Nine years ago, a set of twins were born to two loving parents. They had no idea what kind of fates lay in store for their children. After all, how could you look at a newborn and think about how they're going to die? How could you know that your children were cursed to never reach their tenth birthday?

The exact thoughts of the parents were unknown, but surely they were as any parents' would be. Pride, maybe a bit of nervousness. Excitement. Love. They must have believed their children would at least reach adulthood. After all, it had been many years since children were regularly lost to the wild. An older sister doted on her little siblings, often proclaiming her thoughts with gusto.

Perhaps the boy would grow up to be a hunter, like his mother?

Perhaps the girl would be a shopkeeper? Or an artist?

At the time, it didn't matter. It was so far ahead that they couldn't be bothered to think about it outside of vague considerations. Instead, they put all of their attention into raising their kids the best they could.

Seven years ago, a pair of twins played outside in the snow for the first time. Both bundled up from head-to-toe in puffy, koalafant clothes, they giggled and laughed and threw snowballs at each other. Their cheeks grew rosy and their fingers grew numb, but they barely even had the chance to start shivering before they were ushered in by their parents. Then, the boy excitedly joined his parents in the kitchen as they started cooking dinner, while the girl curled into a ball of blankets in the adjacent room with a mug of warm cider. When the food was ready, the boy happily brought out two bowls of soup for himself and his sister, which they gladly ate together.

The next day, they would beg to go out again, and it was then their older sister showed them how to make snowmen. Enthralled by this new information, they took turns trying to roll balls of snow to make their own. They didn't have the strength to stack them into a snowman, but their older sister was always happy to help. Soon, the yard was covered in snowmen of varying sizes and degrees of skill. Then, they assigned each one a name and acted out a war between two sides, using sticks and snowballs as their weapons as they fought opposite sides of a nameless fight.

They caught terrible colds from their escapades. Neither of them regretted it. Between sneezes and with a snotty nose, the boy proclaimed that they got sick because they fought on opposite sides instead of together. Nobody argued his point.

Six years ago, a demon was given the order to kill a young boy. The exact reasons behind this command were lost, but the demon had every intent on making good on the order. That was until the demon stood in front of the twins, gazing down at them. The girl was oblivious to its presence, happily playing near her brother without a care in the world. The boy, though, immediately saw it and went eerily still and silent. His eyes landed perfectly on the creature, all translucent blacks and reds and shadows, and instead of crying for his parents as a normal child would, he instead went entirely silent. His face was void of everything except fixed terror.

Terror… and recognition.

The demon spared the boy that day, but not out of benevolence. The boy was something special, it believed. Instead of killing it, it tore bloody clawmarks across the child's knuckles to brand the boy. To taste his blood.

The boy did not cry until after the demon vanished. It was only then he seemed to recognize that his hand had been slashed open, that he was bleeding.

The slashes got infected quickly, but the infection never seemed to spread. Instead, it faded away, leaving terrible, ugly scars in their place. The boy had been branded, but nobody knew the purpose of the branding.

When his parents frantically took him to the healers, they gave a simple but chilling answer.

He had caught the attention of some higher being.

It was a blessing, they had said. To have a child catch the attention of something higher than them.

But his parents had seen the truth. They knew it for the curse it was.

Five years ago, a boy started to gain a fondness for the outside world. He had a little notebook that he liked to take with him, and he would make little sketches of animals he saw and practice his shaky letters on scraps of parchment as he tried to write down notes about things. He wanted to learn everything. And, naturally, the sister was dragged into it as well. She would watch him from afar as he cooed over everything from flowers to their own family's goats. He would return home every day with a bouquet of flowering weeds, bundles that decorated their family's home as every single flower was kept. He wanted to learn everything. He was young enough to know very little, but old enough to recognize how little he knew. And he wanted to fix that.

Four years ago, a pair of twins were hunted down, captured, and eaten by the very spiders they had been observing. The girl perished quickly, torn to shreds before being eaten. The boy had to watch his sister die, knowing full well that it was his own curiosity and spark that had led them here. He had wept and screamed and cried, even as he, too, fell victim to the arachnids' insatiable hunger.

Three years and ten months ago, a hybrid woke with a violent start in an unfamiliar body. The very first thing the hybrid did was lurch forward and vomit up impossible things. Far too much blood. Meat that had gone rancid instead of digesting. Hair that caught in their fangs. Foul clumps of necrosed tissue that had once been organs. Connected as they were, their body rejected duplicates and rid itself of everything it no longer needed.

When it had finally stopped, they found themselves drenched in their own blood and stomach acid. With nothing else to do, they ran, fueled entirely by the boy's terror and the predator's confusion. They ran until they couldn't stand anymore, collapsing in front of a puddle of water that reflected the horrid truth to them.

As the boy realized he was still alive, but in only the most literal sense of the word. His body had rejected its own organs. His name had long since been forgotten. Whatever was once human was buried under chitin and fur and blood.

As the spider realized his terrible mistake to consume the child alive. That for some reason, somehow, this boy survived within the spider's own body. Their neurons had fused, and with two separate minds fighting for dominance with no real practice, they saw themselves as a single entity. Single, but plural. One, but both.

When they woke the next day to see the nightmare had continued, they wandered. They did not know where they were, who they were, what had happened. All they knew was that they were a new life, one spawned from a desperate, starving spider and a bold, stupidly fearless five-year-old human child.

Driven by fleeting memories, they sought out their family. Flickers of faces came to their mind, both human and arachnid alike, but any images were fuzzy and distorted. They found pigs and remembered playing with the piglets only a short time ago, but they had taken a single look at the hybrid and attacked them.

They had to rip out the head of a spear from their back by themselves.

Three years and nine months ago, a hybrid stumbled upon a human village. Recognition flooded their mind, driven by the boy's memories, and they found themselves running further and further across the cobblestone roads. In desperation, they cried out helplessly for their parents in slurred spider speech. Begging as a five-year-old does- to be held, to be comforted, to be reassured. Their crying brought onlookers, and their language barrier brought hunters.

They couldn't tell exactly when things started to be thrown. All they knew was that something sharp and hard hit their cheek, causing them to let out a yelp of pain. They froze, competing instincts begging them to cry out, to run, to freeze, to beg.

They looked up to see a mother and a father. Their eyes were hollow with grief, and their faces were twisted in rage. The hybrid stepped back, unsure, as intense images of warmth and love and happiness tugged at their brain. They reached forward uneasily, calling for them. Begging for their parents. Begging to be loved again.

The father held a torch, and the mother a knife. They didn't get any closer to their son, incapable of recognizing him in the form he now took. They shouted and swung their arms at him, but their language was impossible to understand to his ears.

And then, the mother threw her knife at them.

She had a deadly aim- she always had, as a hunter- and it was only them scrambling away that spared their lives that day. Instead of landing in their chest like it should have, it buried deep in their shoulder. They screeched in pain, falling back as they were pelted with thrown items by the entire village. Rocks, knives, anything that bruised or cut.

They only barely managed to survive the encounter. They dragged themselves away, sobbing and begging and crying out helplessly, knowing full well now that no one was coming to their aid. The last time the boy ever saw his parents, they were actively trying to kill him.

He never knew they did it in supposed revenge. To avenge him and his sister. They didn't have the words to explain that the boy was still alive.

English did come back to them, slowly, but it wasn't fast enough to undo what had already been done.

Two years and a month ago, a hybrid made a deal with the devil. Alone, even after all this time, and desperate for something, anything, there really hadn't been any hesitance to agree to do whatever the devil wanted. They followed the instructions to a T, and the entire time the devil was promising beautiful things to them.

The devil promised love.

The devil promised acceptance.

The devil promised family.

How could they possibly say no to that? The years that had passed had allowed for the hybrid to grow used to their condition, but they remained too weak to separate themselves. Instead, they had remained in that not-quite-one-not-quite-two state, struggling to consider themselves anything. Could they be considered a person when they had fangs and fur? When they had claws that they used to break the necks of little bunnies just to survive another day? Could they be considered a spider when they had two legs and a fear of the dark? No, they belonged to nothing, no one. The idea, the mere thought, of belonging again… it was something they couldn't pass up.

Two years ago, a hybrid had opened up a portal per the commands of the devil, and they had been ripped from their homeland without remorse. A hybrid had woken up with instincts demanding them to growl and fight and spit at anyone near them, and the same hybrid had woken up with two other people.

From the beginning, the hybrid fought with himself. He introduced himself with a name that wasn't his, fought with a viciousness he had never learned, and acted with a malice he had never nurtured. He had been so desperate for acceptance but so scared of being hated that he tried to push everyone away. He bit and snapped and swiped at everyone, all the while growing further and further away from what he used to be. The boy was nothing if not terrified every second of every day, and the spider replaced every ounce of that terror with pure, unbridled rage.

And yet, the others didn't seem to care. A scientist, who cared too much for the anomaly presented to him, and an automaton, whose love language was broken down into violent outbursts and extended arguments because that was all they knew.

The hybrid was foolish. The hybrid was weak.

The hybrid began to trust them.

The hybrid began to love them.

A year and three months ago, an innocent man was torn to shreds in front of a hybrid. Injured and in shock, the hybrid collapsed under the sheer weight of his trauma for days. When he finally woke, the automaton had been waiting for him. Snippy and irritated in a way that would have had angered everyone else, but the hybrid saw it for what it really was. He clung to his remaining companion like a burr, terrified to lose anyone else. He grieved for the father he had just begun to love, and grieved for the life he had been so close to achieving.

It was hard to love, and just when the hybrid thought he was understanding what it felt like, it was torn away from him. He tried desperately to remain strong, but an eight year old can only handle so much before his mind starts to tear itself apart. Had the string began to fray, even back then?

A year and two months ago, a scientist was turned into an unwilling puppet for a demon. The demon, many years ago, had been tasked to kill the boy, but decided against it. Now, it was beginning to understand the mistake it had made in sparing the boy's life. It wanted the hybrid to perish at any cost, and a fresh body was the perfect subject to do so.

Terrible, terrible things happened that night. Things that haunted the hybrid for months to come, waking him from the throes of nightmares with hoarse screams hanging in his throat. Pleading uselessly with the demon wearing his adoptive father's face had done nothing.

The hybrid had lost many things those nights. An eye. The trust he once held for the scientist. His own stability.

But… although he had lost so much, the hybrid gained a brother that night. The automaton likely didn't know he knew, but the hybrid was well aware of the tender care he had been treated with while injured and unconscious. The automaton had stepped up, protecting the hybrid the best they could while soothing him to sleep when his nightmares grew to be too much. They still argued occasionally, but there was always a soft note now in the automaton's voice when interacting with the hybrid. Trauma had brought the duo together, and although the hybrid would not admit it until it was too late, his desperate need for a family quickly started to fill in. Although… he would not call the automaton his brother until it was too late.

Ten months ago, a mechanic had found a hybrid in the middle of a breakdown. He had been desperately clawing at himself in an attempt to rid himself of the voice that plagued his mind. In a moment fueled with hatred and rage, he had tried to rid himself of the spider that controlled his instincts by physically tearing away his own skin. He might have even gone too far if it weren't for the mechanic stepping in and holding him back even as he thrashed and fought.

The two quickly became friends, but the hybrid had learned his lesson about clinging to adults as fill-in parental figures. He tried to keep his heart at a distance from her. He didn't know. If he didn't, she could be the next one to try to kill him. And he had no idea if she would be the one to succeed. He didn't want to know.

Seven months ago, a hybrid watched his last string of peace snap. The automaton had taken a hit meant for him, and now he stood alive, and his brother lay dead in his arms. So much grief had swarmed over the boy in that moment that something had snapped, once and for all, within his heart. He had surged forward, piloted by the will of a spider and the rage of a child in mourning, and attempted to slash the beast who had killed his brother into a bloody pulp.

Instead, the beast had woken from its dark slumber and passed upon the group a set of titles. Ones meant to push them forward into a future that none of them were prepared for. The hybrid, more than anyone, quickly began to crumble even further under the weight of knowledge. He had not been born to be happy. He had been born to live forever in the dark. Forever surrounded by shadows, void of anyone but his masters.

The hybrid lost his brother. The hybrid had lost hope. The hybrid had lost the will to live.

And so, he didn't try to live anymore. He simply let himself waste away, waiting for the day he would finally be free of his grief.

Six months ago, a hybrid lied to himself.

So deep in the belief that he would fight to survive, the hybrid lied every step of the way. He would say it was an accident. That he didn't mean to. That it wasn't something he had intended to happen. But no. It was all a lie.

Six months ago, a hybrid tried to take his own life for the first time.

He would never admit that that was what happened. Not even to himself. He convinced himself so thoroughly that he wanted to live that he had created a scenario in his head that led to him falling off of the cliff. But the truth was, he hadn't needed to take that final step. It was entirely purposeful.

One extra step.

One foot off of the cliff face.

And it wasn't until he found himself instinctively clinging to the rock that he realized… he wanted to live. He didn't want to perish. He wanted to live on for his brother, to push past everything that had happened and still somehow come out the other side. He had been foolish, to think anything but misery would be in his future, but he clung to the hope nonetheless.

It didn't matter in the end. He still fell.

And yet, he didn't die. No, in fact, he felt as though he had been given a new lease on life. It was then the hybrid had met the prime ape, who had done everything in his power to help the boy get back on his feet. Even as the barrier constructed in his head shattered fatally and left nothing between boy and spider. The hybrid felt as though he might be able to move on.

Five and a half months ago, a group had been torn from the world once more and thrust into worlds designed to break them apart. They stuck together to the best of their abilities, but it didn't always work. The scientist was growing angrier every day. The mechanic was struggling to keep the peace between them. The prime ape fought to protect the hybrid against the things that wanted him dead. All the while, the hybrid saw the ways he hurt others by being alive. He saw the way his life was nothing more than a means to an end. He saw the way others became miserable trying to stop his misery.

And suddenly, the progress he had made was gone. All he saw was his own stupidity. His own flaws. Everything that made him wrong. Everything that made others hurt. The hybrid had been in pain for so long that finally, he was beginning to reach his end.

Two weeks ago, a hybrid had decided that it would be beneficial to everything, including himself, if he ended it all. Caught in a never ending cycle of panic and grief and pain, the hybrid made the decision that the only true way out was to end his life, once and for all. After the realization hit him, suddenly, everything felt clear again. The static cleared. The pain began to fade. He was the Martyr, after all, it was his job to die in the end. It was now his time to choose when it would happen.

Two hours ago, a hybrid had reacted in a moment of dissociative panic and mauled his closest friend. It had been a simple slip of the claw from the prime ape's end, but in that moment, something so terrified and violent had overcome the hybrid that he hadn't been able to stop himself from fighting back, stopping only when he was physically pulled away. As he gazed upon the injured prime ape, the furious scientist, the worried mechanic, he came to the realization…

Now.

Now was the time.

He shouldn't have felt so at peace with the thought. The idea that in only a few short hours, he would no longer be able to hurt anyone. He would be somewhere alone, like he was always meant to be, frozen into a stiff corpse before anyone even bothered to look for him.

It should have scared the hybrid.

It didn't.

Five minutes ago, a hybrid realized that he was far enough from anyone else that he could do what had to be done. With a sort of impossible calm, the hybrid sat himself down in the snow, and let everything that led him up to this point crowd into his mind.

In just a few hours from now, there wouldn't be anything left of him.

In just a few days from now, his companions would realize that it was for the best.

In just a few weeks from now, nobody would even remember his name.

…

I had met with death many times in the past, and each time, I had faced him differently. I had actively defied him, spat in his face, taunted him and dared him to even try to claim me. And yet, as ice started to crust my fur and violent shivers caused my whiskers to tremble under their own weight, I decided to face him with a dignity I hadn't ever managed before. In fact, for the first time ever, I met him as though greeting an old friend. My body was no longer mine- perhaps it had never been. I had been living on stolen moments since the day I was born. And so, this time, as I sensed death stalking me from miles away, growing ever nearer, I did something entirely new.

I welcomed him.

At some point after I left the others behind, a blizzard had started up. It obscured my vision to a near pinprick, but it would help to hide me from anyone looking for me as well. I blew out a gust of air and gazed up at the sky.

I was a monster. A predator. A wild animal that was finally too dangerous.

I was a child. A little boy. A human so tired and in so much anguish every second of every day that being put down was merciful. I was tired.

I was so tired.

And yet… I couldn't help but feel bored, sitting there, waiting for my death to come. Even though it was my choice to be out here, my body still acted on instincts to preserve warmth. I pulled my arms around myself and puffed air against my chest. Wilbur's necklace was covered in snow now. I should have given it back before I left. Now his prized possession was going to get ruined.

I caressed the gemstone with my claws. I couldn't feel them anymore. In fact, sensation in my fingers had been the very first thing to go. I had discarded the pelts that kept them warm ages ago. I couldn't quite bring myself to do the same for the pelts on my feet, although I told myself it was because I wouldn't be able to walk very well with frostbitten toes.

What a waste. A waste of rabbit pelts and a waste of everyone's time. I should have stuck to not taking them. It would have made everything faster.

Now that I was no longer moving, I ripped the covering off and exposed my feet to the snow. I shuddered involuntarily, but held back any audible whimper.

It burned. Why did it burn?

It was taking so long.

I needed to make this go faster, or someone would find me before it was done. With this in mind, I picked at the caps on my claws. They had been mostly shredded anyway, but there was still enough left to dull anything I tried. Once my claws were fully bare again, I reached towards my opposite arm. My hands were shaking so hard I couldn't get a proper grip, let alone muster the power to tear through chitin. I gritted my feet and, instead, took to tracing a line across my arm.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

With a single claw, I repeatedly drew the same line over and over again until eventually, the skin split and cracked under it. Satisfaction bubbled in my chest as I watched blood well up from the wound and freeze in my clumped fur. The blood flow was sluggish, though. Not enough.

It also burned.

I relished the feeling. It wasn't the kind of burn you get from sticking your hand too close to a fire. It was the kind of burn you felt in your muscles after a long workout. The knowledge that while you may hurt now, it's for the greater good. It's a satisfying kind of pain.

So, with shaky movements from numb fingers, I tore another line. And another. And another.

It wasn't working. I had to go further, or risk being found.

I dragged myself to my feet. Immediately, my vision swam and my entire body quaked. I had to take a good few moments to right myself, lest I fall right back over. Blood rolled down my arm and stained tiny speckles in the show crimson.

"What are you doing?" A voice, low and angry, snapped. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I was wondering when Webber was going to make his appearance. I knew very well that he would try to stop me, and the fact that it had taken him so long to appear was a shock. I expected him to immediately show up once he figured out my plan. "Are you seriously trying to run away?" He sneered.

"This is the first time I'm not running away," I said, although my words were so muffled behind chattering teeth it was a wonder I was able to get them out at all. "I'm fulfilling my destiny."

"Bogus," he snapped. "You're a coward, Tyler. Killing yourself instead of facing the consequences of your own actions? Truthfully, what has become of you?" As he spoke, I felt a violent shift in my consciousness.

It hit so hard and suddenly that I stumbled again and fell back into the snow. I quickly drew my hands against my chest and closed my eyes. Internally, I pushed him away, wrapping the reins around my wrists several times to prevent him from taking them. He growled at me and moved to fight for them again, but I held on tight. I would not let him take over. I would die as myself.

I am the Martyr. This is my destiny.

"What cause do you think you are a martyr for? You aren't dying in the line of duty. You aren't dying to further an agenda. You are simply giving up!"

He was fighting me violently for control, but I felt more in control than I had in longer than I could even express. I knew exactly what I was doing and why. I knew exactly where I was.

I continued stumbling forward again, once more drawing lines in my skin with my claws. They bled sluggishly, not enough to do anything on their own, but I kept going. Over and over again. Hot blood spilling across my fur. Clumps of melting snow catching against my skin. A trail of blood marred the snow in my wake.

The next time I let a breath out, I was shaking so hard I could barely move. I wanted to stop again, to officially make my final resting spot, but it wasn't time. I still had time to walk away. I still had stages of hypothermia to trudge through.

You are a monster.

The thought suddenly struck me without voice. It didn't sound like Webber, but it also didn't sound like myself. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly.

You are a predator.

A predator. That was true, wasn't it? From the moment human and spider became one, I had become a predator. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You deserve this.

The shudder started in my whiskers and spread to the rest of my body.

You DESERVE this.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Foul, disgusting, hideous monster.

YOU DESERVE THIS.

I hurt Wilbur.

Oh God… oh God, I hurt Wilbur. Twin pricks of pressure alerted me to my own claws digging into my head now, but the pain didn't register.

I wish it would. I needed to suffer the same way I had made him suffer. He had taken me under his wing, he had taken such tender care of me for months now, and how did I repay him?

By mauling him.

Terrible, terrible images flashed in my head. Swirls of violence and bloodshed and malice. Evil. Predatory nature.

For so long, I had been afraid of Wilson for what he had done to me. But I may as well have held that knife myself. It would have meant the exact same thing if I had taken that blade and ripped my own eye out. I should have. Maybe I wouldn't have survived if I had done it myself. The only thing I did right was to not fight back.

I deserved the torture. I deserved so much worse than it. I deserved to have my throat cut clean open and my entrails spilled in front of me. I deserved violence and anger and nothing else. I deserved it all because anything less meant showing care. Restraint. I never showed that to my companions. Why should they show that to me? Why shouldn't they fight back and beat me into a pulp for the things I had done?

I made them love me just so I could hurt them. What kind of monster did that?

I was a poison. Something that kills you a little more every time it's in your presence. A venomous snake that bites you as you feed it, just so it can feed on your corpse in the ultimate act of betrayal. The rope that saves you from drowning while strangling you all the while. An infectious wound. A virus that deserves to be culled. An illness that empties your soul while consuming your body. Something that just keeps spreading and spreading and hurting and hurting and acting as if it has any right to exist.

No. No no no. I needed to stop making myself excuses. This was selfish. All of this was selfish. I wasn't doing this for anyone but myself. I wasn't doing this to save them or spare them from my acidic presence. I was selfish, selfish, selfish, and I just wanted it to be over. It was all for me.

I had fallen yet again. I didn't have the energy to get back up. I could see the snowflakes as they gently rested on my arms, but I couldn't feel them. I had stopped shivering.

In fact, I wasn't cold anymore.

No, I was actually warm. Hot. Burning hot.

An involuntary hiss left my throat as the heat swelling in my body registered, followed immediately by a low whimper that tore my vocal cords on the way out. I had to get it off. I needed it off.

Something fuzzy was covering my entire body. It was cooking me alive.

I tried to rip it off. Furious, desperate attempts to rip it off. It wasn't working. It was stuck to me.

I heard a spider growling somewhere nearby. Was that from me?

Where were Mom and Dad?

They would never let me outside in the cold alone. At least, not without Alyvia. It didn't make sense.

I tried to call out for Erika. Where was she? Had she tripped, too?

It was so hot; why was there snow on the ground? Or was it just me? I thought it was supposed to be cold.

I would ask Erika. If I could find her. Maybe when my arms started to work again.

She's probably gonna laugh at me. 'Oh, Ty, obviously it's supposed to be cold/hot. You're so silly'.

Maybe she doesn't know either. Mom and Dad would.

I wish they'd let me take this fur off. It's coarse and so hot. It doesn't feel like koalafant.

Is it something new? Doesn't make sense.

Would they be mad?

No? Yes?

Do I care?

Maybe. Someone is calling my name.

Doesn't matter.

Maybe… maybe…

I can just sleep. Till they find me.

Yes.

I'll…

just …

…

Jerk awake.

I sucked in a harsh breath through my mouth, but my chest didn't expand. It felt as though any air I tried to inhale went straight through my lungs. The ground beneath me was smooth, like marble. In fact… when I gently touched my claws to the surface, I deducted that that was exactly what it was. It was cool enough to soak through my fur and leave a chill in my skin, but not so cold it hurt.

As if the thought reminded me of the past few hours, violent tremors started deep in my bones. Trying to regain a warmth I didn't feel like I had lost. Tentative touches to various limbs also proved them intact, rather than frostbitten and amputated like I expected.

There was a chill in the air. Not quite a winter temperature, but the faintest chill that suggested very little to no sunlight. Despite that, I couldn't taste frost.

I was awake. I didn't expect to wake up after… what had happened. I really hadn't wanted to wake up, but that was a separate situation. The distinction didn't really matter either way. I was awake, and that was the end of it.

I was perfectly aware of myself, which was more surprising. Maybe I had been fading in and out for a few days? Guilt coiled in my stomach at the thought. My attempt to spare them my misery had failed, and all it did was cause more trouble in the end.

Like I always did-

"You are finally lucid."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. It speared straight into my gut and reignited some ancient terror buried deep in my instincts. It wasn't any of my… companions, nor was it the familiar voice of Webber. It was familiar, but in a distant way. Like a voice I used to know but hadn't heard in many years.

I finally opened my eyes.

I lay in the entrance to a hallway. The floor was, as I had figured, made of pure, white marble. I didn't see any walls, but there had to be something out there. I heard wind, but it sounded distant, and the air here was very still. Was I inside somewhere? I didn't recognize this place.

The hall stretched in front of me, lit by ominous pillars burning with silent black flames.

There were eyes watching me from the edge of the light.

I sucked in another breath that didn't reach my chest. I hesitated, terror spiking through my bloodstream as I pressed one hand against my heart.

I didn't feel anything.

My breaths didn't work. My heart was still.

It didn't matter if there wasn't anything actually there. I could almost hear my heart thumping in my head, if only just because I expected to.

I turned my gaze fully to those eyes watching me. There were thousands of white eyes, blinking slowly and patiently, all trained on me. What caught my attention, though, was the pair of glowing red eyes connected to a formless shape in the darkness.

I didn't say anything. Not immediately. I was… a bit too busy spiraling into a minor panic over my still lungs and heart.

When I did gain the strength to speak, my voice came out raspy and tired. "Am I dead?"

The creatures in the dark shifted slightly as if laughing. Sharing some sort of inside joke amongst themselves. The red eyes slowly opened and closed, and a lazy snap echoed into the void.

The lights that were flickering around me suddenly sputtered weakly and then died. The only light now seemed to be coming from myself, but the light was faint. An odd flicker, like that of a flame, glowing gold and orange with the faintest flames of green popping up everyone once in a while.

The creature with red eyes neared me slowly. My eyes slowly adjusted, allowing for me to see more and more of it.

It was tall. Although I was quite used to being the shortest and it wasn't a stretch to say someone was taller than myself, it had to be taller than Wilson. Its body was a mere shape, shadows swarming together to form the vague appearance of a human body. When it moved, swirls of reds and blacks followed in its wake. It gave it a sort of doubled appearance when it walked.

When it was close enough to touch me, it leaned down slightly to examine my face.

"In a sense," it said softly in response to my question. Before I could ask for clarification, surprisingly, it gave it to me. "In the way mortals consider death, then I would answer yes." It straightened out, soft shadows brushing over my fur as it did. "In the way that truly matters, I would answer no."

"What does that mean?" I croaked.

The creature tipped its head as if considering something.

"The way you chose to end your life will succeed in putting you in respiratory and cardiac arrest," it purred. It sounded as if it was enjoying this gruesome topic of conversation. "However," it continued. "You cannot truly be considered dead unless I take you across the veil. Which I will not do. Instead, we will wait."

My chest seized in shock at the implication of its words. Dead in a biological sense, but not a… spiritual sense? What was this place, then, if not Purgatory?

I had a million questions I wanted answered, but something told me I would only have a couple of answers. So, I chose my questions carefully.

"What are we waiting for, then?"

"Your companions."

A solid, too-the-point answer that still felt like it confused me even more. "My companions?"
"Your body must be returned to a viable state. I trust they can handle that."

I was already shaking my head. "No. They're not coming for me. Even if they are, they're not going to find me." I turned my head slightly. "I'm sure my… body… is buried in snow by now."

The creature chuckled, a grating sound, not too unlike claws on a chalkboard. I cringed. "You appear to forget that I can control the whims of your leader."

"Nightmare." The name ripped from my throat with no consent on my part. I clutched my fingers over my neck, eyes squeezing shut. "Why… why aren't you killing me, then? Taking me across the veil?" When Nightmare didn't immediately respond, I pushed. "Isn't that what you wanted? Haven't you wanted to kill me for so long?"

"You misunderstand. You never would have died. No matter how it seemed. I never wanted you dead." Its voice dropped to a whisper as though sharing a secret. "In fact… where you are right now is perfect."

"I never would have died?" I blurted. "What do you mean? I've come close enough plenty of times, what-"

"Have you never stopped to consider the situations you find yourself in? How often do you find yourself close to death?"

I clamped my mouth shut.

"From the day you woke on the Mainland, death has stalked you. The Tree Guard. The frozen ocean. The collapsing ground. The Giants. The scientist. The Ancient Guardian. Even now… your self-imposed starvation. The poison. The frigid arctic wastes. And yet… you have survived."

"Because everyone keeps saving me," I growled.

"Because there is only one force in this world that can end your pitiful life."

The still air became stifling. The temperature seemed to drop. Everything seemed to make sense in a flash.

"And that force is me."

I tried again to breathe, but failed. My lungs physically weren't working, I knew that, but the stillness of my chest flooded my brain with panic. All the times I had come so close to dying… it wasn't even real? There hadn't been any threat at all?

Even if I wanted to, it was never an option?

"Why did you want me here?

And Nightmare purred again. A sound that sounded unnatural from such a human-like creature. It reached out one clawed hand and rested it gently against my cheek. I went still. Suddenly, not needing to breathe worked perfectly in my favor. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to even if I had the physical capability.

"Perhaps I just missed my proudest host."

"You must've missed the memo," I rasped, because wow my voice was not working anymore. I cleared my throat in an attempt to relieve the scratchiness, but it didn't seem to help all that much. "I'm not the…" Its words repeated in my head. "The Host?" That was… a different one that I was expecting.

"Perhaps not now," Nightmare said. "But once. And perhaps again. And now that you have finally reached this point." The demon's soft touch suddenly turned sharp. A trio of claws lashed out and ripped open the skin on my knuckles. I let out a startled gasp of pain (but it was so familiar, is this what happened before?)

Nightmare raised its now bloody claws towards its face and breathed in deeply. Then, apparently pleased by what it smelled, it licked the blood off of its claws.

"Your blood is just as sweet as it once was," the demon sighed. "That will make this much more pleasant to start."

I couldn't take my eyes off of Nightmare's face as it fell in supposed bliss at the taste of my blood. I swallowed heavily, only slightly deterred by the fact there wasn't any saliva to swallow. "What do you mean? What will be more pleasant to start?"

Nightmare's face split into what I assumed was supposed to be a grin, but it was just too wide with just too many teeth. Despite how human the rest of it looked, it sported two fangs, although they weren't as long as my own.

"I thought it was obvious," it pouted without losing the unnatural grin. "Grooming you for the position you were always destined to have." And it took another step closer, until it was standing almost side-by-side with me. It bent down and whispered in a painfully quiet voice. "Right. By. My. Side."

I jerked back violently. Even as Nightmare remained still and calm, I needed to make as much distance between myself and it. I didn't know what it wanted. I didn't know why.

"It is only a matter of time before you are ready to go back," Nightmare said pleasantly. "Until then, I would remain here. Unless, of course, you'd like to risk facing the shadows. I am sure they'd love a taste of your blood as well."

It was immediately decided to stay as still as physically possible.

"Be more careful next time, spider. You never know who will be waiting for you in Checkmate."

And with the final words, Nightmare swept back into the darkness. I could easily sense its retreating form, and the white eyes even seemed to lose some interest in me.

As it was, I was alone.

I took a deep breath, and to my surprise, this time my lungs reacted accordingly. As if I had just exited from a deep body of water, I immediately started gulping in air as if my life depended on it. I could feel my heart again, too, slow and sluggish but present.

I would be back soon.

The thought should have comforted me. It should have made me sigh with relief and thank whatever higher powers that my life was able to continue on, even after all of this.

Instead, I slowly lowered myself to my knees-

And wept.