Chapter 5 of 5

Darkness

Wilbur sounded so confident and sure about his words that Winona couldn't help but think they were reasonable. The unfortunate part about it, though, was that just 'waiting' was much easier said than done. The past few worlds they had been through had taken some time, but there had been a little more emphasis on doing something. Either something as simple as 'surviving' or, as it had been in the previous one, 'try to figure out Maxwell's scheme'. And while surviving was definitely still something on the table, naturally, it still felt like there was something else important to be done.

After all, as the others had stated, this was Nightmare's domain. Simply 'waiting' did not seem like it was going to be enough to get them through. They were tantalizingly close to Maxwell, but more than that, Charlie was just within their reach.

At the thought, Winona felt her heart clench in her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed a fist against her breastbone to try to relieve some of the pain. It had been so long since she had truly seen her little sister. Memories and dreams could only sate her for so long.

Since the moment Charlie was born, she had had such a bright and loving spirit. She was always the first to make friends, the kid that brought all the other children together to play elaborate games, the one every parent wanted their own kid to be. She was the opposite of Winona in that way, with the older sister being far more reclusive and absorbed in her own mind than anything else. It wasn't as though Winona didn't like people, but she couldn't stand having idle hands.

And yet, they had been inseparable.

Even with such an age gap between the two, it was rare to see one without the other. Charlie spent much of her free time watching Winona work on whatever project she had that day, asking questions and telling stories and anecdotes to pass the time. Winona would have been willing to sell her soul to protect the younger girl.

But in the end, she had choked. In her attempt to give Charlie the space she needed to truly develop into the adult she wanted to be, Winona had let her be swayed by the whims of a man who meant her harm, and now, her once-bright spirit was cast in shadows and dulled beyond recognition.

Winona wasn't stupid. She knew that saving Charlie was an impossible task. Maybe literally. Her soul would have been so entirely consumed by Nightmare's influence that they couldn't really know for sure if it was possible to banish the darkness without crippling her soul entirely.

Winona knew that Charlie was too far gone.

That bright soul. That big smile and those glittering eyes. That life, once so beautiful. Winona knew that Charlie's only salvation was Nightmare's banishment. And by extension, the ending of her life.

She couldn't focus on that now. Focusing on those things would only ruin what little hope Winona was trying to cling to. Right now, she had to focus on what she could control. Control the controllable. She had to focus on that monochromatic, heatless fire, the cloud-shrouded moon, and the tension of nerves that sparked between her friends.

Wilbur was doing a good job of acting like he wasn't nervous or scared. He spoke with the same bravado he always did, with the appropriate amount of pep and energy. Yet, Winona could see the stiffness of his tail, the weariness glinting in his eyes. Even though he had firmly told Tyler to keep his eyes away from the darkness, he did not heed his own words. His eyes kept flicking back to the shadows, an unreadable expression creasing his face when he did.

Even if Winona had known Wilbur for years, she didn't think she could ever truly grasp his experience with Nightmare. The prime ape had been friends, allies, rivals, enemies with the demon. He had been under Nightmare's influence enough to do terrible things in his past, but he had broken through it.

(Could love save Charlie, the same way it once saved him?)

(Somehow, she doubted it.)

Wilson's relationship with Nightmare was what Winona was most familiar with now. While she had never known Wilson before Nightmare had any control over him, she did know that Wilson had been getting worse the closer they got to this place and the demon that resided within it. His hatred had been primarily focused on Tyler, which was peculiar, but it was clear that Nightmare had something against the boy that caused Wilson's behavior

Admittedly, he seemed to be doing better at the moment, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that it was the end of his fight. After all, Wilson's struggles with Nightmare had come and go, waxed and waned. It stood to reason that it would come back with a vengeance.

While Winona herself had never interacted with Nightmare directly, hostility burned in her chest at the thought of the torture it had put her sister through

(The only thing they could do for her was put an end to them both.)

And she wasn't the only one desperate to save her! Sure, Tyler might have been trying to be… manipulative. Play on her feelings to get her to agree with his desperate lunacy. But it held true that Wilbur truly did care about Charlie. He had stated before that she had stayed with him during some of the harshest times of his life. He had even implied that Charlie was the only one that kept him from doing something stupid to himself after losing his mate and daughter.

It sounded so real, so familiar, so Charlie that it hurt Winona to realize that the torture she had gone through under Nightmare's hand wasn't enough to fully destroy her light.

"You're gonna think yourself into a pit." Speaking of the prime ape. Wilbur touched her shoulder with the tip of his tail as he came to sit beside her. While Winona turned to glance at him, he didn't turn his eyes away from the fire. Its faded crackling echoed into the uncomfortably quiet night. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Winona sighed and perched an elbow on her knee. "I'm sure you can guess."

"Mm." Wilbur's non-answer confirmed this. "Don't be too angry at him, Winona. I'll lecture him later about trying to-"

She found herself snorting in a sort of amusement. "No, not that. I mean, yeah, it kind of makes me angry that Tyler did that, but I'm honestly more worried about other things right now. I'm…" Winona sighed again and shook her head. She pulled her knees to her chin and rested her head on her arms. "Is… is there any way to save Charlie without killing her?"

Wilbur's expression soured. He pressed his lips together into a thin line. "...Probably not," he answered truthfully. "But… it's important for you to know that Nightmare was never able to really drag her under."

"Is it bad that that doesn't… really help?" She picked at a stray thread on her clothing, decidedly keeping her eyes away from the prime ape. "I mean, it should, I know. I should be glad to hear that she never let Nightmare control her. But that also means that…" Winona couldn't find the words to explain it. Somehow, it would have almost been a comfort if Charlie had no awareness of herself anymore. If Charlie didn't have to experience the torture that was her current state.

Wilbur seemed to understand, though. He bobbed his head and shifted into a more comfortable position on the ground. Which was, admittedly, hard to do. The grass felt damp and swampy beneath them, and the sharp tang of nightmare fuel made it hard to breathe comfortably, let alone sit comfortably. "I think I get it. You don't have to explain."

"Thank you," she breathed.

A small moment of silence flickered between the duo. Behind her, Winona could hear the others moving around and exchanging words here and there. There was still a tense air of hostility between Tyler and Wilson, but it seemed more awkward than violent. Still, she kept an eye on them, just in case. Or maybe it was a defensive mechanism to keep her from thinking too hard. Who was to say?

"You know," Wilbur said breezily, causing Winona to flinch at the sudden interruption of her focus. "Charlie was one of the few people to meet Elizabeth."

"Your daughter?"

He nodded with a smile. "Yeah. Even though I had split myself from Nightmare at that point, we were still…" Wilbur waved his hand as if looking for the words. "She was still my friend. After Nightmare… After Nightmare. She was my only friend."

Winona had to take a moment to think out her next words. "Did she ever…-"

She was not able to finish her question.

Icy wind suddenly blew from the darkness, whipping the monochromatic gray flames into a frenzy. The slick fuel coating the ground began to bubble as if boiling, despite remaining cold. Winona immediately snapped into a defensive posture, her good hand thrust out in front of her as she flipped around. She was just in time to see Wilson taking several steps back, chest heaving with harsh breaths, and Tyler tearing his sword from the ground and aiming its tip towards the spot where the shadows coalesced into the shape of their captor.

In the previous worlds, Maxwell had acted with an air of confidence. Smugness, if you will. He always had this sort of persona of someone who could never fail, a psychopath who thought it was amusing to see people suffer around him.

In the days Winona had known him, he had had many similarities and differences in that personality. It was impossible for her to not realize that he had dropped 'William' almost altogether, and that he seemed to now fully embody the superior, self-serving, cocky persona of 'The Great Maxwell'.

Now, though, the smugness that once wrapped around him like a cloak had been shrugged off entirely. What appeared to them was not a man of calm indifference or patient confidence.

What appeared to them was hardly a man at all.

"You insolent." Maxwell lurched forward, his eyes ablaze. "Pitiful." As he spoke, clear black fluid dripped from between his lips and stained his chin. "Insignificant." His clothes were torn, exposing swathes of deathly pale skin and mishappen bones. "Ants."

"Good evening to you, too," Wilbur snarked, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you not understand what forces you are toiling with? What eyes you draw upon you?

"What do you want, William?" Winona snapped. She stepped forward until she was standing beside Tyler, who stood stock still with his sword still pointed towards the beast of Maxwell's avatar. To say the man appeared mutilated would be an understatement. His limbs had blackened and his fingers tapered into blade-like claws. His pupil was a mere pinprick in wild, bloodshot eyes in a face sunken with darkness.

"What do I want?" The man's voice seemed to bubble and gurgle in his throat. "I gave you everything you could want. I carved the perfect little cage for you. And you instead choose to incite the wrath." He drew himself up to his full height, taller than anyone in the group by several inches (and positively towering over Wilbur and Tyler). "Of the Great and Powerful Maxwell."

"We're beating your stupid game," Tyler growled.

"Yeah! Are you scared of your own rules now?" Wilbur taunted. "You can't back out now."

A flicker, and claws tore from the ground and snatched up both of the smaller individuals. Wilbur hung limply in the restraints aside from a furiously lashing tail, and Tyler actively growled and hissed at his. With his arms pinned to his sides, though, it was only a matter of seconds before his sword slipped from between his fingers and clanged uselessly on the ground beneath him. A splash of nightmare fuel followed in its wake. Winona shot forward, but without anything to defend herself (or her allies) she was pushed back with a wave of his hands. Wilson also had no weapon, but Maxwell didn't actively push him back. Instead, he held a simple hand out towards the man.

One of Wilson's hands shot up to his chest as his breaths caught in his throat. Even from Winona's prone position, she could see the agony scrawled across his face as he pressed his palm tightly against his ribs as if struggling to keep something in.

Or struggling to keep something out.

Maxwell's face split into an ugly snarl. "Little Scientist, what deals have you gotten yourself into?" He stalked closer to Wilson, fuel weaving around his feet and building into writhing tendrils. Winona dragged herself back to her feet. Now that Maxwell's focus was elsewhere, she sprinted towards the restrained Wilbur and Tyler

"Are you guys okay?" She whispered harshly as her hands hovered over them.

"I'm not the one I'm concerned about," Wilbur muttered, which at first was an obvious claim, but it wasn't until she realized it was Wilson that his concern was on that she realized the situation might be even more dangerous than she thought.

Even though Wilson seemed to be fighting back against whatever Maxwell was trying to accomplish with him, he stood unnervingly still, refusing to move away even though it would have been the reasonable reaction. Instead, he let Maxwell come right up to him without even trying to back up.

"It appears you have been dancing with the fates, Scientist."

Wilson just barely managed to look up before Maxwell was throwing the other man's arm to the side

Maxwell plunged his arm into the scientist's chest.

With that, a dozen things suddenly happened at once.

Wilson let out a loud, harsh gasp and his chest shuddered as if suppressing something. Drops of blood dripped from the point of entry.

Wilbur started to struggle violently against his binds, letting out some of the worst noises she had ever heard anything make as he fought to get free.

Tyler shrieked. His body ragdolled against the restraints, his eyes suddenly growing wide and distant.

Before Winona could even think to move, several of the tendrils that had formed from the fuel wrapped tightly around her wrists and ankles and dragged her back to the ground.

And Maxwell.

Maxwell screamed.

It was the taller man who ended up stumbling away, hunching over a hand that had been burned horrifically up to the wrist. Similarly, it left an awful, red-black burn directly in the center of Wilson's chest. He fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony as he helplessly covered the wound that had carved away at his skin.

Though, honestly, it appeared in that moment that Wilson was the lucky one.

For Maxwell, the burn seemed to go straight to the bone. For only a moment, the stench of burnt meat overpowered nightmare fuel. Winona didn't need any form of medical experience to see the way the skin of Maxwell's hand seemed to slough off of the bone.

The emotions that poured over Maxwell's face were a sight to behold. Agony, rage, shock, but it all settled into something so potent, so familiar, it could only be one thing.

Pure. Unbridled. Hatred.

"You useless creature," Maxwell hissed, still clutching at the wrist of his injured hand. "You absolutely, useless, wretched, ABOMINATION!"

He raised his uninjured hand, murderous intent clearly visible on every inch of Maxwell's face. Wilson remained still, too deep in the shock of his most recent injury to even notice the threat. The shadows wreathed around his arm and obediently formed a blade in his hand.

Winona shouted helplessly. She begged him to just look up. To just move. But it was as if he didn't even register that she was there.

The sword was brought down upon Wilson's head just a second after Tyler successfully slipped free of his binds.

…

Tyler's POV

The sound of metal on metal echoed into the starry night. Despite the shake of my weak hand, I managed to hold my sword strong against 'Maxwell''s, even though it caused a grunt of effort to escape my chest. With a low snarl, I managed to push him back into a stumble. The dark sword whipped back behind 'Maxwell', as he caught his balance once more.

I let him do so.

"Are you so much of a coward that you have to hide behind someone else's face?" I spit. "The play-acting is over, Nightmare. Come out and face me if you're so desperate for blood."

'Maxwell' narrowed his eyes, then let out a low chuckle. "You are keen, Young Heir." He waved a hand, but I was ready for the restraints this time. I cut them down before they could even make contact with my skin, and they fell limply to the ground with the hiss of boiling liquid.

It didn't stop them from wrapping around my friends, though. Winona and Wilson were both scooped up in the shadow's embrace, thicker than the ones they had used on me, and Wilbur's grew thicker to accommodate. Wilson still did not move, although it was clear he was still alive and conscious. The wound on his chest was ugly, but not very deep. Still, it had to be painful, if the faint cry he let out at the pressure against it meant anything.

This, I was fine with. I always intended on fighting Nightmare alone.

"If you are so desperate to fight, then let us make the field fair, hmm?" Nightmare's grin on Maxwell's face was unnatural and eldritch. The gray flames of the fire that had kept us from the darkness's reach until now began to fade until only a small circle remained.

I had an idea that this is how it would want to fight. It could control the whims of people it had its claws on, yes, but if I was to truly fight Nightmare, it would have to be in its own battlefield.

"Wait!"

The call came from Winona. My gaze shot towards her, widened in warning, but she didn't seem to care. She probably couldn't even see me anymore.

She struggled against the tendrils binding her arms to her sides, but it was clear that they were far from the biggest stressor of her's.

At the sound of crunching movement, I took a step back and pressed the flat end of my sword against my chest. Its glow wavered against the darkness that thrived all around me.

"Where is Charlie?" I growled. I knew it was what Winona wanted to know, even if she seemed to struggle against the words. She looked as though she could barely even breathe. "Is she here?"

"Charlotte is always here," Nightmare purred. "Would you like to see her?"

Movement towards my right. I twisted around to face it just as claws came threatening close to my face. In any normal circumstance, the proximity would have been enough to send me into a panic.

This time, though, I felt nothing but a cool calmness sweep over me. I bared my teeth, letting the sword's glow glint against too-sharp fangs. "Let us speak to her, then," I demanded. "I will not give you any fight without that."

"You behave as though you have a choice, Young Heir." The voice came from behind me, and I turned just in time to see a figure etched from the shadows. As cloaked in darkness as it was, it was only the faintest glint of blue light that highlighted some of its features.

I had never seen Charlie myself. The only things I knew about her were taken from the words of Winona and Wilbur.

This, though. It had to have been her.

There might have been a time you could describe the person in front of me as beautiful. Now, though, all I saw was a too-wide grin plastered on a face dripping with darkness. One time, this might have been Winona's sister.

But this. This was Nightmare.

I was facing away from my friends now, so I wasn't sure what they were seeing, but I did hear Winona's wet gasp. Wilbur shouted incoherently.

"Do you like what you see, Young Heir?"

I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat. "Let her go."

"Soon."

It immediately melted back into the shadows. My instincts screamed at me to scramble for the faint light still present from the dying flames, but I stood my ground. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I had experience with a lack of sight. This was no different.

My whiskers stretched to their full length as I took in the area around me. Listening. Waiting.

A twitch. Air from an attack stopped in its tracks by the sword deflecting claws. I found myself grinning at the low hiss that seemed to emanate from the shadows around me.

Just one hit. If I could just hit it once, I could end this. I was the only one who could.

(It was my duty to fix what I had broken, all those centuries ago.)

The next time I heard movement, I was the first to lash out. A growl rumbled in my chest as my blade moved through empty air, nearly taking me off of my feet with the force. Fur pricked on the back of my neck, dampened slightly with a thin layer of sweat. For a long moment, the only thing I could hear was my own heart pounding in my ears.

"You will tire of this dance eventually, Young Heir."

Shick- something that came so close to my face that it nearly took one of my whiskers with it. Movement from below, sliced apart with just a few more cuts. Despite the strength it contained, it was keeping its distance from me, instead using the shadows around us to do its bidding.

"Coward," I hissed beneath my breath.

The crunch of a footstep caught my attention. I twisted to face it just as air brushed against my side from another direction.

Then, pain, as something cold and sharp tore a line across my chest. A cry tore itself from my throat as I stumbled back, one hand clutching at the wound.

Nightmare's approach seemed to have slowed. Or perhaps I couldn't hear it over the sound of my panting breaths. Hot blood dripped from the slash, caking into uncomfortable clumps around my midsection. Still, though, it wasn't debilitating. Even though I couldn't hear it, I predicted its movements well enough to barely duck under another attack. I whipped my sword out, catching just the sight of blue light against its figure before it darted back into the darkness.

"Coward!" I repeated in a shout. "Don't wanna get any closer? Are you scared I might hit you?"

It gave no response. Perhaps it had already tired of the sharp wits of verbal battle.

The smirk that was growing on my face fell as something cold and viscus latched itself around my legs. Something that would have been a minor annoyance if it weren't for similar tendrils whipping through the air and pulling my arms away from my core with a violent pop of my shoulders.

My sword slipped from my fingers and clattered to the ground.

My limbs were roughly pulled at again until I was held in a starfish position, every inch of delicate stomach and neck flesh exposed. Still, though, I growled and hissed as two minds struggled helplessly to come up with a way out of Nightmare's grip.

The demon approached me slowly. At first, it was only the soft footfalls of a creature moving through the inch of sludge that covered the ground.

Then, a too-long set of claws settled against my chin and gently pulled my face upwards.

The shadows remained just as thick as before, but the longer it made contact with my skin, the more and more I could make out of what had become of Charlie.

Nightmare fuel seemed to leak out of every orifice on her face. It dripped down her cheeks like the tears of a grieving sister and stained her teeth with ink. Once upon a time, her hair might have resembled Winona's, but now, to even call it hair would be a stretch. It was darkness, pure and solid, wavering gently and resembling fire in every way sans color. Black markings marred her jawline, each one intricately carved from her skin and weeping the same black fluid as everywhere else.

It wasn't the mutations that caused my heart to stutter a cold fear in my chest, though. It was how human the creature still looked. Its eyes, though narrowed and slitted with red, were uncannily similar to Winona's. The face shape, too, was similar, and it was impossible not to notice the way that its twisted body still held onto its former shape. The soft collarbones and gentle curves.

There were other markings on its face, something that caught me off guard as I noticed them. Little white spots dotted around its eyes, lined with a sort of off-gray fuzz. The pattern was immediately familiar to me, though I couldn't tell why until it reached out a single claw and traced the scar down my face. It was a gentle, thoughtful movement. Something so impossibly tender that you couldn't even guess it was the one to give it to me.

(The spots mimicked Webber's eyes.)

I could feel it. The way my blood turned to icy slush. The weight that settled, fiery hot and icy cold at once, in my chest. My heart struggled to pump between the terrified, random fires of nerves desperately telling my body to run.

My cocky bravado slipped away with the tears that wetted my cheek.

One second, a warrior desperate to defend my friends.

The next, a tiny child suddenly hiccuping and whimpering on sobs that were unsuccessfully stifled before making themselves known.

The claw on my face moved slowly towards the other side, inching uncomfortably close to intact skin and stopping just millimeters before plunging directly into my only good eye.

"All these years," Nightmare hummed gently. The claw twitched but did not break skin. My stomach lurched. I had to clamp my mouth shut around the sickness. "All these years, and still, you so closely resemble them."

"I'm not their Sibling!" I snapped. The words were raw and harsh, and spoken before I had the chance to comprehend their meaning. I twisted in my binds, but they remained fast. In fact, the ones around my wrists grew tighter. Dark tendrils wrapped around the scarred flesh on my lame hand. Their intentions remained docile, but I could almost sense the hunger piercing through them. Whatever it was, it wanted nothing more than to pierce the skin.

"It was never the Sibling's blood that I tasted."

The binds grew tighter still. My hands and feet were beginning to go numb.

The demon's eyes glittered with ravenousness.

"Once, you were mine," it whispered. "I consumed the heart that beat in your chest. The thoughts that rose in your mind. You were mine. And nobody else's."

I couldn't stop the violent tremors that had taken my muscles. Flashes of memories, locked behind years of nonexistence, pierced my brain. They were only impressions, nothing more, but that didn't stop the pain that seemed to tear my body to shreds.

"And yet…" It continued, with a musing hum. "Never could I quite break through the light in your soul. As consumed by darkness as you are now…" The claw on my face moved to rest against my chest instead. My lungs seized entirely. "Perhaps you will finally allow me a taste~"

I couldn't see what happened after that. As suddenly as it had crowded into my space, Nightmare drew back. It looked… perplexed.

Then suddenly, I was able to move my hands again. The bindings fell away as if they had been slashed, and although my legs remained stuck, I was suddenly much less helpless than I was a moment ago.

Something. Someone. Touched my shoulder. A firm grip, cold to the touch. And a voice whispered something in my ear.

"GO."

The next few seconds would soon disappear from my memory. But in the moment, they were clear as day. Nightmare seemed to recover from its confusion just as I twisted to recover my weapon.

Its glittering eyes flooded with rage, and all pretenses of gentleness vanished.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Blood rose in my throat and pooled around my feet.

Claws tore through chitin and flesh and muscle. Shredded all in its path. Deeper, deeper. Razor sharp.

It's a funny thing.

To be wounded.

In such a way that your body immediately shuts down.

Shredded nerves cease to properly transmit their signals.

Your body recognizes it's in pain, but somehow, the message is lost somewhere along the way. It makes the motions. Your hands still try to cover the wound. The cry still erupts from your throat.

Your body knows it.

Yet your mind.

Just.

Chooses to ignore it.

Ringing ears.

But no pain.

Blissfully painless.

Blissfully blank.

Yet. Yet.

I still had the strength.

And the mental ability.

To look down.

And see something.

Spilling from my stomach.

Yet I could only recognize what had happened.

Because I had seen it before.

In animals I had butchered.

And I was able to see my hand.

Wrapped tightly around the hilt of a sword.

And the blade of that sword.

Plunging just as deep into my opponent's stomach.

But before it could even fall.

I simply.

Turned to my friends.

(My friends, my family, my home.)

And say softly.

(Could they hear me? Would they hear those words?)

"I'm hurt."

(Blissful.)

(Blank.)

(Empty.)