The winds carrying Morro and Silbón began to shift erratically as Morro stirred, his peaceful slumber disrupted by a sudden jolt of panic. His eyes snapped open, wide and frantic, the celestial hues of his core wings flickering slightly as his heart raced. For a fleeting moment, he had no idea where he was, the dream of celestial wonders dissolving into the harsh reality of Mysterium's misty expanse.
"What in the—what's happening?!" Morro exclaimed, his voice breaking the quiet as he instinctively flailed his arms. His wings faltered, the graceful currents that had held them aloft growing wild and unstable. Silbón's skeletal form shifted uneasily beside him, his ghostly hands reaching out as he muttered, "Calma. Tranquilo. Lo tienes—"
But it was too late. Morro's panic overwhelmed his control of the winds, and with a sudden drop, the duo plummeted through the mist, the stars above disappearing in a blur. The earth rushed toward them, the mists twisting around jagged shadows as they tumbled downward. Morro's voice rang out in disjointed shouts—"Wait, wait! I've got this—no, I don't—just hold on!"
They crashed into something tangled and unyielding—a nest of Strangle Vines, their thick, rope-like tendrils snapping and coiling around them in an instant. The vines shifted with unnatural life, tightening their grip as if sensing new prey. Morro groaned, his wings flickering faintly as the pearly strands of periwinkle disappeared, his emerald-green and sage-green tones dulled by the vines' suffocating embrace.
"Ugh, great," Morro muttered, squirming against the vines as they coiled tighter around his limbs. "What is this? A welcome mat from the cursed plant kingdom?"
Silbón, though mostly unharmed by the crash, struggled against the spectral touch of the vines that seemed to sense even his ghostly presence. "Strangle Vines," he muttered softly, his dark eyes narrowing. "They... do not let go easily."
"Fantastic," Morro grumbled, his arms pinned as he attempted to summon his Wind Powers. The currents flickered weakly, the vines' tightening grip sapping his focus. "Of course I wake up just in time to crash into nature's worst trap."
The vines creaked ominously, their tendrils shifting as though preparing to strike further. Silbón glanced at Morro, his translucent form flickering faintly as he whispered, "You can... control the wind. Do it."
"Yeah, working on it, spooky!" Morro snapped, his voice strained as he fought against the vines. "Maybe you could try the whole ghostly escape thing? I could use the help!"
The duo continued to squirm as the Strangle Vines pressed tighter, their eerie movements cutting off any chance of comfort or ease. But somewhere in the mist, a faint rustling echoed—a reminder that they weren't the only creatures lurking in the realm of Mysterium.
Within moments, the Strangle Vines tightened mercilessly around Morro's body, their rough, sinewy tendrils coiling tighter with every panicked thrash. His arms were pinned to his sides, his chest constricted as the vines pressed against his ribs, making it harder and harder to breathe. One particularly thick vine curled around his neck, its grip unrelenting as it seemed to mock his every desperate gasp for air.
"Get off me!" Morro choked out, his voice strained and frantic as he writhed in their grip. The more he struggled, the tighter the vines squeezed, their eerie creaking filling the air like the groan of ancient wood. His Wind Powers flickered weakly, unable to break through the suffocating embrace of the cursed plants.
Silbón, meanwhile, had gone completely still, his translucent form slumped against the vines that had ensnared him. His faint, ghostly glow dimmed as he remained unconscious, leaving Morro to face the nightmare alone.
Morro's panic only grew as he felt the vines slithering lower, their tendrils curling around his legs and binding them together. He kicked wildly, his boots scraping against the rough surface of the vines, but it was no use. The cursed plants seemed almost alive, their movements deliberate and unyielding. With a sickening tug, the vines began pulling at his boots, their grip relentless as they yanked them free.
"Hey! No! Not the boots!" Morro shouted, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and desperation. "Those were—ugh—expensive!" But the vines didn't care. They tossed the boots aside like discarded scraps, leaving his feet exposed to the cold, damp air.
Before he could even process the indignity of losing his boots, the vines coiled around his bare feet, their tendrils wrapping tightly around his toes. Morro squirmed and kicked, but the vines only tightened further, cocooning his feet completely as if ensuring he couldn't move an inch. The sensation was suffocating, the pressure unbearable, and Morro's panic reached a fever pitch.
"Let me go!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he thrashed against the unyielding grip of the vines. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as the cursed plants continued their relentless assault. For the first time in a long while, Morro felt truly helpless, trapped in the clutches of something he couldn't outwit or overpower.
The Strangle Vines coiled further, their tendrils curling inexorably upward until they reached Morro's head. His muffled protests grew more frantic as they wrapped tightly around his face, their rough textures pressing against his jaw, cheeks, and forehead. Yet, oddly enough, they left his nose conspicuously untouched—free and unobstructed. The realization struck him with a mix of dread and confusion.
"Wait… what?" he mumbled against the vines, his voice barely audible as the restricted movements of his mouth made it difficult to form words. Why his nose? Why not smother him completely? The question gnawed at him for only a second before the answer came, carried on the faintest whiff of an unfamiliar, sweetly cloying scent.
The sap hit his senses like a gentle wave, subtle at first but rapidly growing more pervasive. The aroma was soothing, almost alluring, its sweet undertone mingling with earthy notes that clung stubbornly to the back of his mind. Morro shook his head as much as the vines would allow, trying to resist the pull of the strange fragrance. "No... no, no," he muttered, his voice slurring slightly. "You're not... putting me to sleep... I'm not..."
But even as he fought, he could feel the effects creeping in, soft and insidious. His eyelids grew heavier, the frantic energy that had fueled his earlier struggles seeping away like water slipping through his fingers. His body sagged against the vines, his limbs slackening as his protests melted into half-hearted murmurs.
The vine around his neck, which had earlier constricted him, loosened its grip. It shifted subtly, pressing against certain points—pressure points designed not to strangle but to relax. It was unnerving how calculated the movements felt, as though the vines knew exactly how to soothe his frayed nerves and hasten his descent into sleep. The pressure was firm yet oddly comforting, like a hand gently coaxing him toward rest.
Morro's thoughts slowed, muddled and hazy as the sap took hold of him. The tension in his body eased against his will, and his breathing steadied, each exhale slower and deeper than the last. The panic that had gripped him moments ago began to ebb, replaced by a strange lethargy that he couldn't shake off.
"No... I... I won't..." he mumbled one last time, his voice barely audible now. But the vines didn't seem to care for his protests. They held him securely, their strange, rhythmic creaking blending with the mist's quiet hum as his struggles finally ceased. His head drooped slightly, the faint glow of his core wings flickering and dimming as sleep claimed him, slow and unrelenting.
The mist thickened around the cocooned figure, the Strangle Vines' victory complete. Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Morro's last coherent thought was frustration—frustration at the absurdity of being defeated by plants, of all things. Then, even that thought drifted away, swallowed by the relentless pull of sleep.
As Morro drifted deeper into the forced slumber brought on by the Strangle Vines' sap, his subconscious churned with fleeting thoughts and muted sensations. Even in the haze of sleep, he could feel the constriction of the vines against his body—their unyielding grip, their presence heavy and purposeful. Yet there was no malice in their hold. They weren't choking him or crushing him, though the earlier panic had made it seem that way. They were simply... holding him down.
The question lingered in the back of his mind, an echo of his waking thoughts. Why? The vines weren't killing him, nor were they harming him outright. They were restraining him, cocooning him with deliberate precision as though keeping him contained for a specific purpose. Even his feet, wrapped so securely, felt less suffocated than immobilized.
In his dreamlike state, images swirled around him—the celestial wonders he had glimpsed earlier now dimmed, replaced by vague impressions of the Strangle Vines themselves. They moved like shadows, their tendrils shifting with eerie intelligence. Morro's hazy thoughts grappled with possibilities, even as sleep pulled him deeper into its grasp. Were the vines protecting something? Or was it him they were protecting—keeping him trapped to prevent him from disturbing whatever lay within Mysterium's mysteries?
The faintest tug of curiosity rippled through him, overshadowing his frustration and fear. The vines' purpose felt ancient, deliberate—as if they were not mere plants but guardians of something unseen, something that even Mysterium's chaotic winds could not touch. It was unsettling, but it was also strangely calming, as though the sap that made him sleep carried not just relaxation but the faint hint of reassurance.
Morro's dreams darkened slightly, his consciousness barely able to hold onto the question before it slipped away into the currents of his slumber. Why? The word echoed faintly one last time, disappearing like the last flicker of light into the mist.
As Morro hovered in the strange dreamlike haze brought on by the vines' sap, a peculiar sensation began to spread through his body. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible—like a faint tug in the deepest parts of him. But as the moments stretched on, the sensation grew stronger, more deliberate. It wasn't painful, nor was it aggressive. Instead, it felt… cleansing, as though something deeply rooted within him was being gently unraveled.
Though his consciousness remained subdued, Morro's mind flickered with faint awareness of what was happening. The vines, so tight and unyielding just moments ago, had softened slightly. They pulsed faintly with energy, their coiling tendrils moving with a strange rhythm, as if they were breathing with purpose. Morro's body, once heavy and suffocating under their grasp, now felt lighter—strangely weightless.
Through the fog of his mind, memories of the hag and the Hollow Joy Lichen surfaced, dark and tainted. He remembered the toxic power that had seeped into him during that encounter—the shadowed energy that had clung to his very core, filling him with a lingering unease. He hadn't fully realized the extent of the damage, but now, as the vines worked their strange magic, he felt those remnants being drawn out, one thread at a time.
The poisoned energy seemed to coil upward, siphoned from him into the vines. It wasn't a violent extraction; rather, it felt purposeful, careful, as though the vines knew exactly how much to take and no more. They drained only what was corrupted, what was poisoned, leaving behind nothing but a sense of purity and renewal. In place of the darkness, something new flowed through Morro's veins—a calm, steady energy that felt clear and untainted, like a fresh breeze cutting through a stagnant fog.
Even in his sluggish, sap-induced state, Morro marveled at the sensation. The vines weren't merely restraining him; they were healing him, purging the remnants of the poison that had lingered unseen. It was a strange and unsettling realization—he had been so focused on the vines as a threat that he hadn't considered they might serve a different purpose.
The rhythmic pulse of the vines slowed as they completed their task, their grip steady but no longer suffocating. Morro's limbs felt lighter, his breathing easier, as though he had been freed from chains he hadn't even realized he was carrying. His dreams flickered faintly with images of windswept plains and open skies, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly... whole.
Moments later, Morro's eyes fluttered open, hazy with lingering drowsiness and the weight of the vines still holding him in place. His vision blurred for a moment before focusing on a shadowy figure approaching the nest. A dark creature—gnarled and hunched—crept closer, its wide, hungry eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. It was a goblin, its ragged breaths wheezing as it clambered over the nest's edge, its claws flexing in anticipation.
Morro groaned softly, his limbs sluggish and unmoving, still cocooned by the vines. His grogginess blurred the situation for a split second before his attention was drawn to something unnervingly specific. The goblin wasn't staring at his trapped body or even his restrained wings—it was fixated entirely on his nose. Its long, crooked tongue flicked out across cracked lips as it crawled closer, its gaze locked on its odd target. "Oh, no," Morro muttered weakly, his voice a whisper. "Not my nose... Anything but my nose."
The goblin lunged forward, its claws reaching out with unsettling precision. But before it could get any closer, the vines around Morro reacted violently. With a swift, almost predatory motion, several of the tendrils sprouted thorns—long, gleaming, and retractable. They lashed out in unison, wrapping around the goblin's limbs and yanking it down into the nest.
The goblin shrieked in shock and fury, thrashing as the vines tightened their grip. Morro, still groggy but now very awake, turned his head slightly to watch the horrific scene unfold. The vines moved with eerie deliberation, coiling around the goblin's small, writhing body like the legs of a patient predator. The thorns retracted momentarily, only for the tendrils to constrict further, ensuring there was no escape.
And then, the feeding began.
Morro's stomach twisted as he imagined it—the vines draining the goblin's core with the efficiency of a spider consuming a trapped fly. The goblin's squirming grew weaker, its cries fainter, until there was nothing left but silence and a husk-like shell. The vines released the drained body, letting it fall limply to the floor of the nest, where it lay unmoving.
"Ew," Morro muttered weakly, scrunching his face in disgust. "I didn't need to see that." His eyes drifted shut again, though not from exhaustion this time. If anything, he was trying to avoid looking at the remains—or thinking too hard about how close he'd come to being the goblin's next meal.
The vines, as if satisfied with their feast, returned to their previous state, their thorns retracting fully. They resumed their gentle but firm grip on Morro, pulsing faintly as though to reassure him they were no threat—so long as he stayed still.
"Great," Morro mumbled under his breath. "Saved by plants that eat goblins. That's a new low, even for me." Despite his sarcastic tone, a faint wave of relief washed over him. For now, at least, he was safe.
As Morro lay there in the grip of the Strangle Vines, his thoughts began to spiral—half-dazed, half-alert, and still recovering from the vivid horror of seeing the goblin drained like a juice box. But the one thought that seized hold of his mind, shaking him to his core, was the sheer terror of what almost happened. His nose. The goblin had been after his nose.
His face scrunched involuntarily at the thought, a shudder running through him despite the vines' firm grip. "What kind of twisted monster even does that?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Why the nose? Why not…I don't know, my shoes or something? Oh, wait." His gaze flicked briefly down to his now-bare feet cocooned by the vines, and he groaned. "Never mind. Forget I said that."
The image of the goblin lunging at him, its clawed hands reaching out, its crooked teeth gleaming as if ready to chomp—right on his nose—was burned into his mind. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling lingered, a deep unease curling in his chest. "That thing could've bitten my nose clean off," he whispered to himself, his tone a mix of disbelief and revulsion. "Do you know how long it would've taken to grow back? Assuming it even could…"
Despite the humor laced in his inner monologue, the truth was, the fear had been real. The idea of being disfigured, of losing even a small part of himself to something so grotesque, left a bad taste in his mouth—and it wasn't just the lingering sap. As chaotic and daring as he was, Morro didn't enjoy being reminded of his mortality in such absurd, horrifying ways.
"Great," he mumbled under his breath. "From now on, I'm adding 'protect my nose' to the long list of things I didn't know I had to worry about." His voice softened as his body sagged back into the vines' grip, the earlier tension fading into exhausted resignation. The vines, as if sensing his acceptance, pulsed faintly, their hold steady but oddly soothing.
Still, Morro couldn't quite shake the thought. His fingers twitched faintly against the vines as he muttered, "Not my proudest moment, being afraid of a goblin bite. But hey, at least it didn't happen. Small victories."
As Morro hung suspended in the cocoon of vines, his exhausted musings drifting into the air, the vines pulsed faintly—almost as though they were responding to his thoughts. It wasn't a dramatic motion, but it was deliberate, their tendrils shifting gently in what felt like agreement. Morro stared at the vine-covered expanse in front of him, his tired brain trying to process the possibility.
"Oh, great," he muttered sluggishly. "Now the murderous plant wants to bond with me. This is just getting weirder by the minute." Despite his sarcasm, there was an odd sense of reassurance in their motions, as though the vines were almost saying, Yes, we saved your nose. You're welcome.
Their pulse softened again, the faint rhythm calming, and Morro blinked slowly, watching the strange movements. It was as if the vines weren't just acting instinctively—they were communicating, subtly but purposefully. The sensation of agreement was hard to ignore, their grip less constrictive than before, almost thoughtful in its hold. Perhaps, Morro considered briefly, they weren't just mindless predators after all.
"Well, uh, thanks, I guess," he muttered, his words slurring slightly as the lingering effects of the sap kept him teetering on the edge of sleep. "For the goblin thing. And, you know, not murdering me." The vines creaked faintly, almost like a groan or a laugh, before resuming their stillness. Morro's lips twitched in what might've been a smile—or might've just been delirium. Either way, he let his eyes drift shut again, the strangest sense of peace settling over him.
If nothing else, Morro thought hazily as sleep finally reclaimed him, at least his nose was safe… for now.
Morro's dreams took on an absurd tone as his mind pieced together fragments of the goblin encounter, his near-miss with losing his nose, and the vines' strange behavior. He found himself standing in a peculiar landscape—a sprawling field of oversized noses that stretched endlessly beneath a twilight sky. The noses swayed lightly in an unseen breeze, their movements bizarre yet oddly hypnotic. Morro stared, torn between laughing and cringing at the absurdity of it all. "Really? A whole field of noses? Sure, why not," he muttered to himself, kicking idly at the ground.
From behind one particularly large nose, the goblin suddenly emerged, its crooked teeth gleaming as it lunged forward. "Your nose!" the goblin screeched, its voice sharp and comically exaggerated. "I want your NOSE!" Morro yelped, bolting away from the creature and darting between the swaying noses. His bare feet slapped against the dream-dirt as he shouted, "Not happening! My nose stays on my face—thank you very much!"
The goblin gave chase, its twisted body bounding awkwardly over the wiggling noses, clawed hands stretching toward its odd target. But before it could close the distance, the vines sprang up from the ground, moving with predatory precision. They lashed out in a coordinated strike, their movements swift and terrifying as they wrapped around the goblin's limbs. It screeched, twisting and flailing, but the vines were relentless.
Morro skidded to a halt, staring wide-eyed as the goblin was pulled down into the nest of vines. The cursed plants shifted eerily, their tendrils moving with unnatural purpose. Morro had seen creatures in nature take down prey before, but this—this was something else. The vines pulsed as they began to drain the goblin's core, its struggles growing weaker by the moment.
"Ugh, gross," Morro muttered under his breath, cringing as he turned away. The image was still vivid in his mind: the vines, consuming the goblin with the efficiency of something deeply unnatural. He wrinkled his nose and muttered, "Why does everything in this place have to be so freakishly… weird?"
The vines, as though acknowledging his complaints, shifted slightly, their movements almost smug. Morro rolled his eyes, kicking at a nearby patch of dream-soil. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the save, plant-life. But maybe ease up on the creepy factor next time?"
Despite his sarcasm, there was an odd comfort in knowing the vines were formidable enough to protect him—even if their methods made his skin crawl. He let out a weary sigh, glancing at the now-quiet field of noses before muttering, "Well, at least my nose survived this round. Small victories."
As the dream shifted again, Morro found himself gliding atop a massive vine that swirled like a serpent through the field, carrying him above the wiggling noses. The wind rushed past him as he laughed, exhilarated by the absurdity. The goblin reappeared far behind him, shaking its fist, but Morro simply grinned. "Better luck next time!" he shouted as he soared away, his nose intact and his spirits strangely high.
Then Morro's dream spiraled into even greater absurdity as he found himself imagining the goblin lunging for his nose once again. This time, though, something felt different. Instead of the usual tug of terror, his nose began to stretch... and stretch... and stretch. It grew longer, thinner, shiny—like one of those twisting balloons entertainers used to make animals or hats for children.
The goblin clamped onto it, its claws sinking into the balloon-like surface, and then—SQUEAK! The sound was comically loud, echoing through the dreamscape like an exaggerated squeal of rubber. The goblin froze, its eyes wide with sudden terror. Another SQUEAK! followed as the nose wobbled under its grasp.
"No... no, not this!" the goblin shrieked, its voice trembling as it stumbled backward. Its claws released the squeaky, elongated nose as it scrambled to its feet, its terror mounting. "Clown! Clown! CLOWN!" it screamed, its panicked voice carrying across the field of wiggling noses as it bolted away at full speed.
Morro doubled over, clutching his sides as laughter burst from him, echoing loud and free. His entire body shook as tears pricked his eyes, the scene so ridiculous that he couldn't control himself. "Goblins... afraid of clowns?" he wheezed between gasps. "I can't—ha! That's too good."
As the echoes of his laughter filled the dreamscape, the elongated balloon-nose snapped back to its normal size with another loud SQUEAK! Morro wiped his eyes, still giggling as he stood amidst the now-calm field of noses, shaking his head in disbelief at his own imagination.
Even in the surreal world of dreams, the unexpected was always ready to catch him off guard. "Guess that's one way to keep my nose safe," he muttered, a grin still plastered across his face.
As Morro drifted further into his ridiculous dreamscape, his laughter softening to occasional chuckles, an unbidden memory began to surface—one tied to the chaos that used to reside in his shared mindspace with Lloyd. Amid all the intense struggles for control, there was one tactic Lloyd had employed that, to Morro's chagrin, worked far too well: planting absolutely ludicrous notions, images, and scenarios to throw him off his game.
The memory bubbled up vividly. Lloyd would conjure the most absurd mental pictures: a tea party where the Overlord served delicate cups of chamomile to his army of Skulkins, or Wu trying to meditate while perched precariously on a massive stack of pancakes. There was even that one time Lloyd filled the shared mindspace with giant singing frogs doing a synchronized dance to an imaginary tune. Morro had been so bewildered by the frogs that he'd lost focus for hours.
And now, in his goofy dream of wiggling noses and squeaky goblins, Morro couldn't help but make the connection. The sheer ridiculousness of his current imaginings felt strikingly similar to Lloyd's interference. He laughed under his breath as the thought struck him—Lloyd would have loved this goblin-nose-balloon scenario. Maybe the kid had rubbed off on him more than he realized.
Even in his dream, Morro could picture Lloyd's smug expression, his green eyes alight with mischief as he grinned and said, "What? You can't handle a little creativity in our shared space?" It annoyed him even now—but there was no denying how effective Lloyd's strategy had been. Morro had underestimated the power of humor, absurdity, and chaos as tools for resistance.
Shaking his head in the dreamscape, Morro smirked. "Guess I should've thanked you, huh, green bean? Too bad you'll never hear it." But deep down, he realized that those absurd memories—though maddening at the time—were a reminder of the strength Lloyd had found in his own way, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.
Morro's smirk softened into a thoughtful expression as he surfed the massive vine through the surreal field of noses. His laughter lingered, but now it was accompanied by a faint sense of admiration for the kid who'd fought back with creativity, humor, and a whole lot of ridiculousness.