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L’mantree burns like L’manberg falls -- from the inside out, it’s desolation seen miles away. Niki lets the flames lick her face and does not waver, head held defiantly high and salute on her brow. She is silent fury, waiting waters, a discarded girl from a country that never loved her back. One tear rolls down her cheek against the sweat and grime and as it hits the ground she utters her final send-off,
“It was never meant to be.”
Bombs blast in the distance with devastated cries as their backing track. She spares no sympathy for the abandoners of every promise made to her, turning her back against the chaos and marching forward. What naïve children they are, to think they could be the heroes in this story. If that makes Niki the villain, then so be it. She will not be written out, left to be forgotten in the dust, a small candle to a raging fire. She won’t be their passive, docile girl to be easily ignored and used. Her rage will topple mountains and drain oceans, end legacies, and ruin histories. Satan himself will drag her to hell and she will be memorized as an angel fallen from grace.
Fundy speaks of vengeance and abandonment and she holds back pointed remarks behind clenched teeth with averted eyes as she agrees. How humorous that the man who scorched her flag with manic glee in his eyes can speak of loyalty when he had ignored her screams for so long. It’s far too late for that, she supposes. They part ways with a list of names of people once loved with such tenderness flowers bloomed in her chest when they laughed, Tommy's in red underline. She is rotten now, every gentle thing in her carved out until all that remains is barren hatred.
Deep underground, she waits. An old jacket that, if she thinks hard enough, still smells of singeing gunpowder and his cologne, drags along the stone as she paces, draped over her shoulders. A city was built here, chiseled out of the rock like an ancient ruin. Dust blankets the floor and sits in her lungs. Sleep only cradles her for minutes at a time, constant coughing fits tearing through her throat and his dead eyes stained on her eyelids. The wait will be worth it in time, she affirms herself. Death will strike Tommy guiding her hand and no one will forget her name.
Wilbur’s ghost leaves cold gripped fingerprints on every surface of her mind. She’d played his grieving girl when the sword pushed through his chest, mourned him terrified and alone again when he had smiled with gray teeth, a reanimated corpse come to taunt her with blue stained hands. She fills leather-bound journals with his name in angry scrawl, traces over the patches on his jacket like one day she’ll feel his heartbeat under her palm, and he’ll laugh under his breath, curl her hair around his finger, and call her “my Niki”.
Jack Manifold arrives with a wool-lined coat and an offer. He speaks with the same heat behind his eyes that Fundy had but with an air of causality, as if they were discussing their next meal and not the demise of a sixteen year old. He explains with a smirk that he’s now living with Tubbo sheltered away from everyone in the snow and Jack has always been opportunistic.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that you plan on killing Tommy -- and I must say, I am completely on board. None of this shit would have happened without him, so I have an idea. I’m sure you’re well aware of how close Tubbo and him are?” She stiffly nods and ignores the image that plays in her head of giggling children dashing through trees, digging her jagged nails into her clenched fist.
“He’s really starting to trust me now and I fully plan on using that to my advantage. Tubbo’s a smart kid, you know, but he’s so blind he’ll never see it coming. I just need to get more information out of him so I know when the right moment is.” His eyes shift to look her in the eyes. “I can help you achieve your goal, Niki. Let's work together.” He holds out a hand and it’s just as blemished as everyone else’s, war touched and gritty.
And how is she to refuse such an offer?
He heads off after she shakes his hand with a nod, giving a mock salute with two fingers and a grin. He whistles as he goes and the echoing leaves a tilted ambiance that stills her into silence. It’s a rare moment when her thoughts are calm enough to feel how tired her body is. Shifting her weight away from her bad knee (weakened after one too many falls), she pushes herself to focus on her breathing, fighting to keep it from wavering. A deep ache settles into her bones, pulses in her fingertips and in her temple.
She collects herself after a few moments, straightening her shoulders and cracking her neck, and strides over to a crack in the stone, just wide enough for her to wedge her hand in a pull out a water-damaged journal wrapped in leather. She’d found it floating pages up in the lake among the debris, Wilbur’s handwriting sticking out like a sore thumb.
Curling in a dry corner, she thumbs through the thick pages until she reaches the beginning. His handwriting is rounded and childish and she doesn’t fight the curl of her lips at its familiarity. There’s no date scrawled in the corner of the page but he writes of a van and a flop of blonde hair and never-ending sass (she ignores the bile that rises in her throat and does not think his name). She flips the page and scans her eyes over a list of hastily jotted ingredients, only able to make out a few -- nether wart, sugar, and glistering melon. She mouths his words to herself, trying to imagine how they would roll off of his tongue. She turns the page again and finds guitar chords to an unnamed song and she’s taken back to early mornings with his gentle strumming, humming melodies with the sea breeze blowing through their hair.
With each new page another memory surfaces -- guiding his hands to knead sticky pie dough, scolding bruise-knuckled children, lining measuring tape along his broad shoulders. It’s cathartic, until it’s not. His tone shifts slowly, until it hits her in the face six pages too late how far he slips into paranoia and obsession. She snaps the book shut with sickness rising in her throat at the mad scribbles of a dead national anthem, and tucks it back into the crevice in the wall and leaves him there.
Days pass without her noticing, deep bags permanently under her eyes. Her focus isn’t faltered, though, her body constantly poised to react and mind running on autopilot. She is cutting into an apple when a sound chimes from under her cot. Her surprise is visible, eyes widening and motions stilling, knife held in mid slice. Niki had long since given up on messages from her communicator, barren since before the third war. She tosses her knife to the side and wipes the juice from her hands, walking over to investigate. A sentence illuminates from the device, stopping her heart as she reads the words. “Come see me. I miss you.”
Her knight still smells like tulips and wild grass, sword sheathed at her side and loose curls framing her face. Niki had taken the time to scrub dirt from her nail beds and rinse the grease from her hair and she almost feels like a person again. Puffy had greeted her with a carefully held smile and an extended hand, leading her to a blanket in the grass. Against Niki’s expectations, Puffy never questions the dust on her shoes or the paleness of her skin, instead chattering stories of her life at sea on a ship long since sunken. She guides Niki to rest her head in her lap, carding her gentle hands through her hair. With the warm sun against her skin and Puffy’s voice humming lullabies her ear, sleep washes over her easier than it has in years.
When her eyelashes flutter open a blanket is draped over her frame and the moon casts the trees in a white glow. Shifting up, she drags her hands down her face in an effort to rub the sleep off of it. Her eyes catch on a shadowed figure by the nearest tree, as her vision adjusts to the darkness, Puffy’s features calm her nerves. She’s slumped against the wood, eyes shut and chest slowly rising and falling. Niki forces her gaze away and in an effort to not be heard, slowly rises to her feet and tip toes in the direction of her city with her hood pulled up. She reaches the line of trees when a footstep falls behind her and she whirls around as a hand circles her wrist.
Puffy’s grim expression meets her. “You’re leaving again.” It isn’t a question. Niki doesn’t answer.
“How long until I see you again?” Niki bites her lip and opens her mouth but no response comes out, hands clenching at her side.
“I won’t let you make this the last time, Niki. I know people around here tend to just disappear out of thin air,” Puffy’s voice strains, fighting with herself to keep her voice level. “- but you’re gonna come by again and visit, and you’re gonna show me a new recipe you learned and paint my nails another time and I’m gonna teach you more constellations and star names.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than anything but she never once looks away from Niki’s eyes, fierce gaze held.
At Niki’s stunned silence, Puffy’s voice edges on desperation. “You don’t even have to tell the truth! Just lie to me and tell me you’ll see me again because I need to hear you say it.” Her voice cracks and it twists the knife in Niki’s chest deeper.
When she answers, it’s barely more than a breath. “I’ll see you again, Puffy.”
Niki’s given no time to react when arms are thrown around her shoulders. Her arms hang limply by her side but she can’t find the strength to lift them. She disappears behind the tree line, Puffy giving one last wave with the hints of a smile, her outline stark against the indigo sky.
Niki pushes down every thought of her that surfaces after that. Puffy makes her weak and caves her chest in; tears past the walls she’d built up over months and years. Sacrifices have to be made to kill a weed this deeply rooted, and if this is what it takes, then so be it. At least she won’t have to see her face break when she learns what she has done. She will learn to leave her like the rest of them, eventually.
Jack returns some days later with giddy excitement. His words rush out of his mouth, almost too fast to make out.
“Great news, Niki, you’re really not going to believe this. Tubbo has been preparing to protect us from threats, like Dream, and he’s decided we start building nukes. They’re in the beginning stages, but he’s already suggesting we test one of them after they’re finished. This could be our chance! And we won’t even have the blood on our own hands!” His pitch rises as his eagerness grows.
The corners of Niki’s mouth curl up with her contentment. “That’s so good to hear, Jack-” She cuts herself short when her eyes catch on a bead dangling from his wrist, firelight reflecting off of it. Her expression sours and her jaw tightens.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Niki gestures to his left hand. “Oh this? Tubbo just made a bracelet for me, it’s stupid really, I don’t know why I’m even wearing it.” It’s a poor attempt at uncaring indifference, his hands fidget with the end of the threads.
Niki seethes, “I hope you know where your priorities lie, because I won’t have you ruin everything just because you got too attached and couldn’t go through with it.”
“Of course not, I would never. You can count on me, I won’t let you down.” He stammers out, quick to try and change her mind.
“I’m trusting you now, Jack. Don’t make me regret this.” She turns and leaves him standing at the mouth of the tunnel and doesn’t look back when he calls out, “You won’t!”
Her days blur together between each new piece of information. Jack sends updates through short and to the point messages. Annoyance builds with each new false call, the testing date pushing further and further out. Wooden boards and bags filled with seeds and rice become riddled with holes, punctured by arrows and her few knives in her never ending spare time. Nocking each arrow back starts to feel as easy as breathing, the motions muscle memory now, her arms taking hours to tire.
A date comes through her communicator as she’s hunched over her desk with an ink quill in hand. A pile of unfinished letters sit in a messy pile to the left of her, black ink smeared over the pages and in the grips of her hand. She’d come up with the idea of writing to Tommy; told Jack it was to gain more trust, but she’d be lying if she said her pulse didn’t race at the temptations that flooded her mind. It had proven to be more difficult than she’d thought, awkward greeting sentences bleeding into half-hidden anger, paper tearing where the pen pressed too harshly. She’s almost too lost in her frustration that she nearly misses the message across the screen.
A sharp-toothed grin spreads across Niki’s face with her realizing. Her knees are weak at the anticipation, it’s so close, she can smell the copper in her nose now. Shooting out of her stool so fast it tips over, she clutches her netherite axe and tilts it so the flames dance across the metal. She runs a finger over the edge, eyes sparking when it draws blood, and sets out to find the rock she’d been using to sharpen the blade.
One day before the first nuke is set to launch, Niki is throwing her axe at a board, breathing out a rough sigh when it hits low. A message lights up from the corner of her vision. She isn’t prepared for the cold shock that runs down her spine from Jack’s panicked letters. As if the world could hate her more, the useless child has decided to fire the nuke early. Through her frantic movement, she thinks up an apology to tell Jack when she murders two kids today.
Planting a foot on the wall for stability, she pries the axe head from the wall and slides the handle through the strap on her back. Jack should be praying he can stall long enough, because he will not ruin this day.
Adrenaline pushes her to run faster than she’s ever run before, twisting between trees and flying up the wooden path. She doesn’t have to scan the landscape for long, a large construction site coming into view with his name literally written on a sign in front of it. She slows quickly at the sight of him digging through a chest, humming to himself. She breathes in then out, attempting to let natural friendliness seep into her smile when she reaches him.
“Tommy!” she greets him with a wave.
He nearly jumps a foot in the air but relaxes once he processes who it is. Niki thinks smugly to herself how scared he should really be.
“Oh hey Niki” He straightens and slings an axe over his shoulder. “What’re you here for?”
She winces inwardly when her smile dips as he turns his attention to her.
“Just wanted to come see you, that’s all! What are you up to?” Niki asks him with a glance to his axe.
“Sam’s got me doing a bunch of tasks ‘cause he’s building my hotel for me, so I’ve gotta go cut some wood for him now,” he answers.
Niki doesn’t falter when his squinted gaze lingers for too long, instead stepping closer and raising her voice in volume.
“I know a great spot for some spruce wood! Come with me, I’ll help.” She nods her head in the general direction.
Almost three minutes are wasted by the time Tommy finally caves and follows her. He’s just as annoying as she remembers, cackling at his own jokes and pausing every few moments for some minute thing she could care less about. The grip on her handle tightens and loosens when she reminders herself of the plan. She can’t afford a single thing more to go wrong today. Tommy must die chants over and over in her brain.
The cold settles her nerves enough to keep a level head once they reach the spruce trees. Her brain scrambles for more reasons to push further into the snow: bird’s nests hidden in branches, just out of view, a whole section of trees riddled with wood rot. He never quiets, prodding her with needless questions and set ups for jokes that are only funny to him. Niki’s temples pound harder with each new message Jack sends, rushing her faster and faster, until his last message goes through and it’s a final warning that she only has seconds.
Her body makes the decision before her mind does, whipping around and gripping Tommy’s arm, hard enough so there isn’t room to wiggle out, and runs, ignoring his shouted confusion. She may have had a chance in another life, one without so much heartache, but her death will be worth it when she gets to see his face break when he realizes it was her all along.
Her boots pound into the snow, panicked gasps leaving her lungs. They’re so close she can taste it, sees the marking bobbing in and out of her line of sight, just some yards ahead. Tommy stumbles along, no other choice past his own confusion. She savors her last few moments, erupting in hysteric giggles when she realizes she might make it.
She only has seconds to process the rocket flying overhead before it crashes into the surface of the earth, blowing both of them off their feet, bodies tumbling before they stop. The explosion that goes off burns Niki’s exposed arms, so hot she wonders if this is what hell feels like. Her ears ring endlessly and her eyes strain under her lids, blinded by the light. It takes so long for her to get feeling back into her limbs, there’s a moment where she thinks she’s died.
Niki scrambles up and pushes the cloak off of her head, chest heaving. Her axe lays a few meters behind her, tangled in leafless shrubbery. Gritting her teeth, she limps over to it with blood dripping down her fingers, speckling the snow with red. In one motion, she grips the handle and yanks it up from under the branches, grunting with the effort. The handle isn’t smooth gripped anymore, splintered and dented in places, though she doesn’t register the spike of pain in her palm.
Every part of her is focused on the figure slowly rising from the snow. Rage like no other seeps into her bones. This world has never been kind, even to its most evil.
“Of fucking course you’re still alive,” she says. She doesn’t know if her vocal chords still work, or if she can even be heard through the ringing most likely in his ears as well.
She stalks towards him, plan be damned, arms trembling as she slowly raises the axe over her head. She inwardly commits to this, no turning back now from the blood that will be on her hands. Perhaps she could limp away before Tubbo and Jack stumble upon his body and she could live her life as a forest witch, a legend told to scare children away from the woods.
He turns around just as she strikes, a raspy shout coming out of his throat before his reflexes kick in and he throws his whole body into a dodge. The head of the axe lodges in the ice where his head had been, Niki screams when her arms don’t work through the cuts and scrapes and bruises. She reaches down and grips every last piece of mind numbing anger, and rips the axe from the ice through pained and panicked shrieks.
She doesn’t register what Tommy yells at her when she whips around again, no mercy left in her eyes. His hands are raised above his head, palms red from burns, and she takes the opportunity it gives her. She swings with both arms angled from the side, aimed at his unguarded stomach. He stumbles back, but he isn’t fast enough as it grazes him. Through labored breaths, Niki shouts in elation when he falls to his knees, clutching his middle.
Her fingers lose grip on the handle with her slick blood as the adrenaline wears off. Through her disbelieving giggles, the static in her ears finally cuts out enough to catch his last words.
“I just don’t understand why,” he utters between whimpered gasps of pain.
She meets his eyes and replies, “And you’ll die without an answer.”
They both turn their heads at two figures rushing through the trees, the shortest in front. His shouts echo when he sees the blood on the snow. Jack looks at her with so much surprise it’s as if he never knew this would happen.
Tubbo’s mouth opens in silent horror at the scene, red dripping from the axe dropped by Niki’s feet.
“What have you done?” He shudders out, dropping down in front of his bleeding out friend.
Niki, numb to regret and remorse, declares, “Retribution,”
and collapses.
The window rattles in it’s frame and swings open, cold wind and frost blowing in from the last of the small snowstorm from last night. Tubbo clambers from the kitchen to close the latch, adding another log to the fire in the hearth and warming his chilled hands.
The lump hidden under five blankets shifts when he sits down next to it on the couch. Tubbo chuckles under his breath when it groans and balls further up.
“Your breakfast will be cold if you don’t get up soon, you know,” he prompts in a sing-song voice.
Tommy grumbles as he sits up and pulls his shirt lower over his bandages. He never does well in the cold, teeth constantly chattering and nose permanently red. Tubbo would let him leave if it weren’t for the way they both are shaken, always another unsuspecting friend turned enemy.
Tubbo laughs and pulls at his bed hair, Tommy swatting at his hand and scowling in return. He watches as Tubbo pulls on his warm heavy boots and pulls the laces tight, then shrugs on his wool coat and gloves. Tubbo had offered to make him a pair of each as well but Tommy had refused and insisted on making his own or stealing Jack’s, always hating being coddled.
Tubbo reaches for the bolt on the door and turns to Tommy with his hood pulled over his ears. “I left your eggs on the stove and there should be some sausage leftover, or some bread and jam if you’d prefer. I’ll be back in a bit!” he exclaims over the howling wind outside, shutting the door once Tommy nods in acknowledgement.
Tubbo sighs and shudders as he walks the memorised path, mostly traveled by Jack. He had debated where the right spot for her body would be, but Jack had insisted close by. Tommy and he had supposed it was only fitting, her gravestone deep in the forest where her screams had echoed. Besides, none of them wanted to be the one to carry her body to be seen by everyone.
He reaches her resting place, the rock reading her name simply, carved in by Jack with careful hands. Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut when they begin to burn with unshed tears and doesn’t let himself cry, breathes slowly out and collects himself to step closer. He kneels next to her and reaches into his pocket with numb fingers, and pulls out a folded piece of fabric, frayed at the ends. He unfolds it with solemnness, a silent “I’m sorry” echoing in the air.
He drapes the L’manberg flag over the stone, her signature stitched into the corner in white over red. Tubbo isn’t sure if whoever Niki became would have wanted this, but he hopes her soul rests easy, so alone in her last moments.
With a whispered goodbye, Tubbo turns and leaves without looking back.