Like sticking one's finger in moist cement, The guard's spear was wrenched deep inside Freddy's stomach. Luigi imagined that, along with the smell radiating in waves, and the warmth, it was like sticking one's finger in cement. Wet Play-Doh.

Nancy retched. He bunkered down, just about keeping in his lunch.

At first Freddy appeared, more than anything, shocked by the guard's gesture. Only after he began to grope the air did the hurt come, the realisation, and from the depths of his ruptured stomach he roared in monstrous pain. The sound bounced across the walls. Luigi wasn't sure he could ever forget it.

The guard, as tall as two Shy Guys stacked on top, looked back at Luigi and communicated in his own way exactly what needed to be done.

He stood well back, Nancy following suit. One tug pulled it slightly but did not do the job. Another yank wrenched the spear from its position.

With the guard's removal of his spear also came the gutting. They were splayed out on the floor; Freddy's intestines, his bowels, the things that formed the biological essence of normal men.

Now Luigi was the one retching. Nancy lurched, chest heaving, a hand over her mouth.

Wart looked up from the floor and muttered something but Luigi did not focus on this, Wart's voice white noise against his gurgling insides.

Freddy's insides, out of his body, resembled a line of pork sausages. Chains of raw meat covered in spit and blood-red grease.

"I'm gonna be," Nancy dry-heaved, "sick."

And yet she never looked away. Not for one second; glued to the scene, like a mosquito to an open wound.

Freddy's eyes went wide to an almost comical degree. He placed his hands over where his stomach had been, only to find them going through hollow space.

Freddy locked gazes with Nancy. A violent electricity crackled between the two.

"I'm gonna make sure you rest in hell, Krueger," she said, hand at her side.

"Not if I drag you down first."

Nancy's hatred for Freddy, Luigi had come to learn, extended far beyond Subcon. A history linked, a course of life irreversibly changed. But it was clear what this, stopping him, meant to her now. It was not an act of purging evil from the world. It was not her being courageous, saving the day.

Vengeance. Vengeance was what it was, plain and simple.

Already dead, Freddy had enough resilience to keep standing. He was a tower on his feet, but the foundation was rocky, and Luigi just about perceived his swaying from left to right.

He had no organs, and soon the souls would leave him too. He would be down for the count.

.

Any minute now.

Any

Minute

Now…

The suspense filling Luigi swelled, choking him from within. Nancy stood beside him. The guard appeared on his left, and his nostrils flared up from the blood and bodily fluids gathered on the tip of the spear.

A purring chuckle came from the base of Freddy's throat, the organs still on the ground, untouched. Luigi knew then that he'd played them. Strung them along in his sick game. For him there never was any worry, any doubt.

Wart pulled along on the strength of one arm. He appeared to be lifting himself, or trying to, but never went any further than getting his knees off the ground before buckling to his own weight and collapsing inwards.

Freddy's sweater began to repair. Inch by inch the fabric stitched itself together, an invisible needle threading the garment back to life. The definition of his stomach gradually filled out, restoring the crater of a hole the guard had carved out.

Wart continued his attempts, with the only differences being that his teeth were gritted and drops of sweat slid from his brow.

Then there was no stomach to fill. Freddy was back, the monster reborn, his returning to form exuded in the grin that crossed his face. And the first action he took upon healing was to waggle a razor-armed finger as if to suggest the folly of their hope. The folly of Luigi, Nancy, the guard, and Wart thinking he could die, would ever stay dead.

"It's like you said, Nancy.

Wart, with a stagger and the grunt of a man who was far less mobile than he would have liked to be, rose to full height.

"I always come back!" Freddy continued, and in the next interval willed his arm to stretch across the room. It grew longer, thinner as it continued to elongate, until it found purchase in its target.

The guard's arms fell to the side. His hold on the spear slipped, and then the hold was non-existent. The clatter as it hit the ground deafened Luigi, though in reality it was not nearly so loud.

Impaled on the glove, claws finding purchase in his stomach. His breath was heaving, still there, as if his body had not realised what was so obvious to everyone else. Freddy's blackened gums sneered as the guard took desperate huffs of air, moaning some curse in his native language.

From the floor, as the world spiralled away, swallowed up by death and darkness, Wart cried out something in a language Luigi understood. It had been the guard's name, that much he pieced together, but the detail was lost to time, and a man having to deal with the fact he'd seen someone die.

In the corner of his eye was Nancy. Shivering, frozen, hands covered in the same clamminess slowly appearing on her face.

The guard, god bless him that nameless guard, still had not died. For all the blood pooling at his feet, both down Freddy's burrowed glove and down his open mouth from the underside of his mask, the privilege of a fast exit was denied to him.

His final moments were so excruciating he was moaning and coughing his lungs up to the very last breath.

Freddy rooted in the bag of the guard's stomach, twisting, turning, creating more lacerations even with all fight sapped from his victim. Morose as the act was, it had a purpose; he pulled out and with him took the guard's heart, still the organ still pounding along. The glove reeked of the stench of hot guts and copper nickels. Chunks of it rose up and rocketed through his system but Luigi only had to place a hand across his mouth to stop the urge. He did not question why, preferring to accept this miracle as it came.

The lumbering guard's head fell slack.

Luigi wanted to shout. He would've been happy to be able to stutter, but he found his mouth had gone dry and his nostrils were burning like wildfire.

"We're just dropping," Nancy murmured, "dropping like flies."

Ya could've done somethin', Luigi. This is on you.

Freddy pulled the glove back all the way and, the guard slamming the ground as a husk of heavy flesh, set his sights on him and Nancy.

"What's the matter?" He taunted, revelling in the power he had, watching the two of them huddle together, shoulder to shoulder. "No sympathy for the dead? Have a heart."

And he laughed, laughed as if he wanted everyone on earth to know his madman's joy, If they did not already know. If it did turn out Luigi and Nancy failed in stopping him, then it would serve as a warning of the inevitable.

Nancy's head was buried between her shoulders, the corners and ducts of her eyes damp. He wished he could offer solace, and the hand hovered above her shoulder, but the words were not there. He lacked any kind of witty repartee. That was Mario's thing. He could not defuse grief in the most trying of times, cut it in half with the metaphorical sword of compassion. The Princess? She could do that. She could do it effortlessly.

But Luigi was neither of those people, and such a feat also required him to be better put together than Nancy. He himself was only just about keeping it under control, keeping his eyes off the dead body that was beginning to make itself intimately familiar with his nose. The limp hand slipped away from Nancy's shoulder, clamping over his mouth as he once again retched.

Freddy stopped his laugh at an abrupt cutoff point rather than allowing it to fade out. So far, he'd accomplished all he set out to do. He had the bloody glove, the greedy twinkle in his eye with a craving for more victims.

How would he – how would they – stop him?

You definitely won't , the defeatist inside Luigi said. Maybe she will, an' maybe Wart will, but not you. That's for sure.

Then again, no man could account for every outlier or possibility Not even Freddy Krueger as he stalked forward, a black silhouette draped over the wall behind him.

Wart followed with Freddy none the wiser. Every step was cloaked in shadow, subtlety Luigi never expected to find in Wart. But now, he thought, maybe it wasn't so impossible.

Freddy had closed in enough for Luigi to taste the foulness of his breath; see his reflection in the metal blades along with Nancy's. They looked ten years older and their faces were soaked.

While Freddy prepared to chop them into bits, Wart thrust his palms out and formed a triangle. The pendant crackled, flickering from gleaming red to black until it decided on the former. A neon glow enveloped him in that moment as if Wart himself were a ball of pure, magical energy. He was huffing every third breath, he had a bruise underneath his right eye cutting through the skin, he had scratches all across his thighs, but those injuries were inconsequential because he had a clear shot.

It was a straight line from him to Freddy's back, and though Wart had slinked close he'd left enough space to not be knocked back by the force of his own attack.

Freddy spun around. Wart let loose with a burst of power more than double his size. It shot across the room, an arcane sniper bullet, and the terror evident in Wart's eyes suggested even he hadn't anticipated so large an expulsion.

Wart's newfound luster came about because of the blast and left with it; the smoke hadn't cleared before he found relief and hunched over. The blast's own lustre and overwhelming brightness caused Nancy to squeeze her eyes shut, before Luigi tried to avert his gaze, did so too late, and settled for temporary blindness.

Freddy did not look away. He did nothing, not lifting a single finger, as he waited for the blast to engulf him.

By the time Luigi's field of vision was cleared of its most prevalent white flashes, there was no blast. There had been no smoke to clear, or else he would've smelled sulphur in addition to the rotting flesh.

Freddy stood victorious. And there was zero chance of a follow-up from Wart, because the pendant had since stopped glowing red and stayed black.

Freddy, no more bruised or charred than before, coyly waggled a clawed finger.

" Uh-uh-uh. Won't work a second time."

Wart stumbled and almost tripped over himself as he backed away. Luigi knew how futile the gesture was, but he understood it.

Nancy called Wart's name out; it was unfortunately timed with the wall bursting open behind him, chunks of brick flying everywhere. From the newly formed hole emerged a throne, rolling along on non-existent wheels.

The same throne from the room they were captured in. Freddy had made some of his own alterations, however, and bald heads with gaping mouths jutted out from the chair's back.

Luigi hoped that these heads were not the trapped souls of victims, willing himself to be so blind.

Wart straightened himself, made the same hand motion again, only for him to fire the magical equivalent of a blank. This being his apparent last resort, the throne had no problem gaining on him and tilted to scoop him up and forcing him to be seated.

Bands shot out from compartments inside the throne's arms. They set his legs into place, parallel with each other, wrapped around his wrists, and another more tensile band secured his neck.

Luigi sensed his eyes welling as he turned to Nancy, pressure building underneath the surface.

"We-we've gotta do somethin'! Anythin' other than stand around and wait!"

Nancy's eyes were dark under her hair, a stark contrast to their usual bright blue, as she looked down.

"We did everything we could." That was all Nancy said, in a whisper.

"I'm telling you now so it won't hurt as much."

"But we never…we were just gettin' to be friends…"

Wart's strained vocal chords, the band around his neck squeezed tight, attempted to produce Luigi's name. Nothing other than gurgles and airless syllables came out. Luigi had to steady himself and placed a hand on the wall so that his legs did not buckle and give way.

If one more person died today on his conscience then…

Growling laughter from Freddy jolted him out of the moment, a hand on his hip as he leaned against the side of the throne. The pose spoke more to imagery of Madonna and MTV flamboyance than the executioner Nancy thought he would turn out to be.

But you're wrong, Nancy. You might know better than me ninety-nine percent o' the time but you're wrong on this. You're gonna be okay, Wart. Gonna be okay…

Once it was clear he had everyone's attention, the three still living anyway, he pulled a turnip out from his back.

If it was possible for a person's eyes to squirm that was exactly what Wart did once Freddy pulled the strange-looking vegetable from nowhere. Not any old turnip: this one, Subcon's regional variant, had a face. Black buttons or eyes, a smiling mouth.

"You've been ignoring your veggies, Wart," Freddy said, his tone a gleeful rasp. "Why don't we fix that?"

Wart's mouth quivered and for all the strain it did to his vocal chords, the veins along his neck visibly pumping as they jutted out, he forced out the words:

"I'm- I'm nnnnot sure what you mea-"

One of Freddy's hands stretched his jaw. The other crammed the turnip down the hatch, down his gaping maw. No time to chew or actually digest the food; only to swallow with a large gulp.

Luigi stood with his hands balled into fists. He kept on telling himself that he would step in and carry his anger to Freddy, and it would work, unlike back in the cave. But only when he absolutely had to. When Wart was on the cusp of life or-

Nancy retched something fierce. The liquid trickling down her hand suggested she vomited a little but swallowed the rest, a wincing lump going down her throat.

Wart gasped for air and managed to steady his breathing. A small victory, immediately crushed the moment Freddy produced another turnip. This turnip, however, he had to clutch by the stem, for it was monstrously large, a mutated parody of a vegetable.

"How's THIS for a jawbreaker?"

Again Freddy made him suffer, gagging and groaning as his mouth and throat were both strained to their limits, and Luigi thought very well some part of himself would break if Wart survived the ordeal.

It was like a car crash, or a burning building, where one's eyes wanted to avert and look away, but fear and morbid curiosity did not allow him the privilege.

"Stop!" Luigi cried, knowing it would be in vain, "Stop it!"

The giant turnip travelled down Wart's throat as the giant vegetable's protruding shape travelled downwards before settling in his stomach, one following the others. God, that made it more unsettling; the fact it made an active effort to stick out, was clearly visible.

There was no longer any pomp or arrogance from Wart. His eyes ragged red, he fought against the bands holding him in place, twisting, turning, his efforts futile, the restraints unyielding.

Somehow, Freddy retrieved another giant turnip. The corners of Wart's eyes were beginning to tear up. Nancy's face scrunched up with such fury that Luigi thought she would, despite her word, make it felt through violence.

Yeah, 'cause she's got the courage. You've been soooo brave, just standin' around and doin' squat.

Nothing and stillness were the polar opposite descriptors for what Nancy did next. Launching herself into movement, racing over to Wart and his executioner in a burst of energy.

She managed a few steps before Freddy found a way to restrict her. Orange pincers shot up through the ground, latching hold of both her ankles. Grunting, Nancy tried to pull herself forward and out of their grasp. Her efforts yielded about as much result as Wart's did. None.

Luigi recognised the pincers and the creatures they were attached to. Baby Clawgrips, dwarfed by their adult counterparts in size but equal in the strength department where it counted.

"Don't even think about it," Freddy said, aiming a claw in Luigi's direction.

Nancy's failure had been in running, keeping on ground level with the Clawgrips. Luigi had a different idea. Pushing upwards, packing his legs with all the energy he could, he jumped. He got as far as crouching and making the motions before two Clawgrips grabbed him the same way.

"Told you so." He tutted mockingly, wiggling a finger.

Freddy continued, uninterrupted, to stuff Wart's face with both regular-sized and monstrous turnips. Except there was a difference now. They were making their presence known, the giant turnips, Wart's stomach slowly expanding. More than anything else, more than an inflated balloon, it resembled a well-filled trash bag as it slid across the floor and away from him.

Nancy, grunting to the point of having her teeth grinding together, continued to try to lose the Clawgrips. Still to no avail.

Luigi's own stomach twisted in pretzel-like knots. He rose a leg as if stepping forward and got as far as getting his foot off the ground.

Away from him Wart's stomach trailed, sliding down the chair, a lumpy mass that hung between his legs. Luigi could make out the individual stems of the radishes, their heads, poking the surface from within his stomach. He whimpered, but his cry for help only gave the monster further pleasure, Freddy grinning from melted ear to melted ear as another radish was stuffed down the hatch.

He could make a difference, and so he could try. Must , if there was any chance of averting Wart's fate.

All his life Luigi had waited for people to co-sign decisions for him, to confirm if he was on the right path. Before it was Mamma and his Padre, and then after leaving the nest, his brother. There was no co-signing or waiting on approval for this.

Wart's every breath was a wheeze for air. His stomach had taken on a life of its own, far, far larger than any stomach should be. Waves and rolls of white, severely bloated fat that rested most of its heft on the ground.

Luigi, summoning every ounce of strength not yet lost to him through heatstroke or lack of a power-up, tried again to push forward, free himself from the leash of the two Clawgrips. Veins and tendons underneath the skin stood out like jumper cables, his face bright red. His eyes felt as if they would start burning at any second. He kept on going, desperately lurching. The baby Clawgrips tightened their grasp and squeezed hard enough to likely draw blood.

The floor had begun to buckle, cracks forming, and still they gripped harder, and now Luigi was certain that he was being stabbed. Sharp pain lanced through him, icy-hot, but he bit it down and the next lunge forward was the one that set him free. He jerked the Clawgrips away, leaving them to grasp at the air. The only part of him they managed to hold onto were shreds of the denim fabric covering his legs, exposing the puncture wounds where they grabbed him. He ran to Nancy and, while trying his best not to wrench them from their sockets, pulled her arms until she no longer had the two anchors to tie her down.

She gave a short shriek. Bite marks indicated the pincers cutting deep, her ankle bleeding through her khaki cargo pants.

Freddy watched contently, making no attempt to interfere, feeding no more turnips.

"C'mon, get him outta there," Luigi huffed, the words sounding like one conglomerate rather than a coherent sentence.

The sight of what Wart had become, with his overgrown, bowling ball-like stomach, did not hinder his speed any; if anything it made him move faster, the urgency of the situation rearing its ugly head. Wart's face remained untouched. But he was unrecognisable from below. He had gained several extra chins. His legs had disappeared beneath the mass of belly fat. Even his eyes were swollen, hidden away far back in the recesses of his skull.

He looked straight at Wart, nodded, and set to work on the dark band pressed between the new folds of his neck. Nancy had begun freeing one of his wrists.

Nancy freed the band around his right wrist and was halfway to loosening the one on the left when she stopped.

"Why'd you stop?" Luigi looked at her, terrified, angry, eyes slick with wetness.

He only had to read Nancy's face for a second to know. She swallowed, a choking tightness of her throat, but there was no need for her to speak.

No. He shook his head in denial, going from Nancy to Wart. No, it can't be, c'mon, not now!

A stream of tears rolled down the side of Wart's cheek. Luigi looked into his eyes and, though they had not quite bowled over yet, they had a glazed, almost milky quality to them.

What remained of Wart's voice was him choking as foam frothed up, spilling out the sides of his mouth. He might have gargled Luigi's name. But he did, badly trembling, take his hand.

Luigi, refusing to break, forcing himself into numbness, returned the gesture.

The foul stench coming from the guard, like the most putrid toilet smell turned up to eleven, became too much for Nancy. She puked, spilling her life all over the stone floor.