Part 3: The King's Gambit

The Prison was a quiet place to be. Held in a state of silence so absolute that the only sounds to be heard was the ringing of ones ears as they strained. Occasionally, chatter would bubble up amongst the prisoners, but the longer any given Survivor stayed, the more quiet they became. Eventually, they too would fall completely silent. Nothing happened in the Prison. Once someone realized that, and realized they were doomed to be here for the rest of eternity, they became somber and morose. Some went mad. Some became violent. Some still pleaded for help, for release, for the pains of their everlasting wounds to stop.

So when something did happen in the Prison, no matter how minor, every single one of them made sure to catch every single detail. The speaking would start up again, with a couple inhabitants being mildly interested in the journey of their living counterparts. Many could care less. They knew, perhaps more than anyone else, that if even something major happened, it would never affect them, as timeless as these cages were. But a rare few held out hope for release. Hope for a better future. They had all heard Charlie's whispers.

If anything broke the monotony, it would be the Nightmare Servant. She tended to the prisoners to the best of her ability, each time with something soft and sad in her shadowed eyes. She would reach her hands out to the Survivors who pleaded for mercy, allowing them to clutch onto her just to feel something alive. The Survivors no longer felt real hunger or cold, but Charlie would still bring food to the ever-starving ones who perished to hunger, and meager warmth to those who froze in winter. She did what she could because it was never enough.

They would not become violent to her. She came to the Prison when she needed to think. The prisoners let her think. They cast their eyes away and listened to her rambling softly to herself. Through her words, even the uninterested ones soon learned everything that happened on the Mainland.

Then, there was the Other One, the makeshift nickname given to the nameless prisoner who did not have the same chains as them. They could never quite catch his name, only hearing 'The Martyr' passed around a couple of times, but even then, that was simply a title.

It had started the first time he had come here at Charlie's side. He had a wound- a gaping one, a fatal one, just like many of them. He hadn't said a word to her or the prisoners, instead watching them wearily as if he expected them to launch themselves at him. He was scared of them. But, many had come to the conclusion that it wasn't themselves he was afraid of, but rather becoming them.

When they had left, one of the Survivors had blurted out: "Who was the other one?" and the name simply stuck.

Suddenly, they had two visitors now. Charlie, with her cool, caring hands and pitiful looks, and the Other One, often silent, sometimes speaking lowly to himself. The very night before, he had returned with a companion, one that he had called 'Wilbur'.

Another Survivor. Another one of them. They listened, not out of interest, but because they had nothing else to do. They heard their words because there was nothing else to hear. Their conversation had been quick and to the point, with the duo leaving very soon after, but it had not gone unnoticed.

Immediately after their departure, the talking started again. Questions, comments, angry snaps. It didn't stop until one Survivor told them to shut up, voice raising into an angry shout that was simply unfamiliar coming from him. They all hushed with baited breath, waiting for more.

It was Warly who had spoken. He was situated towards the back, hand absently pressed against a wound across his throat that no longer bled. He gave no further information, no context, and no comments. It clicked in their minds, some faster than others, that this must have been the one to kill Warly. He had never stopped talking about his death until several months after he arrived. By extension, then, Warly's companions, Walani and Woodlegs, must have also recognized Wilbur.

Before prisoners could verbally put pieces together, someone entered the prison.

At first, they relaxed, recognizing the shape of their long-time friend, Charlie. However, a moment later, the light shifted, revealing red and black markings, and silent fire burning in its eyes. The reaction was instant, with the still sane ones jumping back in terror and the mad ones lurching forward to fight it.

It paced silently into the prison. Its footsteps made not a single sound as it moved, almost seeming to hover a few centimeters off of the ground. Then, when it spoke in a familiar garbled voice, the Survivors instinctively snapped into attention.

"Who. Was. Here?"

Its voice was calm and sharp at once. Stoic and collected, but radiating menace and fury with every syllable. The residents were silent, with more than one shuffling as far away from the furious creature as possible.

Its face curled into an unpleasant smile. It gazed around, inching towards one of the cages and reaching a hand through to caress the face of the prisoner inside. Wilba tried to bare her teeth at it, but fur noticeably sprouted up at Nightmare's touch, betraying her terror.

"I'm asking nicely. I would really rather not have to ask again."

"It was just the robot!"

Nightmare swung around and moved so fast it was merely a blur to their eyes. It grabbed onto the cage containing Wendy. The girl was more than used to interacting with the supernatural, but Nightmare was more than that. Even she was noticeably shaken under the direct attention of the most terrifying creature in the Constant.

"The robot?" Nightmare mused. "Why, that doesn't sound right. I know he was not alone. Do you really want to risk lying to me?"

"Not lying!" Wormwood spoke up. The creature was shaking so hard it was a wonder it got the words out, and it went completely numb as Nightmare's gaze swung to meet it.

Nightmare growled. It was fully aware that they were all lying to it.

"You know... you may be dead, but that does not mean you are immune to pain. It simply means I can do whatever I want to you without the risk of killing you again." Its grin grew as it neared another cage, trailing one claw across the bars. "Strongman, I'm sure you could take a couple of hits for your little... 'secret', right?"

"I not know!" Wolfgang blurted, visibly flinching as Nightmare spoke. "Little monkey man?"

"Wilbur."

The voice came from the back. Nightmare suddenly stopped taunting Wolfgang, and wreathed its way towards the new voice. "Warly, how nice of you to speak up," it purred. The chef managed a look of defiance before it quickly melted into the same terror everyone else felt. "But you have to speak a little clearer. Do you want me to believe that that useless monkey was here?"

"Ask your shadows. I'm sure they saw him." Warly frowned, not meeting Nightmare's gaze.

Nightmare was quiet for a moment, reaching out mentally to prod at Warly's psyche. To test that truth.

"What do you have to say?" It turned to Walani, who had remained silent up until now. She had her mouth tightly closed, flicking from Warly to Nightmare and back. "Was it him?"

"Y-You know, it's been so long since I last saw the guy, I can't be expected to remember what he looked like-" She started babbling, but Nightmare grabbed the bars and shook the cage furiously, immediately putting an end to her attempted monologue. She gulped hard, planing her hands against the bottom of the cage and staring at Nightmare with wide eyes. "Okay, okay! Yeah, it was Wilbur. But they barely talked about anything!"

"Then what did they talk about, if it was so 'unimportant'?" Nightmare growled, pressing further against the cage until Walani had no choice but to stare at it.

"Um... the weather?"

"Leave them alone, Nightmare!"

The terrified Survivors snapped back into awareness as Charlie's voice cut through the prison. She moved quickly, eyes narrowed into angry slits. "What are you doing in here? This is not your place!" Nightmare growled as it released Walani's cage to face the furious woman.

"Chasing a lead, Charlotte. Something that I knew for certain you wouldn't do. And it involves your little 'pet'."

Charlie, for her part, looked genuinely confused. Even then, though, she still froze up as Nightmare approached her.

"Where is he right now, Charlotte?" It whispered.

"Why does it matter, Nightmare? This has nothing to do with you."

"On the contrary, I believe it has everything to do with me. Especially, since it appears you have allowed him to dream-step. Not once, but twice."

Charlie drew back, sucking in air harshly from between her teeth. "No? Survivors can't dream-step. You know that as well as I do."

"Then why is it that I've been informed that he was in here not too long ago... with one of the living Survivors?"

"Because everyone in here has been isolated for years and is going insane? How do you expect me to know?"

"Because I know full well that you are behind it. To allow sensitive information to possibly be passed onto the Mainland is treason of the highest order."

"Then it's a good thing I've never told him any sensitive information, hmm?" She tapped her chin, staring down Nightmare with as much bravery as one could muster when faced with the demon. "Oh wait, it's you and Maxwell that have had loose lips around him, isn't it?"

Nightmare swelled in anger for just a moment, before deflating into a sort of calm indifference. "You have been a traitor for many years, Charlotte. We are all aware. To allow a Survivor to dream-step? You should be sent to death for this."

"But I won't be," Charlie concluded. "Because without me, you will die. It's a lot harder to accidentally mix blood than you think it would be, isn't it?"

Nightmare twisted in anger. "Nonetheless. I see a great opportunity coming up soon. One that you should not concern yourself with. Just know that your position is weak here. Your fiance's regime will collapse because of you."

"It's about time somebody did it, then."

She barely had the time to react before a swell of pure darkness warped the air and struck her in the chest. Charlie stumbled back, wheezing hard, as Nightmare lowered its hand. "You were a good host for so long," it lamented, eyes glittering with cruelty. "Count your minutes, Charlotte. Very soon, your life will mean nothing to me. The second I am done using you and The Martyr, you shall both perish by my hand. Until then," it clenched a fist, and shadows gathered around the young woman's mouth. She let out a muffled cry, but fell silent the second she realized it had gagged her. "We just have to take a couple of extra precautions to make sure nothing else unsavory is shared with your little pet."

"He found it himself," Warly said softly. "She had no part of this." The chef's eyes were dark with concern for the woman who had shown them all such care. If defending her meant throwing the Other One under the bus, then so be it. "He told Wilbur where Maxwell's Door was. He said he found it himself. Let her go."

Surprisingly, Nightmare did exactly as Warly demanded, releasing the shadows clutched around Charlie's face to glare down at the perished human. "The Door?"

Charlie felt her heart skip a beat at the pure joy in Nightmare's voice.

"This might end up in our favor then. Charlotte, you will go to Darkness and remain there for as long as necessary. You shall not leave until a new host is infected or you perish, do you understand?" Without waiting for a response, it waved the woman away, and she vanished at Nightmare's beckon. "Thank you, Culinarian, for speaking the truth of this matter. Now... I know where to start."

"Start... what?" Walani asked cautiously.

Nightmare glided towards the door, but paused at the woman's question. It turned its head, raising one claw and placing it to its mouth in a hushing gesture. A grin stretched across its face as it purred: "It's a secret."

And then, it was gone, leaving nothing behind but cold air and residual terror. The Survivors said nothing to each other, fully aware that there was nothing to be said. They had no part in this. No stakes in the matter. And yet, knowing that Nightmare had something in store still chilled the sane prisoners. They looked to their departed companions in fear, some hoping to draw strength from the ones they had perished alongside and others simply acting in curiosity. Walani glared at Warly and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the last of their group.

"Leave 'er be," Woodlegs said. "The beastie woulda' figured it out." The man closed his eyes, tapping one wooden leg against the bottom of the cage and scratching loudly at his bearded chin.

"It would've hurt someone," Warly told her hotly. "I wouldn't risk hurting someone here more than we already are just to defend Wilbur."

"It's not just Wilbur that's at risk, though," Walani argued. "By ratting both him and the Other One out, you've put all of them in grave danger."

Warly sighed, turning his head away and pressing his cheek against the bars. "What Woodlegs said. It would've found out eventually. Besides, why do you care about the fate of the living ones? It's not like it's going to affect us at all."

"What happens to the Young Heir affects all of us," Wendy spoke up, her voice soft yet emotionless as she picked at her fingernails. She was stripped of the flower she once had, and unfortunately, her picking had been transferred from the soft petals to her cuticles. "In case you forgot that there is a chance they could overthrow Maxwell."

"Which would affect us," Walani agreed.

"Then I'll worry about that when it happens." Warly closed his eyes, fully ending the conversation at that.

Walani stared at the entrance to the Prison, so close yet so far away. Nightmare's rage wouldn't just affect the last living group; it also deeply affected Charlie, who had shown them nothing but kindness. A frown creased her brow as worry crept into her chest.

Nightmare was bound to Charlie, who was now semi-banished to 'Darkness'... whatever that was. She couldn't even begin to guess. If Nightmare was now patrolling such a place, though, it had to have a reason.

Once unconcerned for the plight of the living Survivors, for the first time, Walani felt scared on their behalf.

And she wasn't alone. No, many of them knew what this meant for their counterparts. Some grew fearful, some only chuckling wryly, and some were surprised by the hope they felt. If just one group could thwart Nightmare multiple times already and survive for as long as they have, maybe that meant that change truly was coming.

Maybe freedom was actually in their grasp.