Chapter Text
The Ghostwalker sat alone, waiting patiently for its next worthy wielder in the dark, cramped chamber.
It glared at Player from afar, beckoning them to come closer, to claim their life. Whispers of empty promises and insults were uttered:
Wielder, come closer.
So that I may cleanse you of your sins.
Wouldn't you like your burdens lifted?
Life is so tiring.
You are nothing.
A husk carrying those swords on your back.
Worthless without me.
Let's change that.
An invisible force drew them closer. Despite their denial, they couldn't avoid it any longer; the Ghostwalker was alluring, offering them their deepest desires that only the likes of Kyoko was aware of. An escape - a lifting of their duties in exchange for their life. They knew that laying a finger on the sword meant certain death, but it was...strange. They welcomed it, wondering what it would be like to be free - no burdens, thoughts, or desires - only peace and quiet.
Even then, Player felt invincible. They believed that somehow they were indeed worthy.
Mist swirled around and blanketed the Ghostwalker and Player in a close embrace. The mist was placid and still, smelling faintly of rain and...
Cinnamon?
Funny how it reminded them of the smell of childhood. Waking up on a wet Saturday morning to be met with cinnamon toast and a glass of milk sitting on the table, cut into smaller triangle-shaped pieces so their little hands could hold it easier. Mama, standing at the sink washing dishes, greeting them with a drawled out, "Morning, sleepyhead." Their favorite blanket they carried in one hand would drag along the floor as they pulled the chair out and sat down to eat their breakfast. Then Daddy would come around the corner, grab a piece of toast and his coffee and be off to work. Daddy would always ruffle their hair on his way out the door, making them annoyed. Then Mama would come take their dishes when they were done, and ask, "Did you get enough?" And they would only nod sleepily, content to go outside later that day and play with the other kids in the rain.
It was a time they desperately wished they could return to. And they knew the Ghostwalker was praying on their happy memories for that reason; it was toying with them, trying to get them to give up their life for it. The life they've fought to live through and earn so hard already...gone.
But just this once, Player gave into the voice and graced the tip of their finger along the sword, believing they could survive.
The sword laughed as they fell back, stunned and breathless. They went cold, feeling a deep surge of pain envelop their body.
The last thing they heard at the edge of their conciousness were faint and lifeless words of encouragement.
Good luck...
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...Bright...
So bright.
So comfy, too.
Yet I'm cold.
They opened their strained eyes and found themself at home in their bed. And to the side was...someone they couldn't quite make out at first in the haziness of just waking up.
Blinking a few times, Player soon realized that the one standing beside them was actually the Builderman...somehow.
"...Am I dreaming?"
He looked concerned, like he had been trying to get through to them for a while already. "No, Player. Are you alright?" He stopped.
"...I'm sorry, I really should introduce myself - I'm David Baszucki, better known as Builderman." He looked much different from the last time Player had seen him - he was younger and his apparel was much simpler in typical 2010's fashion. Though, it didn't take a genius to recognize that the creator of Roblox was standing right in front of them.
Builderman went on to explain that the both of them were trapped within the Ghostwalker, which meant that Player would need to purify their soul in order to be deemed fit to wield it and escape. They weren't quite sure what exactly that entailed, but if what he said was true then it was their only option.
"How will we do that?"
He hummed, and calmly asked, "Well, what troubles you? What clouds your mind and soul?"
It was eerie. Builderman's demeanor was almost too friendly and cheery for a time like this. Perhaps it was to make sure they didn't panic or get too stressed out? He spoke of imagination and dreams and safety, but it all seemed jargon and saccharine to them.
Since Player didn't respond, Builderman simply let it go, instead beckoning them towards the door.
"...Come.Take a walk with me, and we'll discover yourself together."
A large hand drifted over to the doorknob and turned it, revealing a glimpse of the dark outside world. A cool breeze gently passed through, and Builderman's shirt wavered slightly.
This all felt weird, their gut told them.
They couldn't take their eyes off the man, reminding them of how Shedletsky had been acting lately. At first, they thought it was just Shedletsky being himself or his injuries causing it, but now they wondered if there was some sort of correlation between the two admins and their suspicious behavior.
Maybe it's just all in their head.
"Okay. I'm right behind you. Just give me a second to get my bearings."
Builderman smiled warmly. "Take your time, I'll follow your lead. After all, safety is our number one priority." He simply stood in front of the doorway and watched while he waited for them.
Yellow gangly arms and fingers, needy and wanting. Tix spread all across the voided floor, a mere illusion - all meaningless.
Large blue eyes, empty and lonely. Nothing existed in the void for them to absorb - only sadness.
Purple cedar trees, obscuring and blanketing the world in darkness and mystery. The signs, begging, pleading - all in vain.
Greed, Solitude, and Fear were all purged one by one by Player's hand. Builderman was right there, every step of the way, helping them. He talked them through each emotion, leading them with his guiding words of encouragement. And now, with Fear eliminated, the only thing standing in their way was escape.
But something still ate at Player.
It was dark, overpowering, and weighed on them like a truck. It was within the deepest reaches of their soul, only ever showing itself in times of privacy or vulnerability. They couldn't quite pinpoint what it was - since arriving in their mind palace, their sense of self had been getting hazy and dulled - and they fell to their knees in overwhelming weakness.
Builderman hovered over them, expressing confusion but remained ever encouraging. "What's wrong? Why can't you get up? You're almost there!"
Something in his voice set the alarm bells in Player's head off. But they were so overcome with this new heavy emotion that all they could do was listen as he continued.
"Your soul has been cleansed! It's completely clear! Open..!
Weak!
Corruptable.
Defenseless.
Exposed.
Susceptible.
Vulnerable.
It's. Finally. All. MINE!"
Builderman's voice morphed into something abbhorently not human. It was filled with malice and hate, spewing forth from his mouth like a floodgate. Then, his form began to change along with his voice.
He collapsed into himself, then dissolved into a red dripping liquid. The liquid materialized into sinewy bits of bloody flesh in the shape of a crude heart, oozing disgusting innards and veins. The veins blackened, hardening into cracks, and then the heart shattered.
Player sat dumbstruck, feeling betrayed and powerless to stop it. Fear told them that they had tried to keep them safe from it, but they didn't listen. They said that it was manipulating them, that they were only trying to save them.
Fear was right.
And Player dug their own grave by letting it take over.
Their mind was so easily corruptable and gullible. How fitting, then, that their own Hatred was the only thing now standing between life and death.
It's all my fault. My horrible emotions took over, and...
They stood under a tree beside a swing they didn't deserve to swing on.
They're mine. This is who I am when no one is looking.
I don't deserve life if this is who I am.
They wept silently.
Then, a thought occured to them suddenly. A memory.
Then fire engulfed their soul, simmering with passion and determination. Tears continued to stream down their face, but no longer of anger.
...No. That is what it wants me to think.
I...do deserve life. The people that love me have gone through so much, and would be devastated if I lost myself in my emotions.
That...
The tears finally settled as they wiped them away with newfound hope.
That's enough for me to keep going. Just a little longer, at least.
So Player stood up and walked.
And they kept walking. Past the lost souls that envied them, past the crooked trees that whispered about life and death, past the bloody veins that pulsed in sync with their heartbeat. They passed the things their mind put there to doubt themself, to stop them from coming after it. Because deep down, they were aware that they couldn't dwell on their emotions. Things would come and go in life, but hiding from the bad things would only prevent the good things from coming, too.
That meant that they would face whatever lie ahead, and no matter what, they couldn't give up hope.
Because there were people out there that would grieve for them otherwise.
So here they now stood, staring at the embodiment of their Hatred, with no terror, regret, or want - only indifference.
It stared right back at them in all its ugly lonesome. The Devil, a corrupted form of its cousin, the Angel; the Angel representing satisfaction and justice, and the former a mirror but for the witness of horrible things.
Everyone has their own Angel and Devil on their shoulder, but Player understood now the importance of not letting one overtake the other.
It hurtled toxic insults one after another, tried bogging down their self-esteem to weaken them. It tried killing them with manifestations of pain and suffering. It tried to corrupt them so desperately so that it would have the opportunity to take over their soul completely, rendering them a slave to horrendous loathing and desires of "righteousness."
But Player still had their mind intact, meaning that it was all a bluff. They still had a sliver of hope remaining, one final sense of real goodness in their heart that Hatred could not extinguish. And it was in part due to the fact that they had eliminated the emotions that had helped cultivate Hatred in the first place.
Greed, for it created desires that ignored the well-being of others.
Solitude, for it created feelings of blame for their predicament.
Fear, for it created the illusion of self-preservation that caused them to shy away from confronting the bad things.
Hatred was the reason for its own demise. But it all stemmed from Player and their experiences - without the life they fought to live already, they might've given in. But they didn't. And that was all that mattered in this last fight against themself.
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It was half past four when Player awoke from their dream to the sound of someone calling their name. It was faint and they barely registered it at first, but when they did they recogized that it was the wizard and Terry's voices. They were far away, given the echo and volume.
Player opened their eyes, despite the difficulty. That was when they felt that something was...off.
They were floating.
..?! What the heck!!
They stumbled back in the air clumsily, flailing their arms around cartoonishly. Not only were they floating, they were also weightless. It made their stomach do a flip - or, at least, where their stomach should've been. Looking down at themself, they had the horrible realization.
Floating, being weightless, translucent body - it all pointed in one direction.
They were dead. The Ghostwalker had killed them before they were considered worthy enough to wield it.
"Player! Where are you?!" That was Terry! He was looking for them but couldn't see them because they were dead!
Ohh my god!! What am I gonna do?! I- I worked so hard for...for this...
Player's train of thought was halted when Kitchen Wizard stuck their head down into the chamber and locked eyes with them. Internally, they knew they were shocked, but their face must've displayed it well, too. The wizard stared long and hard before they sighed and face-palmed.
"Terry...I found them down here. You need to get down here quick, there's an issue." They were more annoyed than terrified, surprising Player.
The two of them sat in a tense silence until Player felt the need to say something.
"I...uh. I'm kinda shocked right now - I just woke up, and-"
My, my, Wielder...
The voice from the sword returned, interrupting them. Player jerked their head back to the lonely pedestal behind them.
You proved yourself worthy after all.
You have my utmost respect.
Few mortals have ever escaped my trials.
The wizard seemed confused as to why they had stopped in the middle of their sentence abruptly. "Woke up, and then what?"
Shyly and quietly, Player turned back to the wizard and asked, "Can you hear it? The sword..?"
Wizard cautiously shook their head. "No. Do you? ...Wait, you touched it, didn't you?!" They turned huffy at the realization. Player shushed them so they could listen.
Though, I will say, you did not escape unscathed.
Your form is different now, but do not fret.
It is not permanent.
Their eyes widened. What? I'm not dead, then?
No, not fully.
In order to reverse it, you must claim me first.
You've more than earned it.
Player warily eyed the hilt. How can I trust you?
The sword seemed amused.
Why, you are a ghost!
It would not make sense if you could not use me.
Besides, wielder...you passed my test.
You purified your soul.
You may claim me.
"What is it saying?" Wizard whispered.
Without another word, Player drifted towards the sword and reached for the hilt. This time, they could grip it without any issue. Then, they easily unsheathed it from its pedestal like butter, eliciting a wondrous sense of accomplishment inside them.
In a moment, Player felt their weight return to them, along with the oppressiveness of gravity. Though, the Ghostwalker helped ground themself better. They also noticed how clear everything became again - they hadn't realized just how dulled their senses were until just then.
"All right, all right. What is it? You said you found-" Terry paused as he laid his eyes on the scene before him. Jerry quickly fell down the ladder and followed suit, though in a less graceful manner.
Everyone was stunned into silence as Player - somehow someone of pure soul, no impurities clouding their heart and judgement - was able to take up the Ghostwalker. Kitchen Wizard had seen the whole thing play out, and was even more dumbstruck than the other two.
See, my friend?
You are safe.
You may call upon my power at any time.
Until then, I shall finally rest...
It has been a long time since I've been awakened.
Farewell, Player.
Wait! I need to ask you a question...
They sighed as the sword disappeared into light and faded from existence. Similar to the other swords, they assumed they could call forth the Ghostwalker and use its abilities whenever they desired. Though, this was the first time a sword had reached out to them directly. Player had so many unanswered questions, namely what had happened to them while they were unconcious and fighting their inner demons. That, and what the "power" it had spoken of really entailed. If it was what they guessed, it meant that they could be revived if they died? But otherwise, they weren't quite sure.
They regretfully turned around, and were met with Terry right up in their face, causing them to flinch a little.
"Ahem. DUDE! What happened while we were gone?! And how did you-"
Wizard shoved him away from Player's startled face. "What this tiny, angry blue thing means to ask is if you're feeling alright. No...adverse effects, correct?"
Player shook their head. "No. I feel...pretty good, actually. And I, uh...didn't need your help pulling the sword after all." They sheepishly scratched at the back of their neck. Wizard looked like they were still recovering from the bombshell of information dropped on them, while Terry and Jerry were more concerned looking for where the Ghostwalker went.
"Guys, the sword is with me. This happened with the other two as well." They lightly chuckled at the penguins' confusion - Jerry was inspecting the empty pedestal while Terry was busy stewing with his flippers crossed and unibrow creased. Why he was annoyed, they couldn't be bothered to figure out. However, it was funny to look at.
Terry clicked his tongue. "Always beating me to the cool stuff, bruh. You could've at least TOLD me you could pull it no problem without the chef. Then I could've given it a shot myself."
"Perhaps not the best idea, penguin," Wizard butted in. "Player is, um...let's just say, a special case. I had no idea that you..." They trailed off, taking in Player's form.
They shook away their thoughts. "Ah. No matter. You two - I need to have a private conversation with them. Can you oblige us that?"
Terry scoffed. "Tch. Whatever. Shedletsky said he wanted us back at H.Q. anyway. Let's go, Jerry." He waddled past the wizard and made his way up the ladder, leaving his brother behind.
"Wait, Terry! Don't leave me alone!" He shouted back. "Um...I don't really know what's happening with you guys, but I hope you'll be okay, Player! Good luck with your new sword or whatever!" With that last interaction, it only left Player and Kitchen Wizard alone in a deafening slience.
Wizard was the first to speak this time. "How were you able to...touch the sword and come back to life? I've heard horror stories from the other residents that mortals will die if they come into contact with it. But..." The wizard's eye twinkled. "You aren't any average person, are you?"
Player glanced down at their feet, unsure how much they should say. It was strange, though - they weren't nervous or anything, just felt...hollow. Like the experience in their mindscape had carved out all of the nerves they had been conditioned to feel in this situation.
"No. I guess you could say I'm not."
Wizard carefully continued to prod. "You purified your soul, didn't you? After you touched the sword." Player nodded.
The wizard hesitated for a moment. "I...I have no words. ...I believe you're the most strong-willed person I've ever met. And I don't say that lightly." They paused again to look them up and down.
"You're...gutsy. And I admire that about you." The wizard smiled at them for the first time that they could recall. "If I can ever be of future assistance on your journey...please stop by the manor again. I'll be happy to cook something up for you. The other residents will miss you too, I'm sure."
Player felt themself smile in return. "I will. Thanks for all your help, Wizard. Without the potion you gave me, I wouldn't be here right now."
"Heh! Thank you. It really wasn't much on my part."
There was an awkward beat of silence between the two again.
"...Well, for now I really must return to my kitchen. It's unprofessional to leave my post for so long." Wizard had started to turn back up toward the entrance, but then Player suddenly remembered something important.
"Wait! Before you go, I need to ask you something." Wizard paused and hummed in response.
"...I saw Builderman. Do you know if he's around here somewhere?"
Wizard's eyes lit up in panic. "You saw...what? I'm sorry, but...you must be mistaken. You mentioned you were out cold. Are you sure you're feeling alright still?"
Weird. I didn't think Builderman would be such a strange subject.
"...Nevermind, forget I said anything. I was dreaming earlier, that was probably it." They waved their hand nonchalantly.
Wizard shook off the look on their face and smiled. "Well then, good luck out there, Hero. I'll be counting on you."
Kitchen Wizard floated up towards the ceiling and phased straight through it, leaving Player truly alone this time.
Promptly after that, they attempted to call the Ghostwalker and use its ability just to see what would happen. In a flash of light, they felt a sense of weightlessness wash over them.
Woah. Does that mean..?
They looked down at themself, seeing that they were floating and translucent like before.
Can I just...die whenever I want or something?
The familiar voice of the sword returned, though fainter this time.
Yes, wielder.
It is a power that my creator holds as well.
Use it wisely, for it is not something everyone should know about.
Keep this to yourself.
Player looked down at their see-through hands, unsure to what lengths their new power could extend to. If it meant it could come in handy, then they would be willing to live with it, so long as there were no tricks that the sword had been withholding from them.
...All right then, Ghostwalker. But how come you're talking to me again, I thought you were resting?
I was, before you summoned me again.
The voice gained more of a snarky undertone. That wasn't their intention, to annoy them. Player was simply curious.
Ah, I am sorry.
I understand you were curious; it is in your kind's nature.
Please promise me this, however...
That you will use me for good.
The other swords you carry have turned sour over the many years we've been separated.
Have they ever spoken to you, wielder?
Player was surprised by the Ghostwalker's sympathy. From what they knew of the other swords, they had corrupted the users greatly. Though, they weren't necessarily inclined to believe that this one would be any different, so they opted to play things as safely as possible.
No. I know they had spoken to others, though. At first, I thought you had tried to corrupt me like the other swords had with their wielders.
The sword quietly scoffed.
I do not wish to corrupt you.
I sense you are strong-willed enough, hence my test.
Therefore, we would be unable to control you regardless.
Since that's the case, I implore you to take a better path than the one we would have led you down.
You have seen our abilities.
If we truly wished to control you, you would have ended up a slave to our influence already.
Swords tend to favor wielders that are strong-willed, but when one is chosen by force...
There are usually consequences.
Both Player and the Ghostwalker were quiet for a minute.
Will I ever hear from you again?
The sword hesitated.
...No.
I have been asleep for many years, untouched.
Unless I deem it necessary, my conciousness will remain in a slumber.
It is quiet now, and I quite like it.
I hope that, when you die...
You may get to join me in this peaceful void.
And with that, the voice ceased.
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