms flew to his face; gravity sent his stomach up into his mouth. He heard glass shatter, and the pain made his senses blank.
6:52
"We ought to be safe here for a short while," Hornet told herself.
They'd smashed through one of the stained-glass windows of an old and decrepit church, worshiping the Pale Wyrm. Aside from age, the place was surprisingly well-kept, especially for now being in Layla's domain; it looked well enough like most human churches, with rows of pews and a podium at the front; a towering organ covered part of the wall behind it. But there was rubble on the floor, the pews were rotted, the glass was dull; decay seeped into the house of worship.
The window they'd broken through was fixed now, rain pattering on the glass.
She glanced over at Chance, who was nursing the various cuts he'd gotten from falling on broken glass, holding pale, glowing fingers up to his face; he pulled them away as his magic faded, and turned to look at his shaking hands, slathered in orange blood.
"...Oh, fuck, we left Tusk behind, we fucking left Tusk behind, we—"
Hornet walked over, and with a whip of her silk, gave him an extra cut on his cheek.
"Ow! What the fu—"
"Does the blood on your hands frighten you? Let it." Hornet hissed at him, her voice shaking with scorn and perhaps a hint of her own uncertainty. "Today, I have been your accomplice in desecrating everything that I have stood for, ever since I was small. You convinced me this Kingdom could see change; is that change in the form of destruction? Is Her chaos all that is left? Or are you prepared to take responsibility for our future?"
Chance looked up at her, too stupefied to heal his fresh wound. It was completely silent in the room; dead silent. "...I did say that."
"The innocent bloodshed that we witnessed—that we caused— was unspeakable."
"And you're saying we should shed some more?"
"I am saying that I'd run you through with my blade if you stopped now."
…It was silent.
Chance's skin crawled as his eyes scanned the stained-glass windows; no water ran down in rivulets on the glass.
The rain had stopped.
"...Hornet, what—"
Rows of stained-glass windows all shattered. Chance and Hornet both threw their arms up to shield themselves from the rain of broken glass, stunned by the deafening noise. Not the gentle drizzle signature to the City, torrential rain began pouring in through the windows, hard and fast like from a firehose.
Two of the pews by the door rocketed up, as if blasted away by an invisible poltergeist. Then the rows closer to them flew aside with a resounding bang; the force was approaching.
Hornet and Chance were both dripping wet from the rainfall, blinded by the water and mist splashing over them, stumbling away from the double-doors at the front of the church.
"What the hell is that?!" Chance shouted over the rainfall.
The doors flew open, and a tidal wave flooded the church hall.
Chance and Hornet's bodies turned to ragdolls, their senses knocked blind by the wall of water like an oncoming train. They were flung back, gravity falling away, spinning helpless in the frigid outer space. The blow knocked all the air out of Chance's lungs, and when he reached for another breath, water filled his lungs instead.
He was trapped spiraling through the Undertow.
A blind, instinctive, primal terror stabbed through Chance like a knife.
—icantfuckingbreathe—
—icantmove—
—itssocold—
—helpme—
—His back thudded against a discarded pew, and pain shot through his abdomen like lightning; but it was stable. He grabbed on with his Claws, holding onto his lifeline with a deathgrip.
The water washed away, and he took a blessed breath of air. Hornet was on her side, clutching her stomach, shuddering and stunned. His whole body was shaking, what was this—
Thudding footsteps came through the door.
Through his dripping hair over his bloodshot eyes, Chance could barely see.
A towering figure of aquamarine approached, an imposing presence that made the very air vibrate. And the air was vibrating; the very moisture in the air, the waterlogged pews and floorboards and the building itself, his soaked clothes and skin, all crawled and hummed with the being's power, like ferrofluid to a magnet.
Twin suns glared down at him.
A being made of water had coalesced from the rain into existence, long horns rising from their head like a devil's as they approached. A blinding tangerine flowed through their translucent form in the shape of a nervous system, long strands that centered on a brain that flared like an inferno in the water, and eyes that beamed like lighthouses at a raging sea.
Chance's back flared up in pain as he reached for his gun, and took a wild, desperate potshot at the figure, kicking himself away.
The bullet splashed into the body, but instead of going out the other side, it seemed to get caught inside as the back stretched out like rubber, before the elastic water snapped back; the bullet floated harmlessly in the figure's chest.
He fired again. The bullet was absorbed and the water-being didn't even flinch, marching closer.
His back flared again as he bumped back into the podium; he was cornered.
The Undertow stood over him.
…
…
"HOW MANY SHRIMPS DO YOU HAVE TO EAT? BEFORE YOU MAKE YOUR SKIN TURN PINK?"
Chance, his mind already reeling, groaned as he rolled his head over to look at the offending noise. While he was spiraling through the wave, his phone had fallen out of his pocket, and had started playing music on the soaked church floor.
The Undertow, the living tsunami, seemed to shift oceans as its head also slowly turned to look at the jarring sound.
"EAT TOO MUCH AND YOU'LL GET SICK! SHRIMPS ARE PRE-TY RICH!"
The electronic whistle started playing, echoing through the empty, dripping church. If Hornet was conscious, she was too stupefied for words.
Chance, desperate, took the distraction to raise his gun again, his aim steadied by the inky-black hand reaching over his shoulder—
His heart stopped.
Chance looked over his shoulder, and nobody was there.
"Black, white, green or blue! Show off your natural hue!"
The water hissed and recoiled, some supernatural noise of distress vibrating through the currents like rapid freezing. Chance spun back around, and the Undertow was backing off, retreating in terror of something invisible standing behind his back.
He looked again; there really was nothing there.
Nothing at all.
The Undertow's glowing tangerine eyes, floating in its watery body like a cloud, were wide and alert. It locked eyes with him.
—She was getting away—
With sore arms, Chance dropped his gun to the floor and snarled as he pulled the harpoon from his back; with a press of a button, the shaft sprung out to full length, and he hurled it straight at the Undertow.
The thing startled as the blade plunged straight through its body, and Chance tugged at the silk-line attached to it, a wide and maddened grin on his face.
Then the Undertow reached into its own body and grabbed the harpoon by the shaft in its own chest.
Chance's smile fell.
"You! Don't! Need to change! It's boring being the same!"
Hornet was recovering from the blow, coughing up water, when she saw Chance having basically tied himself to the unknown entity trying to kill them. "Chance? Wait—!"
The waves shifted, and the Undertow launched itself out through a window; the same one Chance and Hornet had crashed through just minutes ago. The silk-line rapidly unwound, and Chance hardly had a moment to glance at Hornet before his whole body lurched along for the ride.
"—CHANCE—!"
She lunged out.
Her hands caught around his scarf—
It was only a moment of resistance, a startled choke escaping Chance's throat, before the scarf fell free from his shoulders and his body ragdolled out of the stained-glass window, dragged along the broken glass.
Red blood ran down the windowsill.
The Undertow was gone, and it had dragged Chance with it.
Hornet was left alone, soaked and frigid to her core, Chance's scarf caught in her hands. On the ground before her, his discarded gun and phone lay unattended.
"Flamingo" faded out. The song shuffled to "YMCA".
Hornet wanted to scream.
6:55
Chance was drowning.
He clutched to the silk-line for dear life as the Undertow tore him through the church window and into a nearby river, and was dragging him upstream. The water current was unrelenting against him. The surface wavered and shined with passing Lumafly lanterns, like streetlights on a highway, taunting his burning lungs.
He couldn't fucking breathe—
"Eu…"
He startled.
The Undertow was living water; he was completely submerged in the river.
"Pho…"
Even if he let go now, he couldn't escape.
The river itself had become the thing's body, and it vibrated with an otherworldly, ghostly voice that sung like an angel's; all rushing past him; he flew through the water like an arrow.
"Ri…"
He couldn't move. He could barely even think.
Blind terror had "Chance" paralyzed.
He was drowning, dragged along until either his hands or his lungs gave in.
"A…"
Its tangerine eyes, like smoldering cigars, watched from everywhere.
The Undertow would swallow him whole.
"Eu… pho… ri… a…"
"Eu… pho… ri… a…"
…
Pink lightning danced at Chance's metal Claw-tips.
This goes against everything I've been taught as a kid about electricity and water, but…!
His hands glowed as the lightning arced from one finger to another; he held two of his fingers apart and let the electricity flow between the peace sign he was holding up. Tiny bubbles floated back through the current and flew into Chance's face, blinding him.
It was only a small electrical current he was using, feeling his Crystal Heart pound in his chest. But he could already feel the hairs stick up on the back of his neck.
Further ahead, his harpoon was still jutting out of a form that was near-invisible save for its orange nervous system, blended with the river water and swimming like a dolphin.
Shakily, his peace sign closed together and turned into a finger gun.
I've never tried this before, even on dry land! Would this work before it kills me? Can I Palpatine that thing out of existence?
…I don't have any other options!
A wavering sphere of lightning coalesced at his fingertips, glowing bright like a pink sun; he took aim, and—!
—Right in front of him.
Chance startled and flailed back in the water. For a moment, the Undertow was inches away from him, holding onto his harpoon, its wide headlight eyes boring into his soul.
Its gaze landed on the pink lightning running through his hands.
But Chance didn't have time to stare back. Nothing else was on his mind except for one thing.
—AIR!—
He kicked up, frantic, desperate, as fast as he could. The surface was just inches away from his face, and he rose up to meet it; that glistening threshold, like a face awaiting a kiss—
The silk-line yanked below him, and he was dragged back down.
NONONONONONONO—
A large, rusted metal pipe was below them; dark and yawning, the Undertow dragged him down into the abyss.
6:55
"[Turn Right.]"
"I am not listening to you," Hornet hissed at the robotic voice coming from Chance's phone. His revolver was in a makeshift holster of silk, tied to her hip, and his scarf — for lack of a better place to put it — was wrapped around her neck.
She'd tried to make the phone shut up, but the touchscreen wouldn't obey her citinous fingers, and the water must've damaged it, because the screen glitched out and automatically opened up what looked like a map.
And it was trying to tell her what to do.
"[Turn Right.]"
"Silence."
She flung herself through the City, high above the streets, looking for any sign of Chance. The rivers of the City ran too fast to see any obvious disturbances; could that thing have taken him somewhere else? Should she go down closer to the streets?
She touched down in a quieter-looking alleyway where she couldn't see any Infected.
"[Turn Right Please.]"
"Would you shut it?!" Hornet seethed; human technology would amaze her more if it actually worked. "How do I turn this damned thing off—"
A noise. She looked up to her left.
A whole swarm of Belflies were nestled under the next building's awning, glowing tangerine and dangling upside down like bats. They were just high enough out of her peripheral vision that she would've missed them if she were careless.
"[Turn Right.]"
Hornet turned right.
…
"[Turn Right.]"
"I have taken three rights already," Hornet spat into the phone. "You are taking me away from the City Square, not towards it; I need to locate Tusk."
"[Turn Right Please.]"
Hornet sighed. I truly have gone insane. I am talking to a machine… Well, I'll not act like one.
Hornet turned left, seeing the Hollow Knight statue in the distance. Orange blood soaked the stones, even the rain struggling to wash it away; Infected vines crept up the sides of buildings and wrapped around the statue, bloated and pulsating like veins.
"[Make A U Turn Immediately.]"
Hornet ignored it. How did she shut it up? She scanned the Square, looking for any sign of Tusk or Chance. The Radiance was splitting them up; she could believe that both of her… accomplices, were isolated and vulnerable now. They needed to regroup fast, or else—
A figure was waiting for her.
Sitting on the edge of the statue fountain—which was so polluted with Infected hemo that the waters ran thick and tangerine—was Lemm, his eyes glowing like headlights, watching her expectantly.
"Daughter of Wyrm," an immortal voice that couldn't belong to such an old bug tore through him; Layla looked completely relaxed. "Have we ever had the opportunity to sit down and talk?"
Hornet's entire body froze.
"[Make A U Turn Immediately.]"
6:55
The blow stuck hard in their center, and Tusk collapsed to the floor, face-planting in the thickening pool of Infected hemo. Pain wracked through their whole body as they curled in on themselves in a fetal position, trying to smother the agony on their small core.
They were facing a wall, Infected on all sides, crowding closer to them, snarling like feral animals, foaming tangerine at the mouth.
Tusk's whole body shuddered.
One of the Infected pounced—
Tusk whipped back up to face them, thick angry eyebrows still smeared on their mask.
From within their Void, they drew an AK-47.
6:57
Claustrophobia.
Thalassophobia.
Nyctophobia.
Metal Claws left desperate, dragging gashes in the rusted metal, the screeches muted by rushing water.
It felt like being swallowed alive.
He was falling deeper and deeper into an endless black hole, the rust scraping along his skin, the darkness leaving him blind and dazed as the pipes ran in different directions. The current just dragged him along for the ride.
—Surrounds—
Chance was thrashing like a fucking animal, punching at the metal, his heart like a jackhammer, taking all of the will in his body not to open his mouth and scream.
Somewhere further back, he'd vomited into the sewer water he was swimming through; the bile drifted up past his face, mixed with paralyzed tears.
—And drowns—
Every sense in his body had been beaten and mauled and left for dead. Only the cold. Only the scraping. Only the shaking and dragging like a small animal being trapped in a box and thrown around helplessly. Like falling in an elevator with the wire cut, suspended in midair until you hit an invisible ground.
"Chance" prayed to gods he didn't believe in that the ground was close.
—And wipes me away—
His body wasn't his. His body was a thing. An object to be broken.
The Undertow had its claws around his throat and dragged him open-mouthed through the deepest shit of all.
Even through the cold, his body was on fire. His lungs were fire and his throat was fire.
His brain was burning as the burning in his lungs only ignited something in him, a primal panic that just rejected everything his senses were trying to tell him.
He thought he could see a Light in that fire.
He thought he could see a face in the darkness.
He wondered if this was what Jeremy felt.
…
His chest concaved, and more bile passed his lips as he opened his mouth and let the sewage water fill his lungs.
His vision was black anyway.
…
…
…
Chance exploded.
Pink lightning erupted outwards from his body like a fireball, superheating the water he was drifting in and vaporizing the rust on the pipe's inner walls. The thing dragging him along screeched through the water's vibrations and recoiled.
The pressure from the blast was great enough to punch a hole in the thick metal pipe, Chance's scorched and waterlogged body slipping out like a jagged waterslide and dumping him on the hard and unforgiving stone floor.
Pale wisps followed him; as the Undertow tried to follow him through the fissure, the metal sealed itself back up, and only a dent was left where it tried to force through. Hollow screeches echoed through the metal, and several other dents followed.
But silence fell as the pipes kept flowing and flushed the Undertow away.
It was a maintenance chamber, within the Royal Waterways but not far from the surface. A ladder led up to a manhole, pale Lumafly light filtering down in stripes between the bars.
Chance's body lay still.
Then he convulsed, vomiting water and sewage on the stones and all over himself, unable to even stand; only a desperate, almost instinctual Focus washing over his body like a pale blanket kept him conscious.
He could breathe. The air stunk and lay thick, and his lungs felt like he'd swallowed fire, but he could breathe. There was air.
His eyes, red and sore, glanced over at the pipe on the wall; the threshold he'd reflexively made safely sealed over, that darkness locked away.
Chance's head fell back into the sleeve of his sewage-soaked jacket; in his hands was a small, warped nub of brass, still warm. A long and cruel string of fuck-words shot through his mind like gunfire.
He laid there and cried a little longer.
7:00
"That's a cute scarf. Where'd you find it?"
Hornet's silk immediately shot out and ensnared Lemm's body. Layla didn't resist as the web tightened around Her, the silk digging into Lemm's chitin like wires.
"Silence," Hornet seethed, a bristling rage dripping from her tongue like venom. "All of this blood rests on your hands. Chance may intend to cure this bug's body, but I have no qualms cutting you down now instead."
"But Chance isn't here, now, is he?" Layla hummed. "I've no need to keep my distance—"
"—I'd like to see you try running away—"
"—Forget him for a moment, dear, and just listen to me."
Hornet held onto her silk in a shaking vice grip, like a chain around Layla's throat. Even as deafening rain poured down on them, the lull of silence still lay thick.
"Even if we have never talked at length… Well, that itself surprises me; we have known each other for so long, now. For years. A blink in the eyes of a God. I remember when you were still small."
Hornet said nothing.
"I can see right through you… That glare, the shaking in your hands. Microexpressions you don't even register on a conscious level. That's not fear. It's impatience. It's hate."
"You are not to ask me why," Hornet snarled. "You have robbed everything from me. My family. My home. My world. Uncounted years of my life. Every day of isolation, of scavenging, of sleepless nights and empty stomachs and corpses and silence. Every day, I have repaid in hate. Even if you dropped dead now, Hallownest would never recover, and I would equally never forgive you."
"Then why not kill me?" Layla spoke; Her tone was measured and calm, unfazed by Hornet's outburst. "In fact, why have you not done anything? All these years, and you have only struck down my followers in clean and swift cuts. All these years, and you have never expressed that hate."
"A ridiculous question," Hornet spat. "Not all the rage a mortal can muster may even touch a God. It would not have mattered to you."
"But you were a child, then. That it would not have mattered to me, would not have mattered to you."
"My childhood ended when I 'met' you."
Silence. The rain seemed to lighten up, finally breaking apart the thick blood and viscera pooled around her feet and washing it away.
"Did you not feel an~y~thing?" Layla spoke slow; dragging out the syllables, Her voice sing-song. "Did your tiny heart grow so cold, so young? Did you bottle up that pain and rage for years?"
"...There was nobody worth sharing it with."
"I was always there," Layla whispered. Tangerine eyes gazed back, soft and warm like headlights. "You could have told me anything. In all the Kingdom, the only ones left would be you and I… We could have been friends."
"You disgust me."
"What is it about what I'm offering that repulses you so? Comfort. Warmth. Kinship. Light and love and dreams. Where's the evil in that?"
"In exchange for my free will? My identity, my autonomy, my mind and heart and soul? My very reality itself?"
"Please. When have you ever had free will? What identity do you have, beyond your hatred for your circumstances, when you have no need to live like this?"
"Then that hatred is all I have left."
It was dead silent in the City square.
"But you could have everything back in an instant," Layla's voice came through so quiet, so breathless, like a demon's hiss. "There's so many living in my Dream already. Your mother would love to see you again."
…
The rain stopped.
Hornet's needle leveled with Lemm's stomach, and she launched forward.
7:00
The manhole cover exploded off its hinges in a burst of pink, and Chance staggered his way up and out into the rainy streets, permanently stuck on the precipice of vomiting again. Blessed rain poured down on him, matting and washing away the smell; his hair stuck to his face and the back of his neck. He felt like a used towel.
He patted his pockets, his neck; his gun, phone, and scarf were gone.
Fuck. I hope Hornet grabbed the other stuff I dropped, 'cause I KNOW she took my scarf. Damn near took my neck off…
Chance scanned the street for any clues or familiar landmarks. He found none.
…Fuck again. Fuck squared. Fuck two: Electric Boogaloo.
"Chance?"
A figure walked up behind him. She had cloud-like feather-down that was unmatted by the rain, gleaming metal leggings with razor-sharp heels, tangerine eyes like—
Chance immediately whirled around and plunged his Claws into Her stomach.
She looked down at his bloody hand with a frown. "Oh, that's not very nice."
He seethed as he ripped Her orange pus-ridden intestines out, falling to the cobblestone sidewalk with a wet, gory slap. Layla's eviscerated body collapsed at his feet.
Chance stepped away, his hands shaking, dripping Infected hemo. His vision blurred, and bile rose in his throat; he was teetering on the precipice again.
"You realize that isn't me, right? You just murdered a stranger wearing my face."
Chance's breath hitched as he looked back over his shoulder; an exact clone of the Layla he'd just killed stood behind him, except in that She was donning gleaming regalia of silver and gold, adorned with sharp spikes like the rays of a sun. Six dove-wings stretched from Her face, revealing a dark face with tangerine eyes that—
His fist, zapping neon pink, shot clean through Her face and exploded Her head.
Silence, for a few moments more.
"You aren't accomplishing anything like this. You aren't hurting me."
Chance spun, eyes darting up; Layla stood on the ledge above the awning, leaning on the railing while looking down at him with a bored look in Her eye. The angel-wings encircling Her face fluttered.
"What's one mortal to a God, anyway?"
Another Layla appeared beside Her, and then another. They all looked different; some wore gleaming regalia, some wore simple dresses, some wore holy robes adorned in gold. Some looked human, some were moths, some were somewhere in-between.
Before Chance knew it, he was surrounded. Dozens of Laylas all around him.
Except none of them were really 'Layla,' were they? They were just puppets. Skinsuits. Extras on a set.
"You know, it's a sin to desecrate a God's visage…" The one at the center, the first Layla, tsk'd down at the two corpses at his feet. "You would kill at the mere sight of me; even if it is futile, even if innocents stand in the way? Why, I'm starting to think you don't even like me."
"They're all fucking zombies, anyway!" Chance shouted. "You enslaved the whole fucking Kingdom! If it's us or them, I choose us!"
"Rationalize it however you wish," Layla waved him off. "But, really, they aren't slaves, Chance. They chose this, too."
He grabbed the head of the nearest Layla; this one wore a kimono and had moth-like wings trailing behind sheet-white hair, like they were hair ornaments.
"Can't exactly ask to leave, can they? Guess I'm helping 'em."
Pink lightning coursed through his Claws; he crushed Her skull in one hand like a grape, tangerine splattering like a water balloon filled with paint, and pus. The Layla on the ledge looked down, unblinking at the gore, but Her eyes narrowed.
"...Not all the rage a mortal can muster may even touch a God," she spoke as though reciting a script. "But I can touch all of these lives, feel all of their pain, walk through their memories until I've lived their whole lives and taken themselves in as a part of me… I am already immortal. Why not a lifetime within a lifetime? Why would I not experience every life I see?"
She walked across the ledge, Her fingers trailing the railing. The rain seemed to just phase through Her.
"...And when you know someone so intimately, it doesn't matter who they are, you love them. It matters not if you mutilate their bodies; their spirits and minds, memories and personalities, I keep them all safe and warm under my wing, in my Dream. It's where they want to be."
"Then why do they all look like you?!" Chance's throat was already hoarse from vomiting up sewage, and now he was trying to shout over the incessant rain. "Hell, why am I still seeing things? I know it's not real!"
Tangerine eyes met emerald ones.
"...Because I love you, too, Chance. That is one thing I have never, ever lied about."
The other Laylas stepped closer to him, and Chance spun, searching for an out.
"And I know you inside and out. Deep down, a part of you loves me, too. Needs me. And I can be anything you want… if you do anything I want."
Chance glared up at Her; cold fire burned in his chest. Pink lightning arced over his body.
"I WANT YOU TO BE DEAD!"
Massive, jagged pink crystals erupted from the ground around his feet, shattering the cobblestone and impaling the crowd of Layla clones surrounding him, arcs of Infected hemo spraying out all around him like the shockwave from a crater, a tidal wave of blood in every direction.
The Crystal Heart flared to life as Chance rocketed upwards, shooting up to the ledge and flying straight through Layla's body, tearing Her body in two, tangerine gore bursting out and smearing over him.
The stone awning had been chaffed like soft clay, the wrought-iron railing had been punched through, and a crater of pink crystals had destroyed the sidewalk Chance had been standing on a moment ago.
He stumbled and rolled to a halt a ways away, his body smoking from the electricity as he lay collapsed on his back, breathing; the rain poured over him and began to wash the blood away.
7:05
Hornet dashed forward, and then she was blasted back as a manhole cover in front of Her erupted, and a geyser of water shot into the sky.
Floating high in the air above Her, the Undertow's nightmarish glare locked in on Hornet.
Layla sputtered as the water splashed on Her. "What took you so long?!" Enough of the water soaked into Her silk bindings that Lemm's body was able to shrug it off, tearing it apart like wet tissue paper. It was too late, but She pulled out Her dainty blue umbrella anyway.
The water shifted and lurched down at Hornet—
"[Turn Left Immediately.]"
—She feinted to the left, and the water hit the ground hard enough to shatter the cobblestone.
Hornet ran like hell.
She flung her needle into a nearby building and launched herself away, across the City Square, fleeing down another main street as the Undertow pursued. The rain fell away around her, and Hornet was in the open air for a moment before she spun and struck the Undertow across its eyes, staggering it in mid-air for a moment before the orange cloud in its eyes reformed.
"[Turn Right.]"
—She darted to the right, and—
It was a bloodbath. Corpses lay scattered everywhere; they were piled like leaves, stuck on sharp-glass windowsills and floating downstream, amputated limbs and severed heads and eviscerated bodies; tangerine blood splattered horrifyingly high up the stone walls.
And sitting right in the middle of it was Tusk. They looked completely fine; enthused, even.
Hornet looked over her shoulder; the Undertow was riding a colossal tidal wave, crashing through the City of Tears and shredding the smaller buildings in its wake. It rose stories high and shattered hundreds of windows, corpses and glass shards and stone and iron and blood cresting over the wave.
Below, there were massive crowds of Infected, pointing and screaming and pushing and running and falling; howls of terror and agony went up like wildfire, and were snuffed out.
Taking a deep breath, Hornet shot down towards Tusk, and scooped them up in her arms.
"[Turn… Up.]"
Up?
She glanced up; a long skybridge stretched between two skyscrapers.
Her silk shot up and wound around the girth of the bridge, and with a tremendous pull, she launched up into the air and past it.
The Undertow rushed through below them, and smashed clean through the bridge, demolishing it instantly; overwhelming tons of steel and glass fell stories into the raging tides and were washed away like dirt.
…
"Up!" Hornet exclaimed as she swung through the City, struggling to outpace the Undertow pursuing her. "It told me to go up! How is that even possible?!"
Tusk was clinging to her back, just going along for the ride. They didn't make very good conversation.
Chance… What the hell kind of device is this?!
"[Make A U Turn Immediately.]"
Hornet would've frozen in mid-air if physics permitted it. What?! But that wave is—!
She turned. The devastation from the tsunami's wake was there, but the Undertow had vanished. Something that big and destructive had vanished without a trace.
Hornet looked forward. In front of her, the rainwater had frozen in the air and coalesced into translucent, watery blades.
Dozens of knives had her surrounded.
She tried to hit the brakes and redirect, but her silk wasn't fast enough to change direction so suddenly. She threw her arms up to shield herself as the knives plunged into her chitin and dug into her flesh.
Hornet cried out, the shock enough to send her reeling. Panic overtook her mind, she felt herself falling, and she only had a vague impression of reaching out with her silk—
She caught herself just seconds before thudding into the ground. Her silk drifted down with her, defeated. The knives softened in her wounds and returned to normal water, gushing out with blood.
Tusk rolled off of her, still completely fine.
They had landed on a flat rooftop of a corner building, lined by the sharp metal spikes that were common in the City of Tears. The rain flew sideways and spun around them, and Hornet and Tusk were trapped in the eye of a small hurricane.
The Undertow stepped through the haze, its eyes like glowing headlights.
7:05
Something fluttered and landed beside him.
Chance looked over to see a small golden puffball, with a dark face and beady orange eyes; like a dove made of sunlight, staring down at him. It had a voice like a parrot's.
"Squawk! Guilty conscience! Guilty conscience!"
"Bitch!" Chance clapped the bird with metal Claws.
The Belfly exploded in his face.
Chapter title and summary are a reference to Peace Frog by The Doors.
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Billie Jean by Michael Jackson
Catch the Rainbow by Rainbow
Undertow by TOOL
Flamingo by Kero Kero Bonito
Y.M.C.A. by The Village People
BORN TO DIE
WORLD IS A FUCK
410,736,264,017 DEAD INFECTED
Ok remember how the last chapter was slower and more down-to-earth? FUCK that we CLOWN in this motherfucker we are RIOTING TONIGHT, we are OFF THE RAILS
An outline wasn't enough for this chapter, it needed a fucking FLOWCHART. This was supposed to be the last chapter of the backlog but it's so long that we split it in half; the full draft is over 20k words! For the first time, I finally wrote something too bullshit for Piston to tolerate!
I've been waiting to write this chapter for months before we even started it, and its outline just started as a list of disjointed and random ideas that I thought would be crazy or funny or cool; that document was so long that less than half of those bullets points even fit in the final outline, and we have all of that left over still!
i'm struggling to write notes here because it all feels like making excuses for myself. insanity is its own excuse. i can do whatever the hell i want
OUR DISCORD SERVER CODE IS PYXCv9tUPg AND ALSO GO READ THE ARCHIVEOFOUROWN VERSION OF THIS STORY ITS MUCH BETTER