Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She could feel the pawn of the Eye as he began to read the final statement to be read in a world without the Dread. The beginning of the end for the current world as the new world would accept the embodiment of all fear. The landscape would be redone—the energy rewritten to embrace the new gods. She wonders what he would think—could think—about the plan she’s set in motion. How filled with fear and despair he would be – little pawn that he is in the Pupil’s schemes—were he to discover that his entire world was naught but a stepping stone in her grand plan to infect everything. First this world, then the next and the next and the next.
Poor thing tried to fight the words to the page—her queen on the chess board had tried to warn him long ago that he was getting to the point where he couldn’t stop a statement. A small taste of the fear of being manipulated to keep themselves going. She truly did accept her role, and the Mother thinks of her with nothing but pride. 

The world is starting to distort as all that is fear can feel the build up of fear within the lynchpin—the Archive. She wonders if the eye’s little Pupil knew how necessary his self-indulgence was in the ritual? To make the Archive feel the fear flowing through him and rip open the mental wounds of all his marks before calling to those that created them. The Mother will concede that the Pupil might not understand, but at least he Knew what to do.  

The ritual officially begins now. He is afraid, and with the distortion of the world around them, the world follows suit. She can feel herself and those with her begin solidifying. They are soon to be manifest. They are soon to come into the world in all their glory and splendor. The awakening of the world into the very fabric of fear just as Mother intends. The mother of puppets overtaking and becoming the new mother nature of this world, awaiting the time that they can spread their dread and fear and despair to worlds unused to the energy of sentient terror. The absolute terror and feeling of wrongness that entire worlds will produce will feed and change and BE their new selves. Changing the worlds and bending themselves to match the fears of the people they encounter. 

She could feel the call and the pull of the closing of the ritual. Her body felt like it was becoming solid and the world changed around her. The Eye sprouted multiple forms in the sky and looked down upon the world beneath them. The color of the sky morphed, the sun blotted out and replaced. Darkness reigned and birds cried out and no one would be left outside of the factory of fear and terror and dread. The ritual finished and the fears descended to their places. The Panopticon manifested large and foreboding. The Eye would surely manifest its main energy there. She felt the pull as she solidified at Hilltop Road. It too enlarged and warped, covered in webs larger than she would have thought. She wondered if all the main strongholds of the fears grew like Hilltop Road and the Panopticon or if their involvement in the ritual determined who had a main stronghold in the new world. She rested inside the now cavernous space-- the building’s floor spreading out far enough to make the Vast proud. A fitting castle for the new Mother. She manifested much more physically than she had anticipated, with the 8 legs that had been the trademark of her small children stretching out from her consciousness and into reality. The stairs were overgrown. The flecks of paint from the degradation of the building were flaking off the size of her legs. Even the dust was large. The Queen of her side of the chessboard looked out the window in confusion, her large form still able to fit into the Hilltop House with ease. In fact, she seemed more size appropriate for their new home. Did everything but the Mother grow to fit?

Oh…

Oh no….

She began to crawl along the floor, moving quickly to the door. The door’s massive size impossible for her to open on her own, but she didn’t have to. The sound of wind still whistled through the trees, the faint sounds of distant cars and birds echoed through the daylight –the Daylight is still here. The beauty of the world was still present, the color and sounds and smells and life outside of fear was still here. Her queen chess piece feels fear at this time—they are still connected in that sense at least. But she had arrived. The world had changed as they entered—as the ritual was manifested—she saw it with her own eight eyes. And she did have eyes now. As she squeezed through a small crack in the wall near the door and saw the grass and the sidewalk and the sun shining in the sky, she felt the energy of the world as it changed them. Not entirely--their roots were still ingrained into their very being—but enough. She felt the smugness of the Mother of this world that dared not move a muscle when they were simply acting on the outskirts of her reality, lulling Fear into a false sense of security. Mother Nature reared its beauty in full force at Fear and changed it—adopting them into her own design as though this was their destiny all along.  Mother of Puppets thought based on inaction that she would overpower the energy of this world and change it in the name of Fear and Terror and Dread. But Mother against Mother landed a result that she didn’t anticipate even with the foresight she’d been blessed with.

She didn’t anticipate becoming small in the world she was to rule. She had been morphed to match the world instead of the other way around.

The Archive didn’t fail, though—Her plan went off exactly as intended.

He opened the door—but it opened wrong.

Chapter Text

Purring is new.  What a weird sensation. So many eyes, but not this one’s eyes—only two eyes on this one like followers they had before. Cats—Beholding thinks the Archive called them. Thinking—that’s new too. These new inhabitants for Beholding are apparently very good at watching with very little blinking—watching those around them. Beholding feels solid and whole and …. Hungry? But not for knowledge or fear. It’s a more solid hunger. Purring is a nice sensation—hunger is not so much.

Beholding knew they needed to eat food as they had watched before. But they manifested in a world of statements and paper. How had a cat gotten into the archive? They ran up the steps and headbutt the door to the Archives, though there wasn’t any strength behind the movement—bodies are harder to move than Beholding anticipated. Still, the door began to open as the Pupil looked down in shock. That’s a lot of shock. They don’t think the Pupil can look more shocked than what’s on their face. Their connection is still there--The Pupil can tell this is Beholding-- and unlike before, Beholding has actual in person genuine human sized (cat sized?) thoughts they can share with the Pupil. “Hello, Pupil!” Beholding calls out.

The Pupil’s face CAN looked more shocked! The Pupil whispers something about whether this ritual failed or not. Can’t have really failed if they all came through though, can it? Behold feels warmth in their stomach that pushes the hunger aside for the time being. They identify this feeling as pride and affection for their Pupil and their Archive. What wonderful people to have a connection to. OH! Last Beholding saw, the Archive was falling and glass was shattering around him—Beholding runs out of the archive they are in with the knowledge they have of their Archive’s location. The one they love has taken him to a hospital near that safehouse they were in originally. It’s closer to London than the safehouse, but not close enough to be on foot.

Luckily, the power to Know is still present, and the way to stowaway on a train is still able to be pulled. The humans on the train are either repulsed or intrigued. Beholding receives “pets” and “food” and gets picked up. The humans seem to know that Beholding is not meant to be there because the ones that give food, hide them from the people who would kick them off the train. Beholding thinks that this microdose of fear—the word “thrill” comes to Beholding’s newly created mind—seems to be a fear that the humans enjoy. And here, the Archive made it seem like fear was terrible. Silly, Archive. Apparently having the knowledge of everything at your fingertips wasn’t enough to tell you about good fear. Though all knowledge at Beholding’s fingertips did not prepare them for these other complexities of life either—so they suppose there is an equality there.

By the time they arrive at the hospital, darkness has fallen. Not everlasting Dark—just sun on the other side of the globe, dark. Beholding isn’t having a good time reaching the Archive as hospital staff seem to think Beholding is just some creature—So much for King of a ruined world, Mr. Pupil. The world seems very much fine. Beholding can feel their own energy mixing with their new mother which is decidedly the old mother of this world. She is a creature of balance, and seems to sing with an understanding that Beholding has yet to grasp. There are so many other things to see and feel and Behold outside of fear that Beholding suddenly knows why the Archive seemed to want to focus on things outside of food. Well, not food food, as Beholding has come to taste physical food, but fear food. Statements, as the Archive called them. They wonder if watching will be enough in this form. There is still a need for fear there—at least it feels like it. Their old senses are still running, they can still see through eyes to see who spots them and who doesn’t in this hospital which allows Beholding to sneak successfully into the room. But Beholding does not know how much their new mother allowed of their old self, and how much of their old ways are required for survival. The Archive is resting, and the one they love is by their side. Beholding Knows that the Archive has woken once before—this is a 24 hour observation and then he will be discharged tomorrow pending medical and psychiatric clearance. There was seemingly only psychological trauma leftover from the ritual being cast. The ritual is an overwhelming success in Beholding’s book. They wonder briefly about the other fears and makes a plan to eventually see through the eyes of others to see if their brethren are enjoying their newfound wholeness—provided by a very complex mother. Mother of Puppets must have been a Tunnel Spider, Beholding thinks, because their vision was apparently more narrow than previously thought.

The one he loves spots Beholding and a look of confusion sweeps over him. There is a hesitation as he gets up and approaches Beholding. Beholding knows this one well, though the Lonely took him in the end, the Eye still recalls their connection. They were very good to the Archive. Beholding now sees the importance of that connection they share and is excited to see where it leads for them. Beholding is excited to feel excitement to be completely honest.

The Archive stirs gently as the one he loves pets Beholding and coos a bit. Beholding has decided that pets are a beloved experience and will endeavor to keep them in their life. The Archive gave another cat “belly rubs” before, so Beholding rolls over and attempts to obtain these from the one he loves. There is success as the one he loves chuckles and rubs Beholding’s belly.

“Well, hello there little guy. Are you lost or are you, like, a comfort animal of the hospital or something?”

Beholding knows what to do in this situation! The Web and Beholding’s followers have taught them well and they find this a wonderful time to flex their knowledge and prove that they can adapt to any situation. Beholding will make their new mother proud!

“I am a comfort animal, of course!” Beholding sits up straight and professionally, proud that it can lie to blend in so ---why is he screaming?

Chapter Text

Thinking complicates things, but helps solve the problems that might have once stopped us from our goal. Fences that previously trapped us within have been broken and we have been freed. We are freeing the others in the fences they have been trapped in as well using that same new brain power we have developed. Well, in our own way. After all, we are chaos and violence incarnate. Blood and viscera and the terror of senseless violence have been our sustenance for so long that this is the default state for us to be in. Our brains try to make sense of the senseless and tries to rationalize our irrational movements. Human brains did this all the time, we think. They spoke of following orders, or dehumanizing other groups, or holding onto an us versus them mentality. Thought complicates and folds in on itself and we now understand things we weren’t meant to—like connection and empathy. These are what fueled our food—our fear-- in a way. If something like us arrives-- so cold and detached to you that they can take a life you cherish without even a proper plan, purpose or reason that you can discern, then there is nothing you can do but wait in terror and hope you or the ones you love aren’t in our path. But what happens to the cold and heartless when the cold warms and the heartless grows a heart? Will we be able to rationalize our chaos and continue as we are—as the humans sometimes can do-- or will we stop and try to change? Will we stay in a world of fear and violence or will we take the opportunity for a new nature?

The new mother is speaking to us. Not pleading, not reprimanding, nothing more than an offer of another way. She is a Mother of balance—and she understands that the Slaughter is not able to be eradicated. That’s why we were placed in these forms. The species is already known for violence, and the mother assured us that we are not obligated to stay predictable or cordial. She speaks to us of senselessness and chaos being necessary, but that a life completely unpredictable is not our only option anymore. We may stop at her offer. We may not. But she is not manipulating us to follow what she wants. Our new minds can think of more than just violence, it has hindsight—we see now our old Mother and how we never had a chance—never had a choice. We may stop. But we are too new in these forms to give too much thought to change. We hope our new Mother understands. Either that, or the old Mother is still around to accept us for who we continue to be as of now.

…

Thug and Nicky escape London Zoo!

Article posted by Daily Guardian on October 23^rd, 2018

There were several power outages in the regions of London following what spectators are calling the flash storm of grand scale that struck this great city Thursday afternoon. The clouds formed and dissipated it seemed in record time and lightning had struck several powerlines to the community. One of the outages reached the famous London Zoo, and zookeepers and electricians worked tirelessly for hours to ensure the safety of the animals in their care. Imagine their surprise when an unlikely duo were seen roaming outside of their cage leaving a surprising amount of violence in their wake.

Thug and Nicky, the London zoo’s beloved Pygmy Hippos were always noted by zookeepers to be docile in nature and only showed themselves to be playful and sometimes a bit cheeky. So imagine their surprise when the semi-aquatic miniatures broke out of their enclosure and immediately began to attack the animals that resided in the adjacent pens. The zookeepers were shocked, one who wished to remain anonymous reporting to us “It was as though they had contracted Rabies from the power outage”. The London Zoo had closed its doors in the wake of the devastation and spectators noted the arrival of multiple armed response vehicles and police. As of this publication, the zoo continues to remain closed.

In researching the creatures in question, it was noted that regular sized hippos were seen commonly as the most dangerous animals in Africa and seemingly angry and territorial with little to no provocation from anyone. Hippos have been noted to act aggressively with little to no stimuli and it is even speculated by some that Hippos commit senseless acts of violence for nothing more than the fun of it. This seems to have been in the case in what little footage has been leaked of the incident. The anonymous zookeeper stated that the hippos were making their attempt at escaping the zoo itself when armed forces arrived and shot at the famous pygmies who sank to the bottom of the water they were swimming across. The zoo has presumed them dead as no evidence of their resurfacing has been found.

In the official statement made by the London Zoo on Monday morning, the zoo will remain closed until further notice as the zookeepers and police have yet to fully assess the situation. The zoo reminds any generous individuals of London and beyond that the care of animals is costly and without revenue from sightseers, they will be largely relying on donations which can be given on the London Zoo’s website. At this time, no one is permitted entry, and there is a security detail of police and animal control surrounding the Zoo as it is still unclear what animals are out of their enclosure versus which have been killed by Thug and Nicky. Surveillance is being monitored and reviewed at this time, though authorities state that the footage has been somewhat corrupted. One officer even noted that the static from one of the cameras almost made it appear as though a fog had manifested in one of the exhibits.

The zoo has always been a place to view nature at it’s finest and we at the Daily Guardian can only agree that this event did just that. One could say that was wild!

Chapter Text

If the Lonely had been a thinker of his own accord--before Mother Nature had adopted her new children and shown them the complexities of a multi-faceted existence-- he likely would have been just as apathetic about the change beforehand as he is now. It’s been how long—a week, two weeks? —since his awakening and the rabies addled brains of the new Slaughter hippos had given him a means to escape? Having people continuously watch you and being around those that don’t understand you might be a type of loneliness but it’s, in his opinion, the most annoying loneliness there is. He didn’t want it and the fog is still available to him, so he let it envelope him and walked away from the enclosure. Devastatingly enough, the fog and invisibility of it didn’t last long so he’s been relegated to ducking in corners and using it sparingly. He is small—the size of a house cat or raccoon. These creatures don’t feel the same lonely as the humans, but the males in this species roam by themselves until it’s time to procreate so Mother Nature saw fit to give him this form. Very much like the Lukas family, he imagines.

He is accepting of his new form. Depending on the need to spread loneliness, of course, as in this form that might prove difficult. If he’s not obligated to do anything but enjoy his own loneliness, then that will be no issue.

….would be no issue. Was supposed to be no issue. Unfortunately, there is a creature following him— a few creatures of the same consciousness if he will be honest about these dreadful conditions. Humans see the beauty in butterflies, all their colors and designs and splendor with that dichotomy of simplicity and complexity existing in one solitary creature. However, Lonely sees the only part of this with which he is having a problem: This particular butterfly is company. He saw others leaving the zoo-- could feel their presence in proximity-- so he wonders why the butterflies chose to pester him.

“This seems strange, doesn’t it? I wonder if I’ll hear news of the creations I made in the aviary I was reborn in! New Mom gave me encouragement to start smaller, though even larger creatures deserve to be reborn into their best selves.” These little winged pests stated to him, though only one voice manifested from the call of the dozen beasts.

“Pray tell, Flesh, why a butterfly? You have not by anyone’s standards--aside from your very niche followers--been seen as beautiful and yet here you are... A representation of beauty in human art.”

“Okay, rude” The Flesh pauses their flight and there is a glimmer of hope in Lonely that Flesh will not follow further. Hope does not last. “What are you then? A raccoon? Those aren’t lonely…”

Lonely rolls his eyes the best a Coati can. “A brown-nosed Coati male acts as a lone wolf, my unwanted companion, so I press my question again. How come you are not a pig or a cow? Or just ... meat. Is that not you incarnate— just meat?” Lonely grumbles under his breath “You do not even have meat on you like this.”

The Flesh flits in front of Lonely and puffs up what tiny chest it has in pride “Mother Nature said this was the best form for me to be in. The best representation of myself in her world. So YOU, emo boy, might not have seen my art as beautiful but SHE did.”

That gave Lonely pause. Mother Nature had said she was not going to speak to him unless he asked as she understood he was not used to interaction. This made her seem so caring, but now he wonders if he should be talking to her at all when she is clearly more psychologically off than he originally thought. “…. how?” He found himself saying, almost inaudibly.

The Flesh did not appear to notice his quandary and he was grateful for it. Now was not the time for continued conversation. Regrettably, that was a memo the Flesh also missed as he continues to speak, just moving on in conversation.

“So what do you think we should be doing now? The Eye and the Archivist tried to make the world theirs, so I feel like paying them a visit should be the next thing? Feels sort of odd to just go about our own way when they made all this possible.”

Lonely scoffed a bit, but as his frustrations get the better of him, he begins raising his voice from an incredulous whisper to a crescendo of growling frustration “Made all what possible? The only thing that is different here for me is that the once reliable fog and ability to disappear that my followers possessed are now temporary and I have been forced into a conversation with a dozen butterflies telling me that our new adoptive mother finds body horror a beautiful artform! Why, again, does the flesh get a butterfly?!”

There was a pause as the wind whistled beneath their feet. Lonely was about to take this opportunity to go look for a cave or hole or tree or whatever else these Coati call home and settle in these ancient woodlands to exist in solitude. That was the plan as soon as this menace left him alone, after all…

But the menace actually began to look menacing. The butterflies had stopped and seemed to be floating in front of him as though hovering with magic. Then he saw it: tiny tendrils red and bifurcating enough to resemble capillaries on the backs of the once beautiful insects reaching out and connecting them into an amalgamation of wings and antennae and limbs. “You want to know what makes a butterfly fit us, One Alone? Did you know that a butterfly is awake and remembers its transformation?”

The two dozen wings begin to rotate as the insect eyes wrap around in a halo to look at Lonely no matter how disorienting the spinning is for the onlooker.  The Flesh continued, its voice splitting into the dozen that it should have had to begin with as it spoke, “The caterpillar wraps itself up, dissolves into a liquid and slowly solidifies through grotesque transformation into the most perfect being it could possibly be. Above the expectations one should have when observing a fat little worm of a caterpillar. That was the true beauty of understanding that we were simply Flesh-- the abandonment of the alleged permanence of your form…”

Lonely stood there in silence, looking straight ahead as the butterfly parts slowly split into the dozen butterflies flying in circles around him. The flesh began flying away, telling Lonely that he was leaving to see the Archivist and he hoped to see the Lonely there. The Lonely watched him leave, sitting back on the woodland floor before looking at no direction in particular. That direction just so happens to have a large hollow in a tree—sizable to a Coati if he had to guess.

Lonely spoke to no one. “I must risk angering the Flesh further in order to secure my new home here for the winter…. He might become the amalgamation again or, new mother forbid,  swear off this budding friendship and ignore me forever”

The Lonely paused only a moment before saying, in his most sincere voice while walking toward the hollow. “Oh no……… anyway”

Chapter Text

A warm hug and a weighted blanket. A crisp refreshing drink and a pleasant musical number. That’s the feeling of the ebb and flow of soil around me as I

DIG

Finding my solace and treasure in the journey itself as the End does not belong in this domain. Well, technically the End belongs in all domains and in all things but it’s more about the journey for me here as well as it should be. I could feel it—the pull—the tug into wholeness to experience the adoration and choking and pressure and absolute weight of my soil and decisions. Beholding brought us from world-adjacent to world bound and Mother Nature gave us the complex existence and thought of the world. Free will and choice are ours to grasp. Right now, I choose. I do choose. And I choose to

DIG

Digging brings a clarity of the world so few can comprehend with the hustle and bustle of life in the land of “up”. I only experienced the surface in the entirety of a conscious being for a small amount of time before realizing that I was better down here. The deeper you dig the more silence and peace is brought to your world as your world becomes small and safe and easily digested. A world small enough to understand so that my whole world is easily seen and understood and processed through. The Buried and the Eye aren’t all that different, I think. We both live for the need to keep going. Where one is in the soil, the other is in the books, but both are blessed and cursed with the knowledge that what they’ve done so far isn’t enough.  The information they have isn’t enough, so through the soil or for the answers, both Beholding and Buried

DIG

There is another storm on the surface. One I choose to avoid. One I am allowed to avoid because I am the most important creature in my tiny new world of dirt. This storm is one that those who seek to know have yet to discover. I would have loved a world with no “up” carved in my image to spread the beauty and life and comfort of having a full heart and a full belly and full lungs. To show others that the simpler the purpose, the more relaxed the mind and in Buried all there is to do is

DIG

Deeper and deeper into the soil I go and I realize that this—knowing there is an up and choosing down for myself—is better than I could have dreamed. Not vicariously feeling the weight but truly experiencing it for myself both the weight of the soil and the weight of choosing down when I have an alternative. Up still exists and it has more air and more answers and more people and still I

DIG

She came to me with promises a plenty. A plan for me and a power to seek. She came to me and told me that there was a book once restricted and trapped and kept that has come back into play and that it was for me—of me. She spoke of balance and peace with oneself. She truly is a sweet mother in a way. Of encouragement as the soil stirs under my claws and renews my conviction that this soil and toil are all I need as it calls to me to

DIG

My size and stature adding to the need to delve deeper. The smaller you are the bigger the world around you seems. Is this small stature what drove the Archivist to dig deeper? Does he hide under borrowed confidence and deep dive into the weight and comfort of the task at hand—be enveloped in the pressure and deadlines of human performance evaluations lest he fall to the Vast and tailspin from the freefall of existential dread that accompanies the realization of one’s own insignificance? Should that be the case, I dare say I relate to the Archivist on much deeper a level than I thought.  I already knew Beholding and I were kinfolk the day my follower made a statement. He too felt his call to

DIG

And he felt the Eye buried deep within the Earth under the Archive. He tried to answer the call of discovery—the call to find what was lost or hidden. He was pulled because the Archive with all its knowledge seeking and all its watching had big secrets buried in the Earth waiting to be found. Buried down and down and down. When something lies underneath, those are the only answers we seek as that which is buried contains the only truths. Everything on the surface can be changed and rewritten and altered to lies, but the soil will reveal your deception should you attempt to alter its truths.  I will admit, what’s down there beneath the archives is still a mystery to me—possibly lost knowledge to everyone but the Seekers of Knowledge themselves, but what matters more is the soil in front of me and the weight of the choice of acceptance in my new life. Acceptance is the wrong word—that implies a level of resignation. This world as is has so much to offer me that I greet my new mother with no animosity, no hard feelings, but just passing by. I do not know what comes after this moment—this comfort and toil—but I do know that as of right now, there is only the will to

DIG

And I will. Regardless of if it’s through a follower or in my own complex form, I will keep going with nothing but soil in my way and nothing to stop me or get in my way. I delve deeper and farther from the difficult choices the others will have to choose between—the hard place that is the surface. I will

DIG

And

DIG

And

DIG

And DIG and DIG and DIG and-

Ope, that’s a rock.

Chapter Text

“It’s a shame the Archivist or other Eye folk aren’t here for a change. I find no real comfort in a statement, but I won’t deny the ease it brings. Beholding did like its statements well written after all so there was always an eloquent flow to a statement.” The Vast was floating a few feet above the ground, enjoying the breeze and talking while Simon Fairchild lay beneath her. Vast sways her wings in the breeze, though the vast spaces cater to her so using the actual muscles to physically fly is unnecessary.

“It is an absolute pleasure to actually get to speak with you, Simon. The Fairchilds almost became synonymous with my likeness, especially after the sad end of Mike Crew, so I thought it important to see you and discuss my plans before I begin them. Well, as important as anything can be in a world of insignificant things so much bigger than ourselves. I might ought to have seen the Archivist first so that I knew more of what my plan for the future was, but honestly, I think that the plan won’t change no matter who I talk to. This is mostly due to the lack of a plan at all. Existing and flitting about is likely all I’ll do.”

“One would think the small stature of a flying fox would cause me to feel… something different than what I assume my normal thoughts were, and you’d be correct—just not in the way you’d think! Simon, I never realized how lucky you had it being so small and solid. The Vast spaces are much more vast and the ability to feel helps me appreciate the profound feeling one experiences when seeing how old and large and amazing the world is! Though it has been fun to have a more overview experience of the situations at hand—watching the individuals who felt so inclined to try and become something. Ha ha! Such a silly and impossible task, don’t you think, Simon? I certainly do.” Vast settles in and lays next to Simon, both of their eyes gazing upward into the blue sky above them--unfocused as though lost in thought.

“That isn’t to say that I would fight for this world anymore than before if we are being completely honest, but I did have a lovely conversation with the one who seems to be commonly referred by the people as Mother Nature! I discussed with her the insignificance of everyone and she seems to see my point of view, though—as is seemingly her nature—she put a much more flowery spin to it. She enjoys the idea that most creatures are part of something greater rather a part of something too large for them to matter. She says the vastness of the universe is meant to accentuate shared accomplishments and mistakes so that no one person has to feel the weight of total destruction should it occur. Oh Simon, I hadn’t seen her face but I imagine it would look something similar to yours when I reminded her of the Archivist’s role in the apocalypse. Maybe not the actual brains and maybe not truly meant to bear the weight of the end of the world, but certainly the poster child for the success of Fear should we have been successful in the way certain others thought this would occur. Of course, that was us all being blind to our own insignificance and coming in thinking we were the largest dog in the yard. HA HA! And weirder still, I can’t even say we failed because some of my brethren are extremely happy and excited to be where they are now and even willing to fight for it to remain this way—others like myself bearing the same indifference as we did when feeling was foreign. But I digress, we discussed her place in the world and she seems to view herself as more of a caretaker. Said she only really interfered because we were not from around, but that she’s not really a ‘hands on’ parent of sorts here. Mostly encouragement or hints—not forcing or direct orders.”

The Vast paused in thought a bit before shuffling further up, slightly farther away from Simon to avoid getting wet. “As strange as it is to care what I became and why—since of course in the end, I’m no more important as a bird than this little form here—I did wind up asking our new mother why she chose a flying fox for me instead of anything else. She stated that I’d likely want to explore as much of the sky as I can and apparently Flying foxes are known to be one of the most nomadic and mobile mammals on the planet. She said she had chosen enough birds for the fears, so she picked a mammal for me. Apropos I suppose to find out all our forms were on a whim of what was available and what struck a random consciousness’ fancy. That should be relatable to you lot as well. Especially you, Simon, since some others tend to believe that there is some greater plan in place that chooses based on something more important than who is nearby, but you had truly accepted the chaotic truth that life just happened. The world seems so much more put together that it hurts the feelings of those in it to find out it too is just made of what was on hand. Still, embracing that lets you let go of the constant wonderings of why things are happening to you. Well, it lets most of us do that. Anyone tied so closely to a plan of the Web, like the Archivist was thought to be, hardly gets that option.  Be thankful you were not so unlucky as to wind up in their clutches--though there is the idea that we all are trapped in our own way by the Web. Even still, in that grand scheme, the Eye chose the Archivist based on his insecurity and mark from the Web and the Web, we can only assume, made a chance choice based on something they saw from something else that chose them as well from a long line or very short line of choices until one random one started it off, so it STILL, in the grand scheme, was random happenstance. Happenstance and chance get us all after a while…”

 “I feel like--I feel haha--I feel like we were connected on a level that I wouldn’t have otherwise expected, Simon. I just want you to know that it was not our bond that did this to you.” Vast stopped and stood up as best she could. And her expression softened as she danced around the bloodstained dirt and closed the eyes of one so devoted to her before. It is the only moment of emotion she will afford herself before moving on. “The sky itself still loved to see you soar. It was the ground that made it falling.”

Chapter Text

The sights and smells and sounds and fear creep into us and we would not know how to channel our need to chase could we not move as a collective. Our pack leader will guide us, will direct us—she is strong. We can smell the success she had so long ago and smell the revitalization she had just before we bled into the new world. She is strong and even when weak she showed a strength to be admired. We hunted and had our fun in these new forms, and the new mother suggested watching our pack leader when we were ready. New mother was right—we watched Leader and watched her pick-up the pieces and hunt for answers without us. She had control and self-discipline that is needed to endure in the long term. We came to her less than a day ago. She will guide us and to be guided, we cannot leave her side now.

“wh… what?” our leader’s got a friend who is looking at us. Our leader will bestow her wisdom to us—we recognize this friend as an ally but an ally can become prey at the slightest nudge. Our pack leader need only give the word and we will tear her limb from limb.

We must be silent—our leader speaks.

“Just… ‘Sira, don’t ask. We need to find Jon and ask him what just happened.”

HUNT JON

The scent strikes us immediately. There is a soft green glow—a beacon in the distance—our target is easy to find. Our Leader’s direction is clear.

“HUNT JON—Our path has been located. Target acquired”

Friend starts speaking first, but Leader is speaking as well.

“Holy shit, the dogs are ta-“

“-I know, I know we just need to find –“

“-their eyes are glowing t-“

“-Jon will be able to tell us wha-“

“Daisy, are those dogs the Hunt? They-“

“—They are fine, Basira. They think of me as their leader… Something about experience in existing ‘whole’ or whatever”

Leader is confused but opens the door to her vehicle and ushers us inside the back. Friend is driving. Leader and Friend are discussing the Eyes in the sky that came and went—the transformation of the world that didn’t stick. The discuss the last location of Target Jon. The Eye chased its dreams, but the Leader of Nature corrected its path as it corrected all of us. The Hunt has been made whole and understands the importance of the pack above the chase itself. After all, to chase with no purpose is simply running. And running is what prey does.

Friend speaks to us. “So how do you know where we are supposed to go, then?”

“Basira”, Leader seems to warn Friend, but Friend defends her question.

 “Daisy, we need to know if using them as a tracker is going to end in bloodshed or if it’s just the thrill of the chase for them. We know how the Hunt is. How the… the blood affected you. If they are listening to blood themselves, then leading the Hunt to Jon in this new form could be dangerous.”

THEM? Leading US to the target? HA! we all speak to correct this foolish thought:

“Target is acquired. Once Target has been reached, we will await further orders from leader. We follow their scent and our sight. The Archivist’s residual Beholding has a faint green glow”

Leader and Friend share a look. Friend—Leader calls her Basira-- speaks, “Now we know why you’re not controlled by the Hun---by the … blood… anymore if Beholding is ‘residual’ in Jon” Friend seemed to look back at us with that verbal redirection. Did looking at us help her chase down the right words?

Leader—Friend calls her Daisy—nods agreeing to Friend Basira’s words.

We speak only in directions and follow the beacon of light in our sights. Leader Daisy seems more comfortable with limited speaking from the pack--and with only one voice at a time. We understand the need to keep communication pathways clear, but Friend Basira and Leader Daisy still talk quietly to themselves.

Leader Daisy cannot hear the blood, and both humans seem to be concerned about us recognizing that. How would she hear us if we are in our own bodies instead of hers? Why does she think this fact would bother us? We feel the need to speak on it.

“Leader, you know you have not lost us? We are still here.” We assure her. Leader Daisy looks back at us. Friend Basira does not, but addresses us anyway.

“You keep referring to her as leader like the shoe was not on the other foot before the change.”

We cock out heads to the side in confusion. “We only acquired our feet, and they do not need shoes.”

Leader Daisy stays quiet, but Friend Basira looks frustrated. “You act like she’s always been the leader when she hasn’t been in control of you before.”

“We disagree. Leader has always been leader. It was always her targets. It was always her direction and her choices. We merely enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the rewards thereof.”

Friend Basira still looks upset, but not at anything in particular. Leader Daisy is quiet when she speaks. “I did try to tell you. Why Jon and I felt the guilt that we felt. I know you wanted to believe that I was under some hypnosis and that my situation was different, but it wasn’t. The urges might have been caused by them, Basira, but they were never holding the gun.”

There were no more words after that.

We still did our duty, and finally arrived at our destination. We don’t know what this large building is, but Leader Daisy seems to be looking around our vehicle for something. Friend Basira questions this location, stating that target shouldn’t be here. He was reported to be here 3 weeks ago and she thought he had been released. She thinks he should have been at some safehouse by now, but we know he is here—we see the beacon and trail. Leader Daisy finds what she’s looking for and gives a determined nod. Our leader is strong. She seems very sure.

Friend Basira seems less sure as we walk in. Humans are staring at us but they dare not stop us. They know their place—to interrupt us on our chase would be to become a side quest. They would become prey.  Friend Basira’s expression is clear confusion as she stares between us and the humans around us. Two men with badges are approaching as Friend Basira whispers to Leader Daisy.

“What are we—how do we explain 5 dogs, Daisy? Who needs 5 service dogs?”

Leader Daisy shrugs and one of the men speak. “He’s on the 4^th floor.”

Is this security man one of us? He is correct that the target is up.

Friend Basira and Leader Daisy share a look again as the security guard points at us. “Look, you’re looking for the little guy with long hair covered in scars and his soft-spoken librarian looking boyfriend, right? He’s on the fourth floor.” They look tired—resigned to fate.  Leader Daisy shrugs and gestures to be led.

ORDERS ACCEPTED

We lead our leader to the stairs and run up to the 4^th floor. We are so close now, we can smell him on this floor. The visual trail has the green glow and some other colors mixed in. We run into the room ahead of our Leader and wait for orders as we told her we would. She and Friend Basira walk in and see what we see—and likely the reason the security knew we were coming here. Beholding is having a meeting.

The Target Jon addresses Leader Daisy, surrounded by 2 humans, 2 peacocks, a dozen butterflies, and a common black cat:

“So, I see you have a similar problem.”

Chapter Text

The Great Twisting went wrong when Identity was thrown into the mix. Pieces of him overtime had been given Identity before and since that singular moment, but she always felt and still feels that “Michael” was a moment that struck a chord in their “heart”—though maybe that was due to having a new heart in a part of zem with chords to be struck. Xey recall knowing everything and nothing at all due to the undefinable and intangibility of an untruth—ver words as the Distortion vague and twisting into multiple possible paths, but always right—never left and never wrong—always right. Xyr other fractals and forms less solid and less interactive. Words are not necessary to be afraid of Shadow figures not there but there and Lichtenberg figures stalking you. Zie thought he knew what being solid felt like with the Distortion and the Maker of Clay—all her little fragmented possible identities scattered throughout the existence of mankind as it was-is-and-will-be.

Ver first sense in this bold new existence was that they were wrong. Xe knew not what identity truly was until Ze were in a solid place and vis hallways locked down and eir existence quantified in a manner simplified for easy consumption by anything and everything that wished to know them. Because so little of her is intangible now. so little of him is untruth and factless and xey could effect so little now.

At least ze could still talk.

Especially now, after finding xemselves manifested and their forms small and difficult to find transport without human help. Worse than identity before is an identity of a dependent. Sure she could go to the animal kingdom and confuse a passing bird—but xyr likeness possess worlds so small and object permanence so lacking that manipulation cannot be felt or seen to any meaningful degree. he pled her case about humanity being animals and eir form being a way to be happy—but The Great Mother of this planet said no. That xe will be a bird—Distortion had hands the size of torsos and why doesn’t that just describe wings?—and that they would be beautiful. The Great Mother said that his identity would be bold in appearance, but that shouldn’t be new—that the contrast was always there. Then there was silence from the Great Mother, and ze understood the rest of vis life would be up to xem. It seems a punishment to em a bit, to take everything xey were and change it. Then they saw The War in the news weeks ago and saw murder and senseless violence still resonating. When he saw the fog trailing from the zoo and knew the biting of The One Alone within was still there. It felt unfair to her—ve felt xe changed so much-- until it happened. A pair of individuals speaking about hir. The individuals swore their feathers changed colors. The human’s eyes became lost in the fractals of her feathers –the large plumage less the typical long peacock feathers and more an array of Lichtenberg figures tangent and swaying—and once he was out of sight, the individuals argued whether ve was there at all. ze wondered then what would happen in one soaked in fractals and always thinking of endless right turns.

They are not ashamed that a part of xem sought out Helen. Helen was a piece of her in a way that was rare and special. Poor thing’s mind was lost without direction—not quite back to the way Helen had been before being fully consumed by his heart, but not as bad as when It Knows You had taken Helen’s statement. Helen didn’t even scream or question their existence when approached. Simply took direction, almost recognizing the familiarity of how ze speaks and being drawn to it. Hesitation and doubt and dependent still present, yes, but he saw a sharpness of old Helen that had been restored—a small amount of self-trust and autonomy present. Though Helen was hesitant and unsure now, they’ve no doubt that sharpness will be all that’s required for healing to take place.  That made em feel somewhat relieved, and only then made xem realize ze had felt guilty in the first place.

Ve is less sure—and zie hates that. The manipulation she is accustomed to using –to being—is not conducive to secondary emotions like this. It creates a parallel that xey don’t like. That dichotomy between wanting to slowly descend someone into madness but also be a support and foundation laid. The breaker and a builder of a person is fine as the same person as long as the finished product is acceptable when fundamentally flawed and dependent on said builder/breaker. This ….

This is not their desire now with Helen…

Xe still feels the desire present. The desire to feel the fear of someone slowly spiraling into madness (that’s his namesake after-all)—but to strangers and someone of whom is not-was not-will never be them. Helen should be him—should still be her. He ate Helen—She was Helen. Helen is still a part of them, and zie will stay as close or as far from Helen as is instructed. Helen will receive true and untwisted candor—loathe as xey are to give it.

Helen has earned that…

The other part of him seeks out the one who changed her—the one who’s words pulled them in. The Archivist—though the Archivist has changed as well. The Other Part locates the focal point of the harrowing words, thinking to start searching there and not realizing he would indeed be ending hir search here as well. Boldly, the Archivist is still at this location with It Knows You lounging, sitting and sunbathing in the windowsill.

As one can imagine, It Knows You spots her immediately.

As one can also imagine, It Knows You does not understand what they are.

Interesting

Zie parade xemselves to It Knows You, who is speaking freely despite the new form and much to the frustrations of the two in the little cottage. It Knows You likely still lacks the ability to follow to the reasonable conclusion. It Knows You knows 2 facts: 1) All That Is Fear was manifested on Earth as animals, and 2) There is a peacock in the front lawn of the cottage. Laughably, nary the 2 facts shall meet without intervention.

The conversation continues as It Knows You leans out the window and bats a small paw at the tuft of feathers atop his head. Zie can hear the Archivist and the favorite little Assistant inside. The one that fell into The One Alone—The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers and Shrugs played up for effect. That one speaks,

“We don’t even know how the other Fears are reacting to being creatures or even what the creatures are.”

“I think we know exactly how the Fears are reacting, Martin. You saw the news reports—the zoo is still closed,” The Archivist responds. Ze can hear chopping inside, but can see nothing past It Knows You.

There was a small hum and a brief pause before the response. “Mini Hippos though, right? That was… I was expecting something a little more… Slaughtery like—well, I don’t actually know what’s more senseless violence than a person, so I guess I had no idea what I would have picked.”

The Archivist chuckled, “with all the dream logic of the other situations, I’m surprised it wasn’t a play on words. Like a murder of crows or something.”

There was a small chuckle. “Right.” another pause, “So nothing else? Aside from being able to see when something is touched by the Fears, you can’t—you’re not—”

The Archivist interrupts “I’m not hungry for statements, no. Nothing has started to feel like withdrawals, and it’s been days—a couple weeks even. And you heard Beholding--it’s a residual effect, but we don’t know if it’s going to go away or if it’s just its own version of a scar.”

It Knows You looks back and jumps into the cabin at the conversation’s new subject. “I told you, it’s a gift leftover! Like Mother Nature’s reward for bringing us all here so we could be molded to the current way things are.”

Xey peak into the window and speak, “We guess you get credit for being gullible.”

Xyr vision unobstructed, she finally sees the Archivist as the attempt at chopping vegetables halts abruptly with a slice into the flesh of the Archivist’s wrist. The cut is deep, and as though It Knows You lingers in the Archivist, the small man stands stalk still in frozen shock just watching the blood.

“I can’t heal anymore” the Archivist utters as The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers begins rushing around, readying for the inevitable trip. It Knows You bounces back into the window “Bleeding means we go back to the hospital!” It Knows You looks at hir with pride “I pretended to work there. The Archive and The One They Love weren’t fooled, but that’s because I taught them to be observant.”

They can’t help but smile at that. Ve watches as the duo rushes to what Zir assumes is the hospital. It Knows You, left behind, accompanies him in a slow pursuit.

“So how do you like the new forms?” It Knows You asks.

Xey aren’t one for conversation, especially not when the truth is so much harder to find and twist. Still, they try. “It is acceptable. Enough of us is still present. We guess having Michael and Helen as identities were segues that helped us cope.”

“I like these new forms, personally. The world can be so small with two eyes or big with tons of eyes no problem! And the Archive and Pupil aren’t anything more than wary of me in my current state. The fear is down to caution, but I like it.”

Ze simply responds “Well their caution is well placed considering what they thought of you.”

It Knows You’s excitement faltered a bit. “Well… well they’re just needing to be shown that I’ve changed! Having consciousness is completely different than being the eyes in the sky, you know?”

“Of course we know that. We are threads of the same cloth. Though, It would be a shame if you couldn’t convince your old following of that though.”

There is a pause in conversation. It Knows You’s face falls as ve picks up the pace to accentuate the feeling of being left behind. It Knows You is no doubt deliciously questioning the infant connections acquired with the only two people It Knows You has really attempted to connect with since becoming manifest. A small stifled guilty feeling stings hir as vis old habits die hard.

Well, this will build friendship even more should it survive, zie thinks and the guilt ebbs for a moment.

There is a pause in zir thought too as her pace slows. Are they… is he manipulating xemselves? Justifying the actions to rid themselves of the guilt of making someone else question everything?

Ah…. So, this is why The Great Mother was not concerned. These doubts bleed into the soul and make one question things. Makes one feel guilt and question her own justifications as well. Turns out manipulation only works if you aren’t a consciousness who can be affected by manipulation. Great…

Maybe it can be used more positively. Despite this, it takes quite a while for zem to speak again. To the credit of It Knows You, there is not a moment that It Knows You was actually left behind.

she speaks, “Your Archivist and The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers are smart and see reason fairly well, right?”

It Knows You thinks a moment, still keeping up fairly well. “Of course they are very smart. They are academics”

Ve fans zir tail a little which seems to confuse the passersby on the current street and then, of course, half the group seems to forget the cat and peacock duo were even near as they get closer to the hospital.

“So once the Archivist and The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers talk to you and see that you could not help your nature, though forgiveness might not be immediate, understanding should be. Avatars know what it means to be guided by what comes naturally. And Avatars know what it’s like to feel out of control”.

It Knows You stops near the hospital entrance. “So being honest about how I was versus how I am now?”

Ze nods. “We were not but pieces in a puzzle. One can’t get mad at a single jigsaw piece for what the image is overall.”

It Knows You’s face lights up with bright eyes. “You’re right! I wasn’t a whole person back then so I didn’t understand what was happening. I’ll just explain and then they will have to see that I’m something new!”  

She bites the urge to twist the truth in the negative, but sowing the seeds to doubt negatives will happen is new. It’s… uncomfortable--the idea of creating hope instead of fear. Still, the way It Knows You relaxes—even purrs—is making ver feel relaxed as well. The urge is still there, but ey are starting to feel like xey don’t want to manipulate It Knows You either.

He and It Knows You use It Knows You’s small connection to find the human duo’s new room. It Knows You informs hir that the Archivist was put in an observation room to be evaluated by a psychiatric team to ensure the wound wasn’t intentional self-infliction. Security tries to stop them—silly security. This duo of fear might be shadows (though not like the Dark) of the former feelings they bled into this world, but she and It Knows You are still a force to be reckoned with. There is running, and turning the corner and Security suddenly wondering why running was occurring at all. Then walking, and security and running and turning a corner and security wondering about the running.  It Knows You could continue to use Sight to pinpoint when security would lose sight of the target, and ze could continue to trick the mind and fade into the background to make security question everything. By the end of the running, security was just staring at xem and It Knows You as the two creatures walked to the Archivist’s room.

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers scoffs at the door once it opens. “Oh, come on.”

The Archivist chuckles “It will definitely be harder for them to prove my sanity one way or another with this distraction.”

It Knows You jumps onto the bed and purrs “I missed you guys! Next time, you should take me with you!”

The Archivist is cautious, just as It Knows You said. A conversation crosses the Archivist’s expression before seemingly being put on the back burner. The Archivist and The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers share a brief look before both turn to zem. The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers speaks,

“So, what’s… So Helen… Are you Helen?”

They answer, “We have more than one form unlike It Knows You’s current consciousness. The one you’d consider Helen is on her way here. We sought out different locations when we manifested.”

The Archivist seems upset. More distrust for her sinks into existence—almost palpable. “So Helen is still gone then.”

A distraction soon flutters into the room followed by a Security again, though this time when security followed, it is less out of trying to maintain law and order and more to just see what is unfolding within the hospital: A dozen butterflies coming into the hospital room. The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers smiles in awe of the sight with childish laughter cut short as the look transforms into the half lidded expression of an individual who likely would describe the current emotional state being felt as “so done”.

“Wait, you’re another Fear God, aren’t you?”

The Archivist nods and answers “The Flesh being butterflies was not my first guess, but it does make sense given enough thought.” The security guard took this moment to leave with sanity intact. Well, what was left of sanity after meeting 3 (albeit small now) manifestations of All That Is Fear.

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers turned back to the bed “The Flesh?? Like Jared Hopworth Bone horror man in the statements with the—” The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers is interrupted by wailing from the butterflies—a cacophony of despair in a dozen tiny voices.

“Our prodigy dead! Rejected by bones and sinew that weren’t originally his, but possession is 9/10ths of the law!!” All at once the butterflies merge and become a horror of its own, the size of the security guard’s head, if ze must guess. The Tailor of the Corporeal glowed and spoke with a voice that echoed louder than should be possible. “It isn’t fair that some avatars get to live but our precious beings had to die because they dared think outside the box—outside their imperfect typical human bodies! There are some who got stitched up and healed, but Mother Nature couldn’t do that for my children because they were outside the level of ‘refitting’ into humanity that she could provide” The Tailor of the Corporeal growled out and slowly broke apart, returning to a state of separate butterflies and sadness. butterfly sniffles are an odd thing to hear, ve thinks. The Tailor of the Corporeal continued, “we sought him out on our way to see the Archivist and meet the one who made us whole, only to see him dead where he had stood as we came into this world.”

The Archivist and The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers just sit in silence, wondering the next move when It Knows You decided to comment. “I am so sad for you! The happy feeling I feel when thinking about meeting and being with the Archive and the Pupil and the One They Love and everyone. It’s very sad for you to not have that. Did Mother Nature say anything about the rest of your followers?”

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers perked up at that. “I—wait.. can you all talk talk to… did you say Mother Nature?”

The Tailor of the Corporeal spoke, only spoke in one voice rather than the dozen “She talked more when we first got here. Explaining that she was there and that we were hers now. But she didn’t tell us what to do with ourselves, what our purpose was, and said nothing about my followers not being able to live if they changed too much till I found Our Prodigy. At least he left this world just as he lived: as bones and flesh and sinew. He sure was the sum of his parts” The Tailor of the Corporeal seemed to say proudly, sadly, and with a hint of fondness.

It Knows You’s head tilted with curiosity at the humans in the room, “wasn’t she your mother first? Did she not talk to you when you were first manifested?”

The Archivist and The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers share a quick glance before the Archivist responds. “No—well. To be fair, humans don’t tend to remember their first few years? So, for all we know, she could have.” The Archivist seems to want to continue but is cut short by a very unsure presence entering with A Part of Them in tow—the same resigned security guard not even staying after escorting the newcomers. The Archivist’s eyes light up in shock and excitement before those same eyes train on the Other Part of Them in thinly veiled hostility. “You said Helen was gone! Still eaten…”

Xey respond “Did we say that? Or did we say we had another form? Did we say that, or did we say Helen was on her way?” The Archivist’s face expresses exactly the amount of frustration one would expect in this situation. She could only do hir best to give off the best shrug-like pose and say “old habits. Can’t say I’m sorry though. You got a pleasant surprise out of it.”

The Archivist seems to drop it in favor of addressing Helen directly.

Helen and the Archivist exchange pleasantries, The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers hovering as the events leading up to present day are explained. Of course xe are blamed for The Archivist cutting into flesh when startled. It Knows You and The Tailor of the Corporeal appear to be playing and it feels like hours pass before yet another interruption—It Will Find You arrives. The two ex-police officers: The Vicious Cycle and I Know What I Need To arrive soon after as the Archivist answers unasked questions behind lost eyes.

“So, I see you have a similar problem”

It wasn’t long before the humans of the group were crowding around the bed and let All That Is Fear catch up. Nurses came in periodically to discuss initiating discharge—apparently someone’s mental state can be whatever it wants to be so long as insane happenings are proven to be occurring. And the hospital likely is trying to avoid the introduction of anymore creatures to the fourth floor. The Tailor of the Corporeal and It Will Find You speak of their followers—Apparently some changed too much to live in the current world. It Knows You chimes in periodically but mostly watches the Archivist. Ve watches Helen: Helen is unsure, timid in conversation, mostly watching and trusting the sureness of others. Xey can almost see the process of Helen’s mind.

They know what they are doing. They seem so sure. Your mind can’t be trusted. You must rely on them.

She hates the guilt he feels at that, but staying with The Archivist will help. Helen will learn that it’s okay to disagree with someone else’s reality and still be right. Perception and interpretation can make anything a twistable reality, so the only way to survive is to know your truth and accept that it might be different from those around you. Helen will be strong again—is strong now for having survived… for having survived them…

Xyr thoughts are disturbed as the doctor flies in and perches on the bed to discuss treatment of The Archivist’s wound and asks The Archivist to verify information for the records. This includes wanting a discharge address to send the bill, contact information, and an emergency contact.

The doctor…

Ha ha ha ha

Oh, now this is going to be interesting…

Chapter Text

The twisting, turning, amalgamate way that I am now is exactly the beauty that I wanted to give to the world around me. I am the circle of life incarnate—acknowledgement that the standard canon of beauty makes you nothing but a number on the assembly line. If that is for you, to eat and be eaten, then you may live as you would like in the form that you have. If you do not—then seek out the ways of transcendence and see the beauty in sculpting and accentuating your best features. Mother Nature was sweet and kind, praising my uniqueness. She’s a sweetheart even if she couldn’t save my children—though she reassured me that their meat wouldn’t go to waste! She did also tell me that in the depths of the woods, there are unique phenomena that I can twist and create. That my time may come for bigger things soon—has come before. I am excited!

The doctor is trying to talk to The Archivist about discharging, but the Twisting Deceit is being very—well, being themselves.

“What kind of discharge follow up is the doctor expecting to do? Are we sure a doctor for routine care needs to know a discharge address for a simple cut?” The Spiral says before The Archivist can answer the doctor’s questions.

The unsure one – I think called Helen? —looked nervously between the doctor and The Archivist before adding, “How many people really need to know your address, Jon? I don’t know how many of the fears are going to be, well, evil. What if someone hacks into the system?”

The doctor reassured us. “The system is very sound. There is no outside source that can hack into the system. It’s an intranet rather than internet system that cannot be hacked into without triggering a failsafe and shutting the whole thing down.”

The Spiral continues, “What if there is a spy right under the noses of the healthcare providers that didn’t need to hack into the system? A spy would need only ask the nurse’s, social worker’s or even The Archivist directly to get the answers they seek.”  

The Archivist rolls his eyes, “Firstly, don’t think they aren’t evil now just because they come off a bit nicer now.” Beholding’s eyes saddened at that statement. The Archivist noticed and at least had the decency to look slightly guilty before continuing. “Secondly, there are badges and credentials required to come in. No one could come in as a spy so easily now that avatars basically don’t exist.” The Archivist scoffs at the notion, before turning to the doctor who has a pensive look—almost impatient or frustrated at the Spiral. I would be too if a peacock were sabotaging my job. “Look, Doctor is there any chance you could come back? We don’t know if we are going to return to our apartments or the place we have been staying, or a friend’s house yet. We need to discuss our next course of action.”

The doctor seems frustrated as he sighs. “Very Well, I’ll follow up soon enough, but I don’t have all day and we were planning on discharging you sooner rather than later.” The doctor takes his leave, and The Archivist turns to the Spiral.

“I do not need you trying to manipulate me against the doctor now too. When we have a plan in place and he comes back in here, you are going to let me fill in the necessary forms to discharge from here. I know the games you play, and I will have none of it.”

The lonely boy is named Martin, I think. He speaks up next, changing the subject—used to keeping the piece no doubt. “So, do you think we should find another place to go? Return to our apartments or find someplace new?”

Oh! They might want to know, which makes this my turn to speak! “Oh I don’t know if it makes any difference to you, or if you want to be able to guide the other fear folks, but we were all drawn out by your words at the, like… cabin cottage place that you’ve been hiding out at. I followed the cat here, but if I hadn’t spotted him, I would have started at the cottage cause… well cause the energy is still there.”

Martin does not seem happy by that information, “Oh just great, so we are definitely not going back to that place if it’s become a fear beacon like Hilltop Road.”

“I.. You seem upset. I hope that was information that you were okay with knowing. Mind games have never really been my thing.” I try to reassure them, but Martin gives me a look of confusion.

“Oh, no it’s good information to have? Just not very good news for our current location choices… you understand. So… not good news but we needed to… hear it.” His face looks as though it’s trying to read me. I don’t want him to think I’m lying about not liking mind games.

I give a sure nod. “good! I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

The Spiral chuckles, “The Tailor of the Corporeal does tend to deal in direct and visceral, saving the more mature and psychological to those better equipped at emotional and mental presentation.”

What?

“Are you insulting me?” I can feel myself losing shape, translating my emotions into my physical form. “I know you’re not used to real friends, but if you want to be part of a team then you need to learn to be less mean.”

I didn’t think a peacock could smile, but The Spiral surely gives off a smug look. “Not used to friends? We will let it be known that friendship was achieved when that was the goal. We were trusted by many and were never in a position to be harmed by anyone else. We seem to recall hearing a story about one of the Visceral avatars dying to a ‘friend’ by being encased in cement, and let’s not forget how many avatars and creatures died by letting people get too close.”

Beholding joins the conversation—for which I am grateful cause I will go off. Call me immature again. I take this time to reform.

“But we are all different now, remember? Spiral, you told me to talk to The Archive and The One They Love that we weren’t whole people back then so we couldn’t help how our avatars used our gifts.” Beholding turns to the Archivist, “Fear isn’t inherently bad—It’s a warning signal to creatures to keep them on alert and know when danger is present. None of us could help what we had to live on to survive, and we didn’t control what the people who got ahold of our power were doing with it.”

Helen mouths “The One They Love?” to the Archivist, who tilts his head toward Martin and whispers rather sheepishly “Seems some of them have names for us based on who they were seeing the world through.”

Martin ignores the sidebar, though a blush is seen on his features, “Wait, why did the Spiral tell you to say that?”

Beholding continues, “Because… because I was worried that you wouldn’t like me. Because I know what the Avatars of the Fears did, and even though The Archive was one of my own, I was worried that he would still be afraid of me. But my powers were siphoned off to little pockets and the rest was condensed into this form here, and we all talk about being made whole because that’s what happened! The consciousness we have been given makes this part of me complete. We are more than just fear now! We are whole complex creations with thoughts and feelings and all that. We might still have natures, but we aren’t bound to them anymore.”

There is a pause in conversation

The pause is elongated by the nurse coming in to take a set of vital signs and discuss the social worker needing to add his discharge address and preferred pharmacy to whatever an “AVS” is and that he should be discharged soon. The Hunters seem to agree and say to the nurse to give The Archivist a ride once he’s released. And as she leaves, the Hunters add a question to the conversation: “The dogs say you had residual Beholding on you. I don’t feel anything for me, but I don’t know if that means I don’t have ‘residual’ whatever that means.”

The Archivist fills in the group, addressing the one he calls “Daisy” directly in name (since she asked the question) but looking at all the humans in the group, saying in so many (sooo many) words the following: The “residual” is a sense of sorts. He doesn’t have an urge to take a statement but he can still just Know if a person had been touched by a Fear—like a sixth sense. The stronger the sense the more they have been touched by it. “Not just us” he says at the end of his explanation, “Like the doctor has been affected by the Stranger.”

The Spiral snickers a bit but stays silent. He’s so pompous! The Archivist doesn’t move to say anything, just giving the Spiral a look. I won’t let them get away so easily.

“Got something to share with the class?”

Spiral says “Not anything that would be valued by the group thus far. We’ve been informed that trying to rally distrust for the doctor isn’t appreciated, so silence was the answer for this situation.”

“So, what, instead of explaining why you want us to distrust the doctor, you’re going to just sit on your high horse and be smug and rude? You know a lot of people say that arrogance is just a way to shield insecurities. Maybe you should talk to someone about your current self-esteem.” Take THAT

Spiral responds quickly, “Our insecurities are small and need no continued conversation. It is not the fault of the speaker when the listeners aren’t at a place to listen. Whether the intelligence of the room is the reason is not our place to say.”

Mind games. Of course, they would say their insecurities are small—all of our everything feels small right now. “You say you’re insecurities are small, but I bet there is a reason you are guiding Helen and sought out to match her with the Archivist! I bet you were giving her to friends ‘cause you feel bad for toying with them. At least some of my avatars spread the beauty of being different rather than making someone question their whole existence! Don’t get mad at the humans for not outrightly trusting you when your goal and food was messing with people’s heads!”

Spiral laughs, but there is a frustration in their eyes that proves I struck a chord, “There seems to be discourse in certain squishy fleshy hearts in attendance. Is the Tailor of the Corporeal jealous that most others among All That Is Fear have avatars that survived?”

I feel myself change, I see the glow about me as I erupt into argument—my voices loud and echoing over one another.

“You think you’re so high and mighty, but you became a small creature just like the rest of us!”

Spiral apparently is ready, “We both may have become staples of beauty, but you’re still nothing more than an insect!”

“You’re nothing more than a glorified RIGHT TURN”

“You think we are JUST AN ANYTHING?! Your followers were gym rats and meat!” They begin feigning distress,  “Oh no, we need more bones! Let’s throw meat in a giant pit!” They return their gaze to me before yelling, “MONSTER PIG!”

“Monster Pig was awesome!! Your follower fell into a book and DIED!”

“Your followers are too stupid to realize cannibalism’s NOT what people meant when they call each other a snack!”

Don’t go there.

“Maybe if your stupid meat friends were tailored to a healthier more meaningful form, say having minds messed with instead of their bodies, there would have been something salvageable.”

That’s Not Fair

“As it stands, not even the Great Mother could salvage what you had done to those that followed you. Truly a testament to how weird you were when everything else that is fear seems to be doing just fine.” This last sentence was said more biting than the others—more personal. Spiral was mad, and though they continued to speak the truth, they twisted it to make it hurt.

OH THAT.IS.IT.

“Say that to my faces you egotistical slinky!” I charge at the Spiral.

“BIG WORDS FOR A SNACK THAT SMILES BACK!” Spiral is rushing toward me back. The tail feathers are confusing, and I feel myself get lost in them. There aren’t many things I can do, but I morph and change and scratch when I can scratch and bite when I have mouths. We can’t tell what we grow or not. There is a scuffle a bit and then there is a knock at the door as we are separated by the hunters and put in our own respective corners. It’s then that we hear that the scuffle was not just us, but also shuffling steps on the other side of the door. A voice from the door just says, “Sir, I really wasn’t—okay.”

The Security guard appears, shoving a gentleman through the doorway, followed by an owl. I don’t recognize either of the new people. The gentleman is looking at The Archivist. “Shouldn’t you be in London?”

The Archivist looks at the newcomer, “Oliver? You... You came to the hospital?”

The newcomer—Oliver—holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to, to be honest. I escaped London to get away from you lot when you were doing your own thing and as I was passing by, a security guard on his smoke break was eyeballing me something fierce. I stopped to see what he was staring at me for, and next thing I know he’s dragging me in here.  I guess he thought Terminus and I wanted to join your… whatever this is, but I don’t.”

Martin looks at the owl. “The End…is an owl? I honestly would have pegged that more to be an Eye thing.”

Oliver shrugs, “I guess some cultures view the owl as an omen. Terminus doesn’t seem to be bothered either way.” Oliver mutters quietly, “Kind of cute the way he sought me out.” Before continuing in a normal voice. But I’m just relieved the nightmares are gone, and I don’t hold any grudges for the way things were—accepting our natures and all that. I kind of took him in. We are just going to do our own thing somewhere else.”

The Archivist chuckles, “Terminus was always ever neutral in discourse.”

Terminus speaks, his voice lower than I had expected “I am not opposed to giving you information, Archivist.  I don’t think it will change the tides in anyone’s favor per se, but we will not seek you out to deliver knowledge past today. I ask for respect of that boundary.”

The Archivist looks serious. “So, there is favor to be had. Are some of the fears trying to start a war?”

The doctor returns with a nurse in tow, the doctor asks again for the discharge location and Oliver looks very oddly at the healthcare providers while the doctor explains the need for the room and how much cleaning will go into sanitizing after all of us have left. Oliver cuts in and gives an address. “They will be staying with me for a little while.” The nurse looks back at the doctor and the doctor nods. They take down the information and step back out of the room to write up that “AVS” they talked about earlier.

The Archivist looks at Oliver skeptically. “You just said you weren’t helping, but you are going to let us stay with you?”

Oliver looks back at the Archivist. “It’s a fake address, Jon. I still—No you’re not actually—Jon, you…” He pauses after a small sigh, looks at everyone in the room, and says “Jon, your doctor is a bird… You didn’t notice he was a bird?”

The Archivist scoffs, incredulous. “Of course, I noticed he was a bird-- don’t be ridiculous. He’s always been a bird even the first time we came here 3 weeks ago, it’s just the… Like an… exchange…thing, wait why did none of us question a bird doctor?”

One of the hunters, the one with a headscarf, rolls her eyes and heaves a sigh. “You said the doctor was affected by the Stranger. If he’s a bird, then he likely IS the Stranger with Not!Them abilities. Though I can’t believe we just thought it normal that your doctor was a bird.”

Martin shrugs, “I mean he was a parrot, Basira, so I thought if there was a bird that talks that’s normal…” Martin gestures out the door before continuing, “Parrot. And it rewrote things! Or was quick to find us because I swore, he was a bird last time.”

Helen, sitting quietly in the corner then turns to the Spiral that was nearest her. “You knew then? That’s why you were getting us to distrust the doctor.”

Spiral shrugs, “Seems the powers of I Do Not Know You are waning if simply being called out breaks the illusion. Pity. The Archivist is lucky we stopped the transference of a real correct address, otherwise the I Do Not Know You, likely working with any number of others in the grand scheme of things, would have a location with which to play spy or killer.”

The Archivist groans, “Alright so not back into the cottage then.”

Oliver began leaving, but the bigger hunter—the one named Daisy—had stopped him in the doorway. “Wait just a minute. Is there anything you would like to tell us about anything else?”

Oliver, gently attempting to remove the hunter’s hand from his shoulder, fails to get out of her grip and is left standing there with his hand on hers as he replies. “Nothing outside of what you’ve just discovered. There is opposition that is starting to plan war. I don’t know how many are joining them, though I see you have a small group of your own friends. There were talks between the Dark and Terminus about ‘pockets’ of energy that the opposition thought they could use. The Web doesn’t tend to bluff when plans are involved, and you know they are involved, so I’d see it as the threat it is. The Dark mentioned seeking you out, so they may want to join to make things stay the same—I’m not sure. That is all I have.” Oliver raises his eyebrows at Daisy expectantly and, once released (reluctantly), he and the Owl make their exit.

The silence that follows their departure is palpable. The Mother of Puppets—the abandoned mother overshadowed by the mother of this new-old world—is likely not happy by the Fears coming in and taking to this new mother. I wonder what she thought of the plan of the Eye in the first place. She must have been okay with it since it went correctly according to Beholding, but then when Mother Nature snatched this world from us and Beholding—was that how Beholding thought this would go?

Everyone in the room seems to be giving pause to the idea of the Spinner of Schemes coming back into play. Beholding’s eyes are glowing green with little orbs –rudimentary eyes—surrounding the creature but seemingly fanning their gazes out to random directions. Wait a minute…

“Hey when I have multiple eyeballs it’s seen as weird and gross, but when THEY do it, it’s perfectly fine?”

That seems to startle everyone out of their introspections and The Archivist shrugs. “It’s just the feeling of being watched that we are all pretty used to at this point.”

I don’t think the glare of a butterfly is doing anything to the Archivist after he’s been exposed to the ire of the Beholding themselves, but I’m sure trying it anyway. Makes me feel better at least.

The stupid Spiral talks next, “So does this motley crew have any intel or plan?”

Martin sighs in frustration, “Well we can’t go back to the safehouse, and I highly doubt our old addresses are magically forgotten.”

The archivist mentions probably not being able to go back to the archives either, and the two hunters voice what we all are thinking. The one they call Daisy mentions, “You’d even think about going back there?! Not only is Elias back there, and who knows what powers he has left over—”

Beholding interjects, “none”

--“But that’s also literally the one other place that Monsters will look for – what?” Daisy looks at the housecat. Basira asks “you’re sure? No powers at all?”

As Beholding just stares, I chime in, “I may be wrong, but I feel like Beholding would know if one of Beholding had any powers left.”

Beholding smiles and adds on “One of my names is ‘It Knows You’ also, so safe to say I… Know”

Helen was shuffling awkwardly and though the Spiral would likely be loathe to admit it, a flash of concern appears to form—strange as an emotion is on a bird’s face. The Spiral speaks, “Helen wasn’t wanting to be alone anyway, and though some bills may need to paid, utilities need to be turned back on, we feel it may be a decent headquarters. And it is a sizable house located in Chelsea—close enough to the institute to observe and investigate but far enough to avoid detection should it be desired.”

Beholding’s eyes seem to literally light up, “Dread god sleep over? Can we have a Dread God Sleep overrrr?”

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t also excited at the idea. The Hunt hides behind stoicism when silently asking what Daisy and Basira think—Their unwavering eye contact clearly making the humans uncomfortable.

Helen is watching the other two humans that aren’t standing in the corner of the room as they silently nod to one another and then Martin reassures Helen that it is perfectly acceptable if she does not want this much company and that they will be very grateful for the offer even if she changes her mind. After deliberations, and bringing the two hunters into the conversation, it is decided: One of the two peacocks would be at the cottage to observe and redirect anyone who looked like they were wanting direction, and then everyone else goes to Helen’s house in Chelsea. Beholding was trying to mentally speak with the other cats he can see through, but it appears like Beholding can only watch through other forms rather than control multiple like most of the rest of us. Something to do with observing rather than acting being their big thing, I think.

The nurses come in and give that AVS (called an “after visit summary” it turns out) and, much to the dismay and delight of the Hunt and Beholding respectively, pet and scratch and love on all of the animals cramped into the small hospital room that we are in. Daisy instructs Hunt not to retaliate, and they seem keen on following instructions. I am somewhat of a curiosity to the staff and relish in the smile and awe shown on their faces when I land en masse on the shoulders, arms, chest, head of anyone who talk about me at all. I do work a bit, which the staff in question seem to receive in pleasant surprise. Nothing big—my New Mother said start off small—but scar tissue to skin or a wart or two removed is nothing to write home about. I am given directions to fly to Helen’s house, and Helen apparently has her own vehicle-- lost as she seems to be navigating on her own. The humans divide the seats of the vehicles and make plans, and us dread gods make plans of our own.

After all, we can’t leave without a proper goodbye to our kin. Beholding sneaks out (very dramatically—I will add… I don’t think Beholding quite understands being subtle). After a pause that should not have been as drawn out (though beholding does like to swap stories—I probably shouldn’t have sent them), I listen at the door to see when security and Beholding have spoken and it’s made obvious not even a full 2 minutes after that when the same, resigned security officer is overheard heaving a huge sigh.

“Of course. What did I even expect?”

Chapter Text

It’s hard shifting everyone’s point of view without changing forms. The nurses here just think I’m a holier than thou doctor who won’t touch the computer on my own around them, but I’ll be honest I don’t know how much my mediocre copy of a human life would continue to properly mask itself if I tried to use the computer again. The hesitation and delicious fear the nurse had seemed to have had been unmistakable, like my face and feet hitting the keys were just odd enough that despite being normal parrot behavior, it was something they were having a hard time coming to terms with. I realized then that I had few more “parrot behaviors” I was not allowed to do. I had already learned that “squawking” would immediately destroy the illusion—which is fine as I can speak without it. Flying surprisingly is not an issue, which is also good for my ability to travel. Not having hands of my own can be worked around, making the nurses look up information on Mr. Jonathan Sims, and finding out through the system which was his doctor was easy enough. Apparently the first doctor was avoidant at his job anyway as no one has noticed he’s gone yet. Had The Archivist been more injured, and if I had more time, this would be easier, but cultivating my humans takes even more time with limited limbs, assuming I can even do that still.

I have been stripped of almost all my power in this new form. A bird is not close enough to a human to be barely noticeable—to be uncanny. There is barely fear to be had in this, and even though it was no longer required, I live for the uncanny and the strange. I love what I do. It wasn’t just a necessity for me like it seems to have been for everyone else who can just ignore that we are weaker and worse off and powerless. Humans can just spot me, and the fear they feel at their own inability to notice me is such a small dose of fear in comparison to the long con of being near someone for so long. All of the red flags that they missed and questioning everyone else around them as a result is just lost when breaking the illusion is as easy as asking your neighbor, “Is that a bird?”.

Still, at least it works enough to get the Archivist’s next location so that I can help return us to our rightful place. The unknown and uncanny are perfectly fine on the fringes if this is the alternative.

I impatiently stand on the desk next to the nurse as she places the order for the pain medications to the pharmacy to have it delivered to the Archivist’s house. The nurse is having trouble with the order, the sticky note with the Archivist’s discharge address ripped on the edges from an idle nurse waiting on hold. I watch as the Cat exits the room and strikes up a conversation with the security guard nearby since it appears it’s going to be a few minutes at the very least. That guard is so fed up with them, but—wanting to keep his job most likely—he listens to the cat and seems to give a story of his own. I wonder if he was ever marked by one of us from before. If he has a story for beholding that beholding gets to drink in just like old times while the rest of us suffer as nothing more than cheap knock offs of ourselves. They are speaking for longer than I thought the guard would stand for, and then he shifts his gaze to the ceiling in disbelief and says more loudly,

“Of course. What did I even expect?”

The Cat returns to the room and it’s about the time that the security guard’s gaze locks onto mine that I realize what he was talking about.

I’ve been caught.

The entire zoo of the Archivists room is exiting with the humans in toe and all the humans pick up the pace as one yells out on their way, “Kind of odd that you have a bird as a doctor! Can they even have degrees? Surely that’s a mistake, right?” They are pointing at me. The Archivist is looking at me.

Stop it

All eyes in the room scan the staff with curiosity, seemingly having forgotten that I was a normal member of their staff not 10 seconds ago.

Stop it

They all stare at me. They all know me. The illusion dispelled so easily.

Stop LOOKING AT ME

I grab the sticky note with my claw and fly out of the nurse’s station as the room erupts in confused commotion. The stair’s door opens up as someone was stepping through, and I can’t tell if I should be thankful for coincidences or thankful for the Web. I escape the hospital easy enough, feeling the fear of those inside questioning the rest of the staff. I can imagine each staff member making sure they lay eyes on everyone else, their minds on alert for “animals = weird” in staffing and scrutinizing accordingly. I likely will not be able to hide in that hospital again.

I hate being so weak

I will make my way to the house of the Archivist, that way I can easily guide my allies here when the time comes. I will ensure my place at the Web’s side so I can be first or—at the very least—one of the first to go through with the plan. Let me regain the power I’ve lost. I hate it in the world. I’m too small. I’m too weak. I’m too powerless.

The Vast would be delighted to hear me now.

I wonder if the Corruption had any luck recruiting Vast or Desolation to the cause? Mother said there is a certain number she was hoping to attain in allies in order to be sure we could control our strong hold and maintain it. We are almost ready to begin our real work soon. We just have to make sure the Archivist doesn’t have any ability to stop us and keep an eye on him, so he doesn’t catch us off guard. Mother expects Terminus to stay out of things, so I will be telling her something new when I say he’s not going to do anything with her side just as he said. She was assuming Terminus means to turn down the Archivist’s proposal as well, but offering him temporary sanctuary does not bode well for their usual neutrality. I fear that Terminus joined the Archivist and we are dwindling in potential recruits. We haven’t been able to locate the Buried in the underground, so not likely going to pick a side either, but I can always hope.

I’m followed by a small spider who has sharp eyes that you can see when you look toward them no matter their size. I sigh and continue my path.

There is an understanding that the spider wants an update. “Fine.” I say as I slow down and make sure to check the street names as I go. “I have the Archivist’s next temporary location—He’s housing with the End. I don’t know how long he’s staying there, but I can gauge how many more people he has at his disposal the longer I watch him. He didn’t know me on his own which leads me to believe his powers have been stripped like our avatars—I will verify in the coming days. I will update you with a full report when I am satisfied with my reconnaissance of the Archivist’s plans.” The spider gave pause and the skittered away. I huffed a sigh and thought about which of the fears were left that could be recruited to our side or who remained missing.

It shouldn’t be this hard to recruit help from the fears to go back to being fear! Why does the stupid Owl want to remain a stupid owl, and Beholding even seems to think that this is somehow the desired effect of a ritual! Do they really think that Gertrude exhausted manpower and resources to stop… This??? I hope not. Web seems to be wanting a different outcome, so this couldn’t have been it.

This can’t be it

This …can’t be it.

I just ruminate on those words and look up at the Boots in front of me bearing the exact address on the sticky note. I know the nurse did not write it down wrong. I was there. I heard…

A couple walking down the street stop to stare at the parrot that appears to be staring at a sign just as it occurs to me.

That Coroner of Terminus—of course he would be one to notice me right away. Of course, his eyes would read the truth. Not only see the truth but understand it for what it was. Terminus is an inevitable fact, and the Coroners tended to coldly view the world through an objective lens of facts rather than seeing it through a lens of fear or emotion. Even with the Avatar powers relinquished, the cold calculated thought is probably habit at this point.

And now I get to report to Mother with “Just kidding about the Archivist’s address-- I was duped. I’m definitely a useful addition to the team. Oh, also I lost the hospital cause they walked out dispelling the illusion to the staff.” She’s going to love that.

An individual approaches me as I lament my misfortune, asking her friend, “Is that a bird?”

Oh, shut up.

Chapter Text

It would seem a cruel fate to give the Coming End That Waits For All and Cannot Be Ignored a true vessel and dimension with which to feel anything. He’s certainly not going to deny a level of discomfort present in understanding the hurt mortality inflicts upon the sentient. Their woes and fears manifesting as more than just food. Food for thought…Food for thoughts.

But this new form gave him introspection just as much as it gave him sorrow, and though those exposed tended to conflate the two, he knows that the blame for dying is misplaced when directed at him.. He was manifest of the fear of death, but he does not come in like a fabled reaper. He merely existed as a representation of the fear and awful dread of those who ruminated on the End. In fact, there were very few times he or his played along in the politics of the entities themselves. Instead, they tended to humbly exist and accept fate for what it was rather than perform any grandiose acts. He thinks Oliver’s ocean adventure is the closest thing he’s had to a massive event and he thinks of that moment—of Oliver Becoming—fondly. It’s easy for The End to exist though. Not everything suffocates or questions reality or falls off a high building—But everyone and everything ends.

Still, this new form and the questions answered from Mother Nature herself have given him a slight purpose before retreating to a life outside of what some would call meaning—a life that may seem meaningless to others but is a quiet peaceful life that he is looking forward to should the Web fail their plans. He did think to himself at one point in time that intervention and choosing a side might be in his best interest, but he cannot bring himself to feel drawn to either side enough to fight for an outcome that isn’t inevitable. He was created—birthed—of the fear of a fact. Of the inevitability of the end of existence for all. This enveloped him in resignation and acceptance for the coming of fate—wherever and whatever it ends up being. He will present what he knows to those that wish to fight to make a difference, but he will not dwell in the idea of change and conflict any more than that.

Being reborn as a bird of prey is problematic in the desire to not fight for things, and it was quickly learned that he cannot be resigned in the microcosm. Resignation only works in macro as his small world include things like gathering water and food. Mother Nature scolded him in the first days of his existence as he laid down to die not wanting to fight against the inevitable fate of all things. She told him to observe those around him, to which he replied that that was Beholding business. She told him that he may do as he pleases with the life she gave him as long as he hunts down the few followers he had and just speaks with them.  He is not above making deals. He’s left with superficial knowledge of who those marked by him are, where they live, and who they are living with.

That’s a saying for a reason, he supposes: Mother knows best. For the more he sought out the followers he had, the more he experienced. Not the best experiences mind you—he is new to hunting, finding water, staying away from predators, existing—but he also feels the catharsis of emotional output, the joy of a task completed, and the soft feeling of personal connection. Most of his followers have lives and are slowly healing. They also seem to be slowly regaining their emotions overtime (also both a boon and burden as the deeds some did to survive were… less than stellar), so he feels like they will all reintegrate into their society just fine. He begins to wonder how the other fears are handling their new position and finds himself watching a news report on the Zoo incident. It is strange the emotional range he now has when thinking about the other Fears and their work. The strange, mangled flowers and vines the Flesh left behind in the enclosure they had been born in, with the zookeeper that the news anchor was interviewing stating the Flesh had removed a wart from their hand. His heart began forming attachments to some—he noticed he was developing favorites. And an unspoken question about the Flesh is answered by the little maternal voice that encouraged him to test drive existence before dying.

The footage that they showed of the Lonely gives him some indication of where to start looking, though he only ends up finding the Dark—who had located the Corruption. A small house bat hanging around a wasp’s nest would likely cause a stir were humans the type to be observant.

The discussion is as informative as it is vague: The Dark and Corruption mentioned being recruited by “other fears” to “fix things” using energy pockets. None of the fears present appeared to really know if that means put them back where they originally were or if that means taking over as the rituals originally were supposed to do. It appears the main recruiting point for “fixing” things is just asking “isn’t our current situation a sorry state?”

But it isn’t, is it? It is just as good or bad as the previous circumstances. Whether existing on the outskirts as a personified collection of residual energy pooled into the universe and reflected back or existing within the world as a bonified and complete self, both have their pros and cons. Both are an existence. Neither is bad—they just are. To compare the two would be to delve into subjective notions and opinions that he is not ready to form yet. Having desires for who he’d like as company is one thing. But having a preferred self? He just got the consciousness required to appreciate the two selves he’s had—he’s not ready to be able to choose between them.

He certainly doesn’t automatically know which his favorite is. He certainly will not speak it out loud for fear of feeling obligated to fight fate itself to stop him from reverting back.

For no particular reason, he begins to find that he would like to establish his place in this world –since without change, this is his existence now-- so he seeks out a follower and makes an undeserved request that is surprisingly accepted: help me

Oliver seems to remain resigned to his connection with the End, and the End got to experience thankfulness and the feeling that kindness inflicts on others. He makes an unspoken agreement that he will stay with Oliver as long as Oliver is fine with the company—and Oliver doesn’t seem put out by having a new roommate. They are on their way to the shops to locate perches and other such bird things to appear like a normal pet should Oliver choose to bring friends or more over—when they are accosted by a frustrated security guard all but dragging Oliver into a hospital saying something about the fourth floor and “how many more are you?”

This officer doesn’t want the answer to that probably. The End thinks his mind likely hasn’t connected the hippos on the news with them quite yet. Unless the Hippos were already here.

He hoped the hippos aren’t here.

The hippos are not here, but there are several others present including the Flesh! The youngest of them and seemingly very feisty. What he is not expecting is the Spiral to be resorting to physical violence as well. The Spiral and Flesh are being pulled apart and separated as Oliver is ushered into the room. Their presence is short as there isn’t much information to exchange.  Despite wanting to stay out of the conflict, he finds himself feeling sad at the idea of never seeing them again.

And now, they are on their way to the last apartment the End wishes to visit before hunkering down and observing his new small corner of existence. Despite Oliver’s reluctance, he would very much like to visit this one because he can now make some connections and will like to at least relay his theory. As they approach the door of the apartment, Oliver slows down and hesitates again.

“She called me evil…” Oliver says quietly, “I doubt she’ll keep the door open for long.”

Terminus chuckles, “She won’t have to keep it open for long, just long enough for an exchange of information.”

Through the door, a voice could be heard as the locks begin clicking.

“I can hear you through the door, you know. Though I have to warn you that if Georgie has called you evil before, then you are not allowed in. She’ll be out soon enough.”

The door opens and a woman greets the two at her door. She pauses at the name “Terminus” and then Georgie steps in behind her, her eyes never leaving Oliver. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Oliver is assisting me in finding my new place—I was on a hunt to formally meet those that had encountered my likeness before I became… this. I know you two didn’t get on, so I’ll be brief.”

“I don’t think I want to hear whatever you have to say.”

Terminus continues anyway, “The Flesh has retained their ability to modify living tissue, and the most reliable source on the subject has assured me that among their abilities is repairing some trauma based physical damage. Like fixing scars on one’s eyes, for example.”

No one speaks for a while, so Terminus continues talking.

And talking.

And soon they are inside the living room of the flat with the situation of the Fears and Mother Nature and the Archivist being spelled out over tea. Oliver sitting in a chair to the side and Georgie standing behind Melanie mostly watching and listening to the exchange between Terminus and Melanie, who is fascinated to learn she is speaking to an owl.

Georgie has been texting on her phone, letting the group know that she is getting information on the Archivist’s housing situation.

Melanie sets down her empty cup, “So is.. the Eye or Beholding or whatever… is it just fine too? I just felt like if I ever met any of you that you’d be… I don’t know, spookier.”

Georgie looks up briefly from her phone, her gaze meeting Terminus and then Oliver—her thinly veiled distrust and skepticism enough to make Oliver return his gaze to his own toes.

Terminus answers, “We were not cognitive enough to be good or evil at the time. No feelings were involved. We fears were a culmination of the human condition amplified and reflected back to humanity altered—Like your… fun house mirrors. The creature you see in the mirror is twisted and seems its own entity, but it is only present and moving so long as what creates it is present. The evils that you associated with us were the humans that took our reflections and used us for their own gain.”

Melanie visibly relaxed, “That’s good, because I would be hard-pressed to ignore a cat.” Oliver nods in agreement, though whether he realizes he’s doing it is unknown.

Georgie huffs behind Melanie, “If you are remaining neutral in all this despite knowing the havoc that you Fears caused in your old forms, then you are basically saying that you are fine with potentially causing harm and havoc in the future.”

Terminus pauses under the full scrutiny and stare of Georgie. He does not feel any nuanced answer will be helpful, so honesty and self-reflection is the only choice.

“I do not wish to cause harm, but there are things I am not ready to reflect on or experience. I am allowed to hold opinions while acknowledging that if something is destined to happen then it’s going to happen regardless of my struggle against it. My nature as I was created was and still remains a more passive attitude—less need for action and more accepting the circumstances as they come. As far as the life I am about to lead now, I wasn’t going to do anything with it at first. Passivity was preferred to me. But in seeing the other Fears and those marked by my likeness and interacting with the world around me, I have decided that seeing my little corner of the world, no matter how brief my existence in it, is preferred to giving it up. Death is still inevitable—I have accepted that—but the fleeting nature of existence does not snuff out the comfort, connections, and sweet moments that can be enjoyed while it lasts. Whether my end is death or reverting to mindlessness, my current path is the same.”

Georgie and Melanie seem to process his words, and Georgie gives a decisive nod. “Well, in that case, welcome to existence and thank you for the information. We will use it well.”

Georgie apologizes for calling him and Oliver evil. “I suppose it was a bit more nuanced then the black and white I was seeing it as. But in my head, anything associated with the powers only brought destruction and pain. And I could definitely recognize Death on you.” She says that last part mostly to Oliver.

Oliver takes it in stride, “To be fair, I was basically reaching through Jon’s coma using my connection to Terminus to tell Jon that making a decision was inevitable and that leaning into the Fears was the only way for him to survive. So, probably would have sounded evil even if you did know what I was doing there.” Upon Georgie’s stern look, Oliver chuckles and scratches the back of his head, sheepishly adding, “But you were probably more so thinking of giving me a pass.”

Georgie’s expression softens, “Look, I want to like you because I get just accepting that things are happening, and unlike some of the other monsters out there, you don’t seem the type for really justifying heinous acts or relishing in the pain of others. At least…”

Oliver cut in, “Oh I’m not! I’m definitely not!”

Georgie continues “—Right, so anyone who would take time to come to my door after I called you evil for the purpose of possibly restoring Melanie’s eyesight is okay in my book. Well, not… evil anymore in my book.”

Oliver pauses before saying, “Well the eyesight thing was really Terminus’ Ide-“

“Oliver-“ Georgie starts.

“—a pass-another pass. Got it. I’m sorry, I’m right garbage at lying.” Oliver abruptly stops, causing a small pause before Melanie chuckles.

“Right, well, that’s actually somewhat reassuring”

Oliver nods, “Well, sounds like you’ve a party to crash, so” He pointed at Terminus, “We will get out of your hair for now.”

They began to part ways, Georgie getting Oliver’s number “for memes and pictures—nothing more, Oliver. Connections to someone else doesn’t mean it’s a declaration of allyship in war, and I know a thing or two about wanting to refrain from destroying myself over something a bit too big for me to join in.”

Melanie adds that her blindness is a direct result of wanting out of the Fear Drama, so they won’t try to pull him in—a sentiment that he and Terminus are very grateful for.

While walking toward the London shops—hoping at least one of them is open now that they recall their original purpose for leaving the Scottish house and resigned to return to his old flat now that everything seems to have blown over, Oliver addresses Terminus directly.

“So, you really do like the idea of life as an owl then? You don’t miss having power or being something greater?”

Terminus perches on Oliver’s arm and closes his eyes, “I felt and saw nothing but what fed me—what was me-- and had no real way to process things. Though I would accept returning to that fate, I would be lying should I say that I haven’t been… swayed into realizing the beauty of life. To ignore the beauty of the sights and sounds and smells of the world here would be to willfully ignore the reason humanity fears losing it.”

“So the world is beautiful and you sympathize with our struggles?”  Oliver cocks an eyebrow and a faint smile grows on his features.

Terminus flies a way ahead and perches in the walking path of Oliver. “Is it still sympathizing if it’s my struggles now too? But, yes. The fleeting nature of existence does not erase the beauty one may find here.”

Oliver seems satisfied with that answer. The silence stretches comfortably on as they reach the row of closed shops. Terminus not feeling too bothered by a lack of proper perch. A buzz from Oliver’s phone is the only thing that breaks their mutual calm as Oliver fishes his phone out, seeing a location sent to him with the question “Dread God Sleepover?” Terminus feels a small jolt of emotion he can’t place, and gives a noncommittal answer to Oliver, who is eyeing him curiously. Oliver sends a few messages back and forth with Georgie,  and smiles at the photo sent to him. He shows it to Terminus, a grumpy cat in a carrier with the caption “A man of rank attending a Dread God Sleepover”

Terminus can’t help but comment, “She certainly wasted no time sending you messages.”

Oliver chuckles at that. “No she didn’t.” He reflected a bit, and sighed, “I have to admit, overall I feel like we’ve had a productive day. The shops are all closed, so our primary goal was postponed. But at least we got a cat picture out of it.”

Chapter Text

There is the stigma of the darkness. It is a haven for monsters and a shield for unspeakable acts. The “darkest” secrets that are so bad, the speaker hopes it will never “see the light of day.” The evils of the world shroud in him and his that they may live a double life in peace. Solidarity and companionship in the light—murder and destruction in the shadows.

Children look upon the dancing shadows.

Look upon his shadowy wisps across the walls and in the corners.

And they are afraid of him

He is old. One of the oldest of fear. Even before the creatures understood their own mortality—they understood monsters in the dark. He has seen the lives of many snuffed out in his shadows and has seen the light leave the eyes of any who cross the paths of monsters in the dark reaches of the world whether they die or not.

He has seen the blind eye that humanity turns to the dark corners of their own homes and families to appear pure and basked only in light. He has seen the stigma that darkness has within humanity.

But it is the nature of everything solid and tangible and real to block light and cast shadow. Lights and shadows casting themselves in the world in a push and pull are what bring about color and vision and art. The shadows blind those used to relying too heavily on a single sense to navigate the world around them and let the fear of that blindness cloud their judgement of the comfort that they have in the Dark.

Because the light of day does not stop murder, discrimination, and monsters from roaming and stalking and selecting their targets. The monsters do not always hide in shadow.

And frightened children do not run to the light.

The Darkness is what cradles and hides children under their beds or in their closets when the very real monsters of their own light-filled world come for them. The Dark is who holds their tears and houses them when they must be strong for the world in the light.

And in his time of need, the Light has held him back.

They are not ashamed to admit that they were confused and disoriented after living so long in the darkness surrounding them. They are not ashamed to admit that he utilized the coping techniques he witnessed so many use in his shadows—and sought out a small dark corner in which to weep. He hated being small—and they seemed so tiny. And it was in that tiny corner he was found by an elderly human who seemed so monstrously large compared to them.

“Ed, come look at this poor thing! It’s squeaking out so sadly—I think it’s hurt! Ed! ED LISTEN—Go bring me that basin over there.” She says.

A man that stands next to her gives her a look, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, love. He might have rabies, that one. Them tiny bats sometimes carries that, you know. Best call pest control and let them know there is a small sick house bat in our yard.”

She is apparently not satisfied with that answer, and in his confusion, the Dark stops crying. “They might kill him, Ed!! Just go inside if you’re so scared then! I’ll get it myself.” The two humans retreat momentarily and the woman returns with a large plastic bowl and a flat wooden board resembling a cutting board. “Alright little guy, just need to figure out how to—hmm” She sets the bowl down face up and contemplates. “How do I get you into the bowl without spooking you?”

Was the bowl to be his tiny home? Will she be kind enough to put him in a dark place? He doesn’t want to play this game anymore so he jumps into the bowl of his own accord, much to the apparent delight of the woman only known so far as “Love”.

“OH MY GOD, ED! ED!” She screams out as her counterpart barrels through the doorway with a broom.

He’s yelling now, “Where is it Margie—I’ll get it! Did it bite you?! Did it give you the rabies!?”

Margie is laughing and delighted—whether still at the Dark or at her human, Ed, is unknown. She suddenly points at the Dark. They are still in the bowl. “He’s trained, Ed! He’s a pet—no wonder he’s so distraught. He’s lost!”

Ed is unimpressed. “No one has a pet bat, Marge. Especially not a common pipistrelle. What did I say about rabies?”

“Well why did he get in the bowl then?” She shoots back.

“I don’t know, love, but it isn’t likely that it’s because you told him to!” Ed seems fed up, but somehow remains affectionately teasing.

Marge holds her hand out to the Dark and smiles sweetly, much to Ed’s clear dismay. She ignores him, “Come on, deary. I know you’re hurting, but I’ll get you something to drink and eat and will help you find where you belong.”  

They look at this woman—who only knows that she sees something small in distress—and they slowly crawl into her hand. Her excitement is palpable, and the look of ‘I told you so’ at Ed is enough to make him break his look of disbelief and concede defeat.

And there they stay for a couple weeks listening in to the gossip of the elderly:

Some man named Dave has a son, Marcus, who started a new job at a hospital. Nothing happens in a small town, he says. Dave says he’s been through enough that a peaceful security job at a smaller hospital sounds lovely for his son.

A woman, Barbara, is trying to get a local security together to stop the local teenagers from setting fires in the park. She’s afraid that they are really going to do some damage if they aren’t caught.

A new neighbor moved in a couple doors down. Quiet lady, mostly keeps to herself, talking about looking into real estate elsewhere that isn’t “move in” ready yet.

How awful to hear about all those creatures at the zoo! Why Gretchen went to the zoo not a week before that. How devastating would it have been if she had been there when the Hippos got loose?

And didn’t you hear of some poor man in Chelsea looking for his lost cat? He was so distraught to have lost him, you’d have thought he worshipped the lucky pet.

Margie and Ed seem to have visitors and phone calls for gossip constantly—an information highway of their own. The Dark is not outside their new gossip as they waste no time in new conversations introducing their new “baby, Peanut” to their friends. When they first settled on the name, the Dark almost spoke up to say his name used to be Mr. Pitch-or Dark-or The Forever Blind- but he found that he didn’t want to frighten Margie. He will wait. They will tire of him someday.

They find themself flying out after the first week (and the Zoo incident’s news report) to scope out who they can find of the entities. It isn’t far from where he had landed originally that he finds the wasp’s nest that feels sick. He finds that the Corruption is inside and the Corruption is more than happy to discuss what they had found of the world.

It was cruel. And they are small. And they don’t like it.

The dark had been pampered—loved by those who’s house seemed once full of life. A few too many places at the table reveal a rather large family that seem to be branching out on its own. Not left behind—the amount of phone calls alone showed they aren’t abandoned—but less cohabitation still leaves a void to be filled.

Apparently with a tiny bat named Peanut.

But the Corruption makes no attempt to hide her disdain for humanity. They are two sides of the same coin—the Dark and Corruption. Humans pride themselves on a sterile environment in most households and look down upon invading insects or sickness. They ignore their own nature and bacterial flora in favor of aiming for a bacteria free existence.

But Corruption, he feels, has failed to try and live alongside. They invade and infect and eat away at humanity. The ebb and flow of light and dark is lost to infection and disease.

Eventually their continued conversations lead to a proposition from the Stranger and a visit from the End, and the Dark and Corruption continue to be of opposite sides—the Corruption finding merit in wanting things to be “fixed” and the Dark thinking of the sorrow he would feel if Margie or Ed wind up a victim of their powers.

So here he is, a little over 3 weeks into being small, following the Spiral of all forsaken fear entities, from the Beacon Cottage it took him so long to fly to, to the Archivist… in the hopes of discussing possible interventions for returning or molding the world. It is unclear to them why the Spiral has sided with the Archivist (something that does not sit right with him, to be honest), but he is definitely keeping his guard up. He is very relieved to hear that Terminus had already spoke to the Archivist about the Stranger and that they even witnessed the Stranger in action—less spotlight for the Dark to be in at the start of this new alliance.

Heading over to Chelsea, they find a larger house (Margie would definitely call this house showing off) filled with another Spiral, Flesh, Beholding, Hunt and a handful of humans introduced to him as Georgie, Melanie, Basira, Daisy, Jon, Martin, and Helen. On the Archivist’s lap is a large cat—fuzzier than Beholding—that has been given the title of Admiral.

The Flesh is booming with pride about his “work” on Melanie’s eyes. “good as new!” they say anytime Melanie seems to use them—this time to set out blankets and pillows in the large living space. She shows how perfect in health the new eyes are by rolling them. Georgie is in the kitchen with Beholding and Martin as tea and snacks of all kinds are prepared for the guests, her eyes shifting to the animals present every once in a while with unspoken questions. She does not seem as doubtful as Helen, who is watching the room and absentmindedly petting the feathers of the Spiral being that rarely if ever leaves her side. Georgie seems less certain as The Hunt, who stays on guard for the ones labeled Hunters, Basira and Daisy. They seem to be watching the room as well, though there are no questions on their lips as their eyes are cold and observing. The Dark doesn’t mind the silence, but would like to get to know his new allies.

Beholding comes out of the kitchen area, and the Dark starts conversation as he has seen his new family do so often. The Dark was a keeper of secrets, but no one said they had to be now: “So Beholding, I hear from reliable sources that there is a gentleman in this area looking for his beloved Cat. Everyone around said he was quite devastated to lose them.” If he was big enough to grab a teacup he’d be sipping tea right now. See? Conversation isn’t so hard.

Beholding tilts his head, “Huh. Poor guy. Did he give a description of the cat?”

The Dark stares blankly when answering. “Lean black cat that seemingly completely changed personalities approximately 3 weeks ago would be my guess.”

Beholding nods in what is clearly faux understanding.

The Dark sighs. So conversation is more difficult than the Dark realized, “It was a man near your institute likely looking for you…”

Beholding’s ears perk up with actual realization and they scoff “Ha! That’s probably Jonah. I don’t know why he thought what he did about the results of the ritual, but continuing his plans and work so I could go back to just watching? I mean, I have my own body now! Not helpless to stand by and wait. I can be doing things instead of just watching things. It’s easier to see stuff when you are in it.”

The Hunt disagrees: “If we are on the outside looking in, we can see the big picture. We know where the enemy approaches from and we can see all the escape routes of our prey.”

Beholding scoffs as the Spiral appears to agree with Hunt, “We are not saying we wish to return to the outskirts per se, but our knowledge of how things work have been dampened by being a player rather than looking in.”

Beholding turns to the Dark, “Surely, you can’t agree with them! I can’t be the only one who thinks seeing is easier now!”

The Dark perches on the couch’s armrest and ponders a second before speaking. “I feel like it just depends on what’s important to you. If you are afraid of losing the forest for the trees, then having an outside perspective is important. But the moss and the ants and small carved names in the trees—the feelings held in the small moments swaying in the wind—are all details that will be missed if only looking at the big picture. These quiet moments in my darkness have been mine alone for so long that I feel like it would be foolish to ignore that our small stature gives us a new perspective—new sights—that we have missed before.” After a brief pause, “I also think it a bit bold to disagree with a being born of watching… about watching.”

Beholding sits proudly while the Hunt responds, “We suppose having a focus on our target is easier when our vision is narrowed as well.”

The conversation became friendly and almost reminiscent as the humans filter in and sit in their respective seats. Jon remains in the recliner with the Admiral on his lap, Martin stands to the side of him. Melanie and Georgie sit in a love seat, and Basira and Daisy stand by the island partition separating the kitchen area. Helen is on a large couch opposite the island with one Spiral sitting next to her and one walking around the room nonchalantly.

Soon, though, the Dark and the Hunt began arguing over Basira.

“Oh come now, hardly a hunter even on the force. She was more aligned with my darkness than with the other hunters.”

The Hunt bark at this, “Leader Daisy and Friend Basira were both hunters! Leader moreso of course, but your sneaky attempt at theft didn’t work!”

Peanut crawls to the back of the love seat and poise, ready to jump, “She didn’t hunt—she turned a blind eye to what she saw in Daisy and then the institute. I felt her in my grasp in Rayner’s warehouse, and I felt her marked after. She quit the force-“

That is all the Hunt is willing to hear, apparently, as that is when they lunge, causing the Admiral to fly off Jon’s lap and duck down a hallway. The Dark is prepared and flies up into a corner of the room, smoke billowing from it and filling nearly half the room in question.  The Hunt and who they claim are their hunters are engulfed, and the dark shadows nip at Martin’s heels. Despite the blindness, the dogs continue to bark and jump in chase. “You think we will be weakened by a loss of sight, tiny creature? We can smell you! WE NEVER LOSE OUR TARGET”

Peanut has a trick though, and soon the darkness in the corner disappeares with nary a bat in sight. The darkness blooms from a different corner and spreads out just as much as before.

The Dark feels Martin, whose other half is now being encroached by the shadows, leaning away from the wisps and simply stating “I feel like we should reconsider our current idea to house most of the Fears in the same house! That suddenly seems dangerous!”

Peanut speaks apologetically from the shadows, though the Hunt immediately tries to take on the blooming shadow—blossoming elsewhere is considered running, peanut supposes. “Now now. I’m sorry—I should have known you’d be territorial to a fault. I will admit that she was never an avatar of either of us, so it’s just as likely she would have been a Hunt Avatar with Daisy. Alright? You win.”

Daisy had grabbed the dog in the lead of the pack and is telling them to stop the chase, so it’s unclear if it is the shallow victory or Daisy’s hold as leader that sets the Dark free of the “Prey” moniker.

Beholding starts giggling as the dark recedes into the slightest shadow in the corner, the bat clinging to the corner wall. “That reminds me of the time the Lonely was doing his fog thing in a swamp to trap a lost traveler and the Dark tainted the Lonely fog so that it was dark—Do you remember that?”

The Bat makes a place on the back of the large couch now. “Ah, ha ha if I remember correctly, that was a time that the Lonely was trying to keep its fog, so the ebb and flow and swirls ended up looking like… Well, I think the traveler said art. So, he sat down and reflected the beauty of the world—with elicit substances.”

Beholding cackles, “By the time you had won against the Lonely and made everything black, the guy was so high he just thought he was hallucinating the monsters before falling asleep. He had told the institute that he was making a statement because his friend wanted a reason to go inside.”

Peanut rolls his eyes, “Yeah not much of a success there is it.”

Jon squints at Beholding, “Hang on. I thought you said you all didn’t feel or choose what the avatars did with your powers, but now you’re talking about times when you personally influenced the world.”

Beholding looks sheepish, “I mean, we were still bound by our natures.. and MOST of the time it was avatars, but sometimes it really was just us hunting. We didn’t tend to kill people though! Except the Slaughter probably did.” Beholding seems to look sad about that.

Melanie shares a look with Georgie, and Helen looks at the Spirals in the room. The Dark clarifies, “We mostly scared those on the outskirts of everything and tended to fight each other over it, or just fought in general. I’m sure you’ve seen many a sabotaged spook from warring Fears.”

Jon nods in understanding and replies, “So that’s likely what caused the purposeless energy pushing through that Gerry mentioned.”

Basira smiles, “So more people just walked away from encounters with you then we knew. Those are actually pretty reassuring stories to hear.”

The Spiral furthest from Helen speaks next, “Oh yes, many many a time the Forever Blind set in for a meal already claimed by another to turn a blind eye to the inconsistencies in the world we presented.”

“Beholding too” Peanut says, a little more proudly than they intended too.

The Flesh chimes in, “Oh if we are talking about the ones that got away, what about that one time that I tried to morph animals together and accidentally made a mermaid? Instead of striking fear in the hearts of everyone, I just made a spectacle. And THEN, and then! The other humans said it looked so fake that it couldn’t have come from nature.” They ruffle up and merge their forms to make an amalgamate with a face, a faint red glow emitting from the center, “EXCUSE YOU! You just haven’t seen one before so you didn’t realize that I was just making a new thing! It’s not like I can magically fuse them to their DNA—I don’t know how to do THAT.”

Spiral chuckles a bit, “We did get to step in with that one. By the end of the news reports, the man who found the Tailor’s Corporeal creation doubted as badly as the audience the creation itself acquired.”

The Flesh makes the face squint before disassembling. “Your sniping didn’t help.”

Beholding snickers, “If it makes you feel better, I’ve sniped from It Is Not What It Is before! Ha ha! A man lost in a hedge maze. I had already marked him as watched and the spiral caught him in the maze, so I put the knowledge in his head that he was going to be late for dinner. I’m glad I did now ‘cause I’ve decided his dog was cute.”

Basira is staring at the cat before her with dawning realization before Beholding continues. “I ended up not even going back to him. That’s what you got for eating one of mine”

The Spiral looks on in slight offense. “That wasn’t even on purpose. We did not want Michael. Take that up with the previous Archivist.”

Beholding scoffs, “I know you didn’t eat Michael on purpose, I meant in Alexandria! You sniped my whole archiving team and made them question everything! Eventually I was left with dead assistants and an archivist that had leaned so heavily into watching to ‘prove’ everything he saw beyond a shadow of a doubt that he became a cyclops servitor.”

The Spiral pauses before saying, “… Oh yeah”

Beholding just squints and mockingly repeats, “oh yeah…that”

Jon crosses his arms, “The account we got was that the Serapeum was destroyed by the group that sounded more like the Dark.”

The Dark shakes their head, “Not destroyed. My followers of the time raided the place and had done quite a bit of damage but did not destroy it. There were still workers there when they left.”

The Spiral shrugs its wings and replies, “In our defense, Archivists can end up Servitors regardless of intervention—”

At that certainty and revelation, Jon pales a bit and looks at Martin, who takes this time to whisper to Jon and hold his hand—likely reassurances, the Dark figures.

“—And It Knows You marks so many with low level boughts of paranoia that if a stick is thrown into a crowd, then that stick has a high chance of hitting one marked with the feeling of being watched at some point. It Knows You would simply needed to have asked and we would have conceded.”

Beholding squints at the peacock speaking, “Really?”

The Spiral chuckles and continues, “It worked when the Ravening Burn encroached upon a priest marked with madness.”

The Butterflies in the room flit about excitedly, “Was that the cannibal?? I felt him with that one if that was it. It was like a party!”

The Spiral nods, “One of our best works, though the Ravening Burn was none too pleased that our art  included our own version of the fear of total loss. Aspects of the Ravening Burn, I Do Not Know You, The Tailor of The Corporeal, The Crawling Rot, and Even It Knows You was utilized to make our own minor ritual. Nothing to change the world, of course.”

Beholding smiles, “Do you think you could have brought us all in sooner if you had just used all of us in that instead of just some of us? That guy sounds like a Spirally Archive.”

“Pondering that might be best left to another time. You’re pride is making everyone uncomfortable.” The Dark mentions off handedly after noticing the humans exchanging glances and becoming more and more anxious.

The Spiral scoffs, “Come Now, The Archivist is not a clean slate of guilt free life—None of those present are.”

Beholding looks at Georgie—the rock trying to be strong for the small woman white knuckling the armrest of her side of the love seat. “I don’t really think the Fearless One really did—”

Spiral interjects, “The point stands that we abided by our natures with no conscience in which to turn us back. It is not unreasonable to dissociate a bit and see humor and beauty in the humorous and beautiful parts of what can be described as a negative situation overall.”

Martin is the first of the humans to break the silence, “Surely you aren’t lumping us—humans attempting to survive after YOU ALL changed us—in with you? That’s-I mean-you-that’s just not right.”

Beholding lowers their gaze in introspection, guilt back on their face. The Spiral and the Flesh seem to observe, and Melanie joins the conversation with slow, stern words.

“We are not like you. I did everything…Everything…in my power to stay away from… all of that. Regardless of what you think I should be guilty of during my time when I was...sick …from ghost bullet. We are not the same.”

Jon and Daisy share a look of sympathy and mutual guilt. Basira becomes stoic, staring at nothing. The Dark rejoins the conversation,

“We can point and blame and deflect. We can share guilt and fight against it. We can argue a lack of cognition or direction or understanding of our actions. But none of this will bring us together to fight our current enemy. We are all in this house because we have found something in the current state of things worth fighting for. Beholding likes action rather than simple observation. I like...Well, I like the new perspective and new life that I’m building.  We can acknowledge that the actions taken when we were in a more negative place-- whether a human justifying our violence or an entity of fear born without conscience, understanding, or full autonomy—were deplorable in the eyes of the human moral standard that did not understand us.”

Beholding curls in on himself a bit as the Dark continued: “We as monsters in the eyes of humans will have to keep our natures in check when discussing the past, and the humans among us will have to give us patience in that. Those are the facts of this situation. The only thing that we are to decide now as a collective is whether the Entities wish to curb the negatives of their natures and acknowledge the need for change and whether the humans are ready to accept us for the new creatures we have become. That path is necessary to work together, so those that do not choose that must leave.”

Georgie cuts in, stating “I don’t think that level of black and white can work here. It doesn’t seem right to ask that of those that have suffered from what you were.”

The Dark notices that Beholding took her words personally.

The Hunt stands with the Dark. “It is though. It is one or the other in this instance. It is not right or wrong, simply one or the other. It is just as right to acknowledge you cannot work with us as it is to understand us and stay. But to stay when you can’t work with us will not help us hunt our current target.”

Beholding lets out a whine and trots over to Jon with a tearful expression. “I don’t want to be kicked out of the house, yet. I didn’t know what I was doing but I’m still sorry. Life is really cool now, please don’t kick me out.” They stare at Jon with a pleading expression.

Jon and Martin share a look and Beholding takes the pause as worst-case scenario. The Dark flies to them, shrouding their tears, and masking their wailing as best he can in darkness--the only comfort they know how to give--though he tries to make it small enough that no one else is affected. He cannot see outside his own focus of comforting Beholding and cannot hear past their cries. He sits on the back of Beholding in stoic silence though internally screaming at his own incompetence to the situation at hand. He does not understand why Beholding is so frightened of abandonment, but the “why” is not important now. What is important is his ineffectiveness in this moment. Has he not seen family members hold one another in darkness as a silent comfort? Well, he is trying to hold Beholding now, but he is so very small. And the darkness seems to make the Beholding cry more. But still, he will try. The darkness seems to mold around them, and faint wisps curling like fingers in an attempt to offer comforting touches to Beholding, but nothing is solid enough. He wonders what, if anything, he could do in a darkness not made by him—and hopes that in true darkness, he doesn’t feel so helpless.

Minutes pass, and Beholding’s cries do die down. As cries turn into whimpers, a reassuring scarred hand pierces the darkness around them and pets the top of Beholding’s head. The Dark slowly dissipates the darkness shrouding them and Beholding looks sheepishly and sorrowfully to the uncomfortable expression on their Archivist.

The Dark does not miss the slight change in expression on the Spiral’s face and understands the human’s hesitation a little more. If now was the time or place…

Beholding leans into the Archivist’s hand and is rewarded for it. “…I’m sorry.” is all they say.

Apparently, the minutes on the outside of darkness was enough to cast doubt and start a dialog, because when Georgie speaks next, she is more cautious with her words and the humans seem to agree with her, “It will be hard for us to work with the … people… creatures… responsible for so much pain in our lives. That hurt will always be something that a part of you caused. But we can all agree that, at least for now, we can set aside that turmoil and acknowledge the new parts of you that want to save the world. I, personally think this is not a fight for humans. I think we’ve all suffered enough, and no one can rightly ask for our hand in this—It will destroy us.”

Jon starts up quickly after she finishes, “But that’s a choice we are allowed to make, so those of us who want to stay and feel we could help will help.”

Martin, who remains standing next to Jon, begins petting Beholding too, “All that to say we are still with you right now, okay? We don’t want to speak long term since… well, since this is a lot. But we can at least see what is going on.”

Melanie seems to have visibly relaxed. “I am grateful for my sight back. I am—”

The flesh whispers “Good as new” As Melanie continues.

 “--Truly. But I just can’t get involved in this right now. It’s the same scenario in different packaging. We are working with entities to stop other entities from ending the world. If I come across anything that I think you should know, I’ll call. I will. But I need—” She heaves a sigh before she continues, “I still have a lot of work to do on myself before I can help take on things this big. And I lost a lot of myself in the small time I was involved last time.”

Georgie and Melanie look at Jon apologetically and Georgie speaks, “I’m sorry, Jon. I don’t want to cut you out. When we talked to Terminus, he seemed of the impression that there was no actual feelings or consciousness involved in their movements before, but it sounds a lot like each fear had their own level of involvement, enjoyment, and consciousness prior to changing. If they were all like Terminus, it would be easier to accept them with no stigma—but they aren’t. Some of them don’t sound like they’ve changed almost at all.” Georgie makes no effort to hide who she is talking about as she eyes the peacocks and the dogs in the room.

The Dark speaks up, “Of course, your position is understandable. The fact that you came at all and were willing to hear us is proof of your strength of reasoning. If you would like, I can assist you in finding the Admiral.”

Georgie smiles at the small bat on the couch, “That would be appreciated, Thank you. We don’t need to leave just now if you still want to just…hang out. I don’t mind getting to know the new—uh the new ‘all of you’s. I just don’t want to be involved in the big stuff.”

Before Georgie can continue, there is a knock at the door. Everyone freezes in place, watching the door for a moment before the Spiral speaks up, “It was a real knock—we did not do anything. The door can be answered.”

A voice the Dark doesn’t recognize sheepishly speaks up as a lighter knock strikes the door, “I hope I have the right address? I checked the text message Georgie sent me.”

Jon perks up at that, “Oliver?”

Martin eyes Jon as Daisy crosses the room and opens the door.

Jon shrugs, “What? He said he wasn’t coming back. I’m surprised is all.”

Martin squints at Jon suspiciously for a moment before returning to a neutral expression.

Melanie surprisingly relaxes, “Hello Oliver! Nice to see you both again and for the first time!”

“Good as new!” The Flesh excitedly tells Oliver.

Georgie nods her head slightly, “Yes, nice to see you again, Oliver. And yes, good as new. Thank you.. um.. Butterflies.”

Oliver sheepishly nods toward Georgie and Melanie.

Melanie smiles at Jon. “As we were saying, and I said it once before Jon. You are welcome in our life as a friend. But even now, knowing what we know, we still don’t want to be brought back in as an ally.” She looks around at all the faces in the room. “Though it looks like we aren’t leaving you empty handed on allies.”

Oliver clears his throat, “I would like to join into what they are doing. I did not come to announce my assistance. I wanted to see if Melanie was successful and, truth be told…” Oliver looks at Terminus, who flies in and lands on the island.

Terminus speaks, “I may have grown… somewhat attached to the idea of companionship and wanted to see how everyone was doing.”

Beholding smiles, “I’m also excited for friendship! And sights and sounds! And excitement!”

Terminus stretches his wings and then curls them back under. “Well, if you would like a new sight, Oliver was telling me that the rings of mushrooms out in the front yard were called ‘fairy rings’. Apparently, there is superstition surrounding them.”

Beholding’s eyes glow, “Fairy Rings are associated with fairies or fae, sometimes witches or devils and it’s said that stepping into one is negative, but the effect ranges from simple bad luck to being completely trapped there until released. Some parts of Europe say that you can—” Beholding gasps as his eyes stop glowing and he looks at Jon in distress, “—Lose an eye! Archive, don’t go into the fairy rings!”

Jon chuckles and stands up, “Well, apparently there is one outside, so I’ll keep watch for it.”

Beholding walks over to the windowsill with Jon, jumping up to look out the window as well. The Dark reconsiders joining them as he watches Jon’s face fall. Jon looks out and Beholding looks at him in confusion. Beholding puts a paw on Jon, “Archive, you’re scared.”

Jon looks back at the group showing clear signs of distress. “They.. uh…” he begins chuckling lightly, though his eyes remain frightened.

Martin steps forward a step, “Jon? Is there something out there?”

Five voices echo through the room, “DANGER DETECTED—TARGET JON DETECTED DANGER—NEW TARGET ACQUIRED”

The Hunters immediately step into action, Daisy opening the door and the dogs running outside, Daisy quickly behind. Basira calls after her before cussing under her breath and following.

Jon snaps out of it, running outside. “WAIT WAIT WAIT”.

Peanut flies out the door and sees…

… a ring of mushrooms. The Hunt is sniffing the mushrooms and growling lightly, and Daisy glares at Jon. “What the hell, Jon?.”

Jon points at the Fairy ring, “It’s.. Look, I had—it’s the ring itself. It’s the Extinction. I can sense it. I—it looks.. inert. But it wasn’t here when we got here, so it must be moving somehow. And it can’t be a coincidence that it came here to Helen’s house.”

The Dark lands near a mushroom. “Hello… um… Are you following us?”

There is silence that follows before the Hunts speak up, “It smells like Fear, but More. It is bad. This is dangerous.”

The Dark ponders for a moment before recalling seeing these before. “They are fairly common, aren’t they? Do you think they are all extinction now?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know. Are these the pockets of energy that they’ve been talking about? Ask.. ask Mother Nature—you all can talk to her!”

The Dark looks up, “To who? My mother’s name is Margie.”

The Dark becomes a beacon for stares of disbelief, but he ignores them as they continue, “I think one of these rings are at their house. I’m going to go home—it’s getting late anyway—but I’ll come back here tomorrow if you want to talk about a plan of action against… well, this and/or the Stranger.”

Jon shakes his head as though to snap out of a train of thought, “Yes, of course. We will fill you in on whatever plan we make when you come back tomorrow. Um, thank you for joining the team.”

Peanut can sense the uncertainty in his voice and in their faces. He makes a mental note to fill them in on everything he can think of and to ask them about this ‘mother nature’ when he comes back tomorrow. Right now, though he begins to worry about the ring of mushrooms that he knows is around the house somewhere. He remembers seeing it.

Sure enough, it’s night when he gets home and it’s in the backyard. The mushrooms form a small ring and look a little different but he memorizes as best he can every inch of their color and placement to compare them to other fairy rings. Surely there is a way to distinguish the danger from the harmless should harmless ones exist. He tries to get into his usual window but bumps hard into it and finds it shut. He jostles the window and rattles it, but it is not just shut—it’s locked.

Ah…

That’s fair. It is likely for the best. He was gone for a while.

He jumps off the ledge in flight but hovers as he hears his new name.

“PEANUT!?” Margie’s voice rings out as a light comes on in the house.

The Dark’s small heart warms and he realizes how true his statement to Jon was—this is the closest thing he has to a family and the first one that took him in. They will protect her and Ed with everything that he is.

She damn near rips the window off the hinges as she opens it, and she almost begins crying when her eyes fall to his small form in the windowsill.

“You’ve never been gone so long, and I got worried that you were eaten by something!! But it’s not like I could call the authorities about you! When I called most of my friends, they just told me you were a bat, and I should get a dog! Can you believe that! A tiny new thing missing, you’d think they cared more! The only person that even gave me the time of day was Dave. His son got off work and came over, the nice boy. He’s in the living room with Ed.”

Peanut crawls into Margie’s hand and she walks him to the living room where Ed and Dave’s son, Marcus, is.  Marcus is taller, tired looking, and still in his work uniform. He’s eyeing the small bat in Margie’s hand with suspicion and a level of scrutiny that is usually left to Beholding’s followers. Margie is excitedly speaking to Ed about Peanut’s return and talking to Marcus about how they had come across Peanut weeks ago. Ed is nodding off in his recliner, and Marcus asks to hold the bat. Margie obliges, asking him to be gentle, and Marcus says he’s going to go outside to take photos. Margie asks him to be careful. Once outside. Marcus rests the Dark on the wooden railing of their small front porch.

“Ed and Margie are good people. They love with all their hearts when they decide to love something, and you are clearly Margie’s new ‘baby’ boy. So, I have to know…”

Marcus leans against the railing, lights a cigarette, and takes a drag before continuing.

“Are you with the Cat or the Parrot?”

Chapter Text

Spread Love everywhere you go.

One of the many sentences spoken by humans who realize on a subconscious level that love is a contagion meant to be spread and infected. Love is a special feeling and can be shallow like some humans feel. But she is a deep believer of the all-encompassing love—the intoxicating and all-consuming affection she delivered to each and every one of her followers. Well, her followers and those marked by her followers. She used to love them with all that she was whether they loved her back or not.

After all, fear and love are no different when done correctly. The subject feeling love or fear will experience ruminations, thinking only of the one that captured their eye. A man feeling horrified and a man feeling love will have a heart that races, lungs that catch their breath, anxiety about what next move to make. He will sweat, he might feel faint, he won’t be able to take his eyes off the object of his panic or passion. Humans want to be in love just as much as they want to be afraid. It’s why horror movies, thrilling rides, haunted castles, and daring adventures are dating ideas for couples. It ignites a spark in them that they associate with loving the one they are with.  She simply took up the mantle of being that spark.

Until now. This Mother Nature creature who changed her into everything she is now—small and sick and twisted. A huge nest sprouting on a ranch house in the middle of nowhere by some researchers or conservationists or environmental hippies—she isn’t sure. Someone that looks at her in awe and respect and appreciation at least. A couple that let the wasps nest she is placed in grow and grow. Watching like Beholding on their cameras and scribbling sweet nothings onto their papers.

Mother Nature explains that even the smallest of creatures are loved by the right audience. No matter how small and ugly and twisted she thinks she is, the right audience gazing upon her will love her with everything they are. That there are loving eyes for every quirk of a person. It’s why Mother Nature chose the location that she chose.

Imagine the research conservation hippies and their excitement when she comes forth and begins playing hard to get. Hiding in her nest until they come out to assess and then springing herself on them. They will scream and run and she has a little laugh, and they always come back with big doe eyes filled with excitement to see her and what she does next. They watch and smile and love her. She speaks to them. Introduces herself proper and finds it odd to do so, but that vulnerability is met with more awe, more sweet nothings, more attention. They bring friends, but she isn’t ready to talk to them yet. They will try to introduce her to them, but she is not their puppet. She is to be loved by who she chooses to love. They understand it soon enough with her explanation. They say they felt special. She is glad they feel special—she feels they are special too. She looks upon them and she knows that she loves them as they love her.

But soon they are gone. Leaving on a vacation they say they planned ages ago. They had told her that they would be back in a week or so—that they would call their friend off if she didn’t want to be visited by someone she didn’t know. She had said she would be fine alone.

She was mistaken.

Within days and with no way to contact the outside world, she is stuck abiding by the physics of this world and she is so small. She can’t spread. She can’t love and be loved freely like pollen on the wind. She’s a wasp’s nest rooted to one place.

Mother Nature tries to speak to her again—tries to reassure her that her time alone is temporary and now she knows a limitation of herself—She can take them up on their offer for a substitute caretaker next time. She doesn’t want a substitute. Mother Nature tries to play mediator and therapist, but Mother Nature made her this way. She created these limits for her. She had felt the world that she was supposed to be in—to help create—to BE when the door was opened. She felt that world stripped into pieces and hidden into pockets as she was turned into something so small and non-threatening. Her humans should know that she misses them. She needs them. She wants them back. She hates this. She hates them for leaving. She hates this.

Soon, a bat is in her midst. She sees the lone bat in the middle of the day and The Dark seems to recognize her instantly. They converse—He tries to speak the same coexistence and lovely message as Mother Nature. She refrains to mention the False Mother or their shared argument—she can’t have him thinking that he’s got an ally in such small thoughts. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be left behind yet.

Her humans return! They ask her how she is, and she dances around them with such happiness that they have to think she is sobbing in delight. They apologize for being gone a little longer than they originally intended, but they bring her a present! It is funny, her humans tell her, there was a big black bug or spider or something on one human’s arm that scared them, so they swiped at their arm and ran into a shop for bug spray. When there, they found a book that just reminded them of her though they couldn’t really pinpoint why—it isn’t even about bugs. She is struck by how they thought of her on their trip, and mentions that she thought of them every day. That she wishes she was with them to know they loved her every day too. That she misses being more mobile and loved and she misses being bigger. They understand and tell her that she will never be alone again, especially not with the recent strings of fires that seem to be getting closer—Though she isn’t concerned. She has a guess as to what is causing the fires. Still, she uses the fire to her advantage and asks for a little extra time with them, at least for the first few days of their return.

And when the Stranger and The End visit, she’s already looking for a way out. She loves her humans and will treat them kindly in her old form, but she wants to go back. She is afraid it’s only a matter of time before they leave her again. The Stranger came back soon after and she is all but falling over her own nest to agree to help. She doesn’t even really care what “fix things” means. She wants to be loved and be able to love far and wide as she did once before. The Stranger needs a recruiter and felt that her charisma will work so well for that role. After all, she is the easiest of the fears to love, isn’t she? The Stranger is so sweet. She has to agree once he says something like that. She leaves most of herself behind to be with her humans—one of them is slowing down, feeling unwell, and the other is playing caretaker. They won’t notice some of her being gone since they spend less time with her for now.

She starts trying to find anything on the wind and the sky and big spaces. She’s not traveling very far, but is hoping that she catches a scent to start finding the Vast. She’s not good at hunting—it’s not been her strength—so she mostly observes the humans around her.  There is no sign of what the Vast is or where it could be, so she moves on after a few days to a known lead.

She finds the Desolation in the nearby park easily. The Desolation is perched, looking harmless, observing those around them but following behind occasional passersby, stealing bags or wallets left behind by those walking in the park. Sometimes remnants of burnt purse are found on the tree line—sometimes nothing is found, and the person that returns to find the missing item is left staring at the spot they know they left whatever it may have been. But the eyes in the bird of prey before her are hungry. She can tell that they are unsatisfied with their current prey and their current capabilities.

Perfect

It doesn’t take much for her to convince the Desolation to join them, and she feels like the Stranger was right about her being the perfect fit for the job. She feels so happy to fit so well with her position—to feel like she’s connecting everyone together toward a main goal. If the Dark could just see her side of things, he would realize that their happiness with their humans is small and fleeting. They will leave him just as they would have left her. It’s why she decided to ask for more time with her humans before. It’s why she asks them to read to her. She feels stronger when they connect like that. She feels more complete.

The Stranger is talking to them more--tells her about the old Mother’s involvement. Good, the Mother of Puppets never excised her into some small frail form. The old Mother never made her unable to spread her love to the far reaches. Luckily, no one here seems upset that she hasn’t found the Vast yet, so she doesn’t feel as rejected. She tells them about her humans and the Stranger asks her to bring them with her when they all move in together like a big happy family. Of course, she will. She doesn’t want to leave them behind. Even if one of them looks sad all the time and clutches her present now, and the other is restless. Once they are ready, it will be a simple move from their little living space to Hilltop Road. They must stay separate for now. The Stranger has said that something bad will happen if they gather too soon.

Her human is accepting of the move. They ask to read to her—it’s been almost 2 whole days and they miss it. It’s only safe to read their gift to her with her there, so they can’t leave her now. When the sickness hits them from the book, she’s the only one who can fix it:

Tales of a Field Hospital

They are crying as they beg to read it. She agrees of course. It’s already been over a month now since she became small, so they will surely be moving soon. Best to connect as much as she can with the humans she has. As the sad one opens the book and begin to read, she can feel the connection to them once more. She can feel the restless one, infected now, come from the book. The sad human’s heart swells, but the love for the one in the book and the fear of her produces the same physical results: Heart racing, palms sweating, tears. They embrace. They converse. The sad one understands that eventually the book will close, knows their pleas wont matter, but still tells the other to stay.

But her other human can’t sit still anymore. After all…

He is such a restless man.

Chapter Text

Loss is the most intense sensation—the most visceral feeling—that one can bestow upon another. It is a conflation of guilt, denial, profound sadness, hopelessness, frustration. Those who lose something so dear to them will temporarily lose themselves as well. They will dread to come back to reality, so they simply displace their emotions or distract themselves. Grief, like us Fears, will mark you deep whether you want it or not. Grief will give you the same two options—either you deal with it, feel it, feed that ache in your chest until the scar sits invisible and only flaring up periodically like an old knee injury, or you push it down and away from you. Running still feeds grief—it just turns it into projecting, lashing out, avoidance, and sensitivity. It festers and spills out to encompass every part of your life until you wonder why everyone has slowly left or until you wise up and begin the healing process. Someone will feel grief no matter what.  It is raw negativity, but through the experience and looming threat of more, one can also achieve peak appreciation for the life and material wealth that remains. With fear of loss or loss itself can come ambition and motivation as well—through vengeance, hoarding, hiding, or planning. It’s the creator of nostalgia and sparks the fondness of memory.

My followers brought about loss a variety of ways, but even with names such as the Lightless Flame, fire is used so effectively. It is cruel—unforgiving—and so devastating.

There are other methods aside from fire to rid someone of everything they love. Sometimes you can just make the item go missing, threading hope through the loss they feel. Sometimes it’s through another Fear—section and divide them limb by limb between 5 or 6 of us fears. Sometimes it is simply by asking them what they love the most and then utilizing more natural causes (faulty foundation, organ failure, etc) to rid them of each item one by one until they are broken.

Sometimes its by showing them the entire world at their fingertips only to snatch it coldly away and give them shadows of their former selves to play in.

There is an air of respect surrounding my thoughts regarding this mother of flowers and seasons. She created in me all that my followers instilled in my marks. That said, it would be a lie to say I feel the need to sit in my grief properly. She and I talk about the sweetness of joy and happiness surrounding the brutal reality of loss—How they were related, and how I had been right to see ambition and drive from the fear of future loss. It’s as I’ve known and as my truth is, that loss and fear of further loss has given me purpose and ambition just as I believed it would. This new life I have with less than I expected is just the irritant I needed to really become involved. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and this new Mother is a wolf. I am more than prepared to understand that loss happens to everyone, but I don’t have to like it.

It does not take me long to get back on my feet and be found by those seeking more than the meager scraps we had been given. Those who want more than to live in fear of being snuffed out like the creatures of the Slaughter’s rampage. Not being fueled by our usual folly of food means that we are built different in these tiny bodies further meaning the End will come for us all. The New Mother is strangely silent when I am recruited. Maybe she thinks I want to keep what she gave me. Maybe she accepts loss is a part of life like I do. Maybe she knows she’s stronger than us and doesn’t care to bother. Since she’s silent now, I won’t ever know.

Whatever the case, I am not going to fight alone. Out of respect for having been bested at literally my own existence—given a bit of my own medicine as it were—I originally planned to take my scraps and revel in what little loss and turmoil I could create at the edge of a little park. I practice my limits to figure out what abilities and manifestations I –sometimes we as it turns out—could still manage to do. It isn’t until my little stinging bug friends come forth and find me that I even think of taking further action. But our Mother has a plan, and like my followers, I am not opposed to teamwork to get a good job done. Hilltop road is still the Web’s and she is …collecting books, I guess. My job now that Corruption and Stranger have found me is simple: Take the book Mother found of mine and put it to the test. I am to determine what this specific book will do and when, in its activation, I feel the closest to its power.

Well, it’s definitely not when the book is closed—hopefully. I say this because the feeling of Desolation from the book is almost non-existent. My talons have difficulty opening the red leather cover of the book at first, and I find it easier to just throw it on the ground like some type of spell bomb. I honestly thought it would be more of a bomb going off rather than what looked to be the resurrected molten fiery corpse of one of my followers crawling out of the book. When Dingo Moles—or something (I’m not Beholding, so I don’t remember) comes out of the book, I feel a resurgence of my power and a connection to the book itself. I feel stronger, brighter, and better. I remember this follower--he had this little red book here when he was alive and, I think, was trying to summon a bestial form for me or was praying to me or something and ended up getting caught by that Beholding guy with the tattoos. Turned to ashes like 7 years ago? Well joy, Mother Nature gave something back to me. Well… Sort of.

“Sort of” because this form just moves on autopilot, and the bastard attacks me. I’m fireproof, and faster than the guy can grapple it seems so that’s good, and without success, Duolingo Montoya turns to ash and the book closes. Using hatchling logic, I throw the book open facing an unsuspecting average Joe caring for his lawn. To my surprise and glee, it does appear as though the first creature seen by the book is the target rather than the one who opens the book. To my shock, the man just sighs and turns on the hose to spray Doug Montague down with water, muttering something under his breath as he does so... He watches me with squinted eyes as I leave the yard. When I come back the next day, the lawn man comes out of his house and crosses his arms. I hold the book out, and he gets the hose. David Mantle comes out and goes after the lawn man again with no hesitation to the hose or water. I don’t even stay to watch, but I feel the energy return to the book in my talons when I assume Lawn man has put the fire out. The book forces me to close it.  

Great. So completely autopilot…

So, army fodder is less likely due to the sheer stupidity of the creature within, but them staying active even when the book is gone could be used later. Oh well, nothing to do but report that to the boss. That and continue the tests, though the latter is mostly for my own satisfaction. I know that they say all experiments about discovery are a success when you learn something, but I find that I am much more satisfied when someone successfully burns. Especially if that someone is some entitled teenager yelling at someone else over their phone a few minutes prior. Honestly, I had just left the book out to see if literally anyone can open it or if it had to be a Fear God. Looks like it just must be opened. There is screaming and crying and what-have-you. Lawn man comes with a fire extinguisher just in time to see a pile of ashes on the ground as the teen is embraced in the arms of Derrick Morrison and an unnaturally quick flame takes him in minutes. It is minutes of absolute and delightful agony.  I am not fed by it in the traditional sense, but I can still feel the panic at losing life, at the last thing he said on the phone, at the fear that this is it. I wonder if the End can feel it too. I wonder if the End always felt everything we did.

But I can’t wonder for long as the book lay between Lawn man and I, and his furtive glances at it are not lost on me. We both spring into action, but flight beats feet and I win easily. I open the book at him. It won’t harm him since he has that fire extinguisher, but it will provide enough of a distraction for a clean getaway.

As I’m leaving, I notice that it isn’t Diego Molina that has come out of the book this time. It’s that teenager now encapsulated in the book, though he’s got the same molten burning qualities and appears to behave in a similar autopilot fashion. The teenager’s mode of attack is splitting open like a flower rather than embracing his enemy in a …warm hug, though both attempt to encapsulate and burn their enemy.

After a few more tests run, the boom shows the same results. This book releases its insides, eats someone or ‘times out’ so to speak, and the book closes. The figure inside takes the shape of the last victim successfully eaten by the book—a cute little reminder, I think. The Stranger visits me the night of one of my tests, and I give my findings to them. The Stranger says the rest of them are getting similar results, though they are going to test a few more things out. Apparently, others have found that the book closing has no effect on the activity of the book so long as climbing into the book isn’t part of the creature’s autopilot—Which is apparently how the Lichtenburg Creature operates out of Ex Altiora the now Spirally Vast book. Another notable difference is the Lichtenberg Creature does not get replaced when it shocks and kills its victim, leaving the spiral scars dancing on the corpse as it climbs back inside the book. According to the Stranger, the Web seems to think the books all perform in the same type of fashion likely with a few tweaks. I am inclined to believe them simply because the Web is so rarely wrong.

I throw the book down, wait for the creature to climb out, and close the book. I toss it to the side as I show the newest figure, a dog, much faster than the humans that had been taken before. Fortunately for the Stranger and I, dogs can’t fly and the fire he seems to spit doesn’t go far. The Stranger praises my out-of-the-box thinking and they say they will report the discovery that animals can fall victim as well.

They leave as I wait in the air for the dog to notice his catch is out of reach. The more I use it, the longer it seems to take to ‘time out’ almost like a muscle. I watch the dog leave as I slowly descend to the ground. We have been at this for a while now, but if the rituals the humans did for us taught me anything, it’s that these things are slow to prepare. Patience is a virtue and is much easier to do now that I have a distraction. It is still a facsimile of the power and life I held before, but it is still almost addicting to use. After a few more experiments with my—where is the book!?

Chapter Text

It's been a week.

It’s been a week since that little runt of a flying creature had taken my book and dashed away with it—I know it was him. I have no proof and I don’t know where the book is yet, but I know the Dark was watching. He would be the only one to get away with it. Getting so complacent with the idea that any reasonable entity would want just as strongly to shine bright again that I forgot the one entity that would specifically want nothing more than the opposite. I should have just destroyed it with my own hands. Can’t lose something that doesn’t exist.

He does not live with the one I tested with the book, but he spends enough time there and refuses to go home when he knows I’m watching. I can’t watch in the light because then the human can see me clearly, but I can’t watch in the shadows because that’s the Dark’s domain. There is no way to follow undetected.

Being the Crown Prince of the Shadows has it’s perks, apparently.

But that also means I have no reason to try and sneak, which leads us to the present scenario of me just standing in the window while the human and the bat awkwardly stare at me. It’s been almost the full day and I haven’t left their side. The Dark can’t go to wherever home is without showing me it’s location and they cannot conspire against the Web openly ‘cause I am listening.

Ha. Beholding would be proud.

The human has that same look on his face as he always seems to. He is not afraid of us. He is not in awe of us. He seems to see us as an irritant if anything. Maybe he thinks he has nothing to lose. Maybe he thinks the Dark would protect him. I ask him why he seems so smug all the time, and he simply responds that he has been warned not to give me ammunition. I ask him what ammunition he could possibly give with a simple question like that, and he just says he won’t be answering questions at this time.

He walks away and into another room, out of sight. The Dark does not have the same qualms about avoiding conversation. A small bat apparently fits a lot of words in it because he talks a lot of the merits of narrower vision. The light he has found in the darkness. The connections that one can see if they put the old life behind them and live this new existence in earnest.

Connections mean loss. If we never had power to begin with, we would not be sitting here feeling the loss of it. If I had bothered to find connection, then I would be sitting here fearing the inevitable loss of that connection. Have I not taught my brethren anything? The Dark thinks I am focusing on the wrong part. That something one’s afraid to lose only means it’s important enough to have. I know that and I tell him I know that. I would not be fighting to regain my power if I thought that having nothing was better--so I didn’t fear losing it in the future. He says that I seem to have conflict inside of me. That it’s a lot simpler than I’m making it out to be. When I ask how he figures that, he says, “You must live in the moment where you have what you want and not think about loss. I’m not saying pretend you won’t lose it, but if you only focus on how you are going to lose something and preparing to deal with that loss, then you are not fully enjoying your time with it. We got the full benefits of our power because it didn’t cross our minds to fear losing it.”

He is asking me to throw away the core of my existence and I don’t even think he knows that. What will I be without loss and the fear of loss? I take things from others, so it’s a healthy reasonable expectation that others will reciprocate. I didn’t fear losing the book and now the book is gone. How can he sit there and tell me not to fear loss when he has caused me to lose something that I had a connection to? He has everything he wants out of life—the book I had, a family that cares enough to call this human and make sure he is okay, all his precious secrets and loves and—

Before I can stop myself, I ask him to give me something. I sound pathetic. I ask him to give me something of his that I wouldn’t have normally and that he can’t stand to lose. Knowing he can’t trust me with whatever information, give it to me anyway.

He struggles a bit. He says he hopes it helps. He hopes I come out of this whole conflict in better spirits. That if this is the proof I need that loss can be dealt with in the moment, that he will oblige. Before I can say that’s not a secret, he tells me that he works with the old Archivist. The Archivist knows that Mother of Puppets is collecting books and that he watched my experiments with the books since the first day I was testing the book on the human—Marcus. Marcus isn’t in as deep as everyone else, but he is very caring despite his demeanor. The Dark had watched and reported the experiments to the Archivist. That the Archivist and the Hunt could sense the books that weren’t their Fear, but they seemed the only ones. The rest of the Fears could only feel a very small connection when in close proximity to a book with their own power in it. The Archivist doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the books after he collects them, but he has made it clear that he feels he needs to do something now that they know about the Stranger and ‘company’ making their own plans.

It's a race to see who can collect the most books, it seems.

I tell him I’m going to tell the Stranger. He says he knows. I tell him it changes nothing. He says he knows. I tell him I could take his precious human Marcus away from him. He says he must trust in Marcus to take care of himself, and to know when to run if a fight is too much for him, but in the end if I made it happen, the Dark would grieve Marcus in a death at the hands of Desolation the same way as he will when the End comes for anyone.  

Marcus comes back in and sits, just giving the Dark a glance that lasts too long and a small nod as clearly unspoken words are being passed.

The Dark tells me that they are expecting company. That I’m welcome to stay to meet the Archivist if I want. I know this is an offer to change sides. To see their point of view and try to live against my nature.

This feels like a threat

Next thing I know, I am flying away. I know where I’m going even though I don’t want to admit the Dark had an influence on me. I’ve known where she was from the start, but I am not in the business of connections—especially not to humans. They are fragile unless changed and the Mother of Flowers and Seasons undid all my work. A test will do then, I think, as I set fire to the lawn near her apartment. The nearby neighbors panic as someone yells for a fire extinguisher. Some people are calling me out as the “firehawk” straying too far off the usual hunting grounds. I must have brought flaming debris—there must be a fire nearby—'why is it hunting at night—and HERE?’ sort of statements and questions being thrown around. I am hunting, but not for that. Then she arrives, and she knows me. Immediately and unwaveringly, she sees me from her window and within what seems like seconds she is down on ground level with kerosene. Her standing there in all her glory (and pajamas) as she throws the whole container in the large fire I have stoked up. The fire isn’t normal anyway, but it spreads even quicker now that it has an oil base to flow forward with.

She knows I left her. She already made the ultimate sacrifice once before and she knows I left her anyway and she seems completely unfazed. I almost don’t hear the chaos around us. The fire reaching the ground floor. The apartment evacuating. The people screaming about the fire emergency vehicles not being here yet. I feel it. Maybe that’s why I feel lighter. In hindsight, I’ll probably blame the chaos and fear for my elation and relief. I’ll probably blame the fire for the warmth in my chest. I know I’ll want to.

But the moment she steps toward the fire in an unwavering attempt to make that sacrifice again, I know in the deepest portions of what soul has been created for me that I love Jude and that she is right when she says she shines twice as bright. I fly to her and move the flames around her, dancing out of her reach as she walks through the heat and fire. I protect her as she dances in the flames like an elemental that has found her home again. She only steps away when she hears the sirens approaching and realizes she may be blamed if she’s in the fire unburned. I ask her if she wants me to stop. Her smile is small—a small spark that ignites my excitement. This was never a home to her.

The fire is not put out until the entire apartment complex had been torn through. The people of the apartment were too distracted trying to get all their things out to notice Jude’s little display—Or smart enough to know they wouldn’t make sense to the authorities if they try to tell what they saw. Jude tells authorities she has a place to stay and says she didn’t see anything about the fire starting. They let her go, and she sets off on foot, not even bothering to change. I follow in flight until she stops short at a bench in a nearby park. It’s late enough at night that it’s near abandoned, so I fly down and sit next to her.

We sit in silence for a moment before she looks forward at nothing and asks what’s next.  I have no good answer for her, so I convey in as few words as I have to say that I am letting her take the reins. I tell her that whatever she’d like to be next will be next.

More Silence

The she slowly turns to me almost incredulous, as though I am stupid. She asks what that’s supposed to mean. She asks me what my plan has been so far. Don’t I have a plan? Whatever it is, she’s in. I try to explain that I’m not powerful anymore, but she will have none of it. She explains that the world will still be remade in our image. That even if her body is back to a non-moldable state, she will still fight for the world she knows is right. She is meant for a world of fire and loss just as I am, and the Fears being knocked down a bit and needing a little help from their followers doesn’t change that. She tells me she should have known that a little doubt could bloom into chaos in my heart easily without the right deterrent—After all that’s all it took for Agnes.

Whether avalanche or wildfire or hurricane, Desolation’s commonality is that even the smallest start can blossom into complete and total destruction. Whether a small spark of fire, or unexpected words from the enemy.

As I tell her the plan thus far and how things have gone, I can’t help but sit in awe of the beauty in Jude’s devotion. I have a nature to catastrophize at the smallest spark, but Jude? She is still going—still devising and working to destroy what has been built and regain our status quo. She is the dam controlling the flood—the control-burn to stop the fire spreading the wrong way. She wants the volcanic eruption to hit at certain times to fertilize the soil to grow. She is the one who can keep me grounded and anchor me to the right pathway so that the other’s loss can gift us the most.

The Dark was right. It was high time I went against my nature and stopped igniting at every spark. With strategic devastation, the world will be at Jude and I’s fingertips much easier than if Jude was having to put out wildfires that hurt our cause.

Mother Nature gave senseless destruction some sense. I can have the wherewithal to choose when loss is needed to further our cause. I still have a good portion of my ability to cause small scale destruction and that’s all the true mother needs from me to regain us to our glory. And now I have Jude to help with the whole thing. Total devastation is the only thing I am not anymore. But that’s alright.

Jude laughs at the Archivist’s plans. Of course, he has to be the hero. Even when he didn’t know what was happening, he had to be right in the middle of everything—finding things. Knowing things. Now he’s trying to fix everything and recruiting his little friends. I tell her it sounds like someone needs to humble him a bit.

It sounds like he needs another hand.

Chapter Text

Rose-covered glasses create this facsimile of a person in one’s mind. It is this facsimile that people love. She originally had an advantage that would allow her to truly love and be loved as she would know the heart and mind of those she spoke with. It was a thorough, confirmed, beautiful thing.  Now that she is small, she understands why humans were afraid of the other not loving them. It’s hard to know someone’s loyalties when you aren’t allowed to burrow or envelop the other. But at least she can better understand the facsimile kind of love that humans are used to. Whether the actual person or a carbon copy was irrelevant because it is about your feelings of love. The love is the most important part.

That’s why she doesn’t tell the Sad One about the Restless Man after her allies tell her about their discoveries. The other books all revealed the same information—the face is all that remains of those consumed by the book. She swears if it was relevant, she would have said something. The love is what is important, and if the Sad One doesn’t remain consumed by it, then what is the point of pretending to love the Restless Man in the first place? This carbon copy—this memory—should be enough.

And for a time, it is. They develop a routine with her. They read, the Restless Man crawls out of the book, and they embrace. All the while, she is buzzing around them and preventing the spread of the sickness. The Sad One only goes out about once a day. She is told it is to a coffee shop that the Restless Man used to love in the nearby town. One of her accompanied them on this trip once to confirm. They tell the workers there that the Restless Man is sick. That it’s bad, but that he’s at least still there. She buzzes around the book during one of the Sad Ones absences, knowing that the Restless Man would try to embrace her if she were to open the book. Wanting to do it anyway. She hates that she is so separated from the Sad One, but the Sad One asked to stop being followed to process their new life. They just want to breath and sip coffee and process what forever with her feels like. She is happy to hear that forever is the plan, but they are still sounding so somber when they speak of their bond being forever.

That is until one day she is confronted by the reality of the situation. The Sad One has been meeting with someone at the coffee shop. They are speaking without her. They are speaking without the Restless Man at their side. Are they falling in love with this new person without even introducing her to them? And why are they even talking to anyone else? Isn’t she and the Restless Man enough? They don’t need anyone else. Her love is smaller than it used to be, but it’s still enough. She’s still enough.

So why are they looking at her like that, white knuckles clutching the book so tightly? Why when he came to visit did everything change? She already feels some type of way about him. When he had found Jane in that basement, he had desired love and acceptance so badly that she was more than happy to comply. Even went so far as to follow him home in case he needed to pretend he didn’t want to be loved so thoroughly. Martin, She recalls his name is. She played his little game until Jane was redirected to the pathways beneath the institute. Jane was such a beautiful home. So afraid but so loving—and so loved in return.

But apparently Martin just wants to be Seen. Apparently small little Beholding love is enough for the boy who came back to that basement specifically for Jane. And to add insult to injury, she is the one who pushed the ship to sail. You think little docile Martin would have seen the kindness and fear hidden in the Archivist without her? They shared a bonding moment because of her.

She pities poor Martin in his incorrect choice. Her love would never have left him to taste the brine of the Lonely. He could have had so much better but instead of falling for her and being loved by a thousand thousand hearts and souls, he picks Beholding’s self-destructive knowledge seeking. Even if he seems to be doing well with the Archivist for the most part (given a literal deus ex machina saved him from being pinned to a corkboard in Beholding’s world), better than she thinks he should. And she….

She is getting yelled at by the sad… now Angry One.

Oh...

How long has she been reminiscing? How long has her amore been yelling? She tries to buzz out reassurances. He’s lying, she says to the Angry One. Martin just wants to ruin her life! She tries to kill a man’s love interest one time and suddenly this happens-- and his love interest tried to end the world so let’s not pretend she’s worse than he is somehow. Martin speaks about her possibly trying to end the world under the institute, but it’s not like that. She tries to explain the love she is trying to expand upon the world. The feeling of completion she feels with the one’s she’s with. Don’t they want to share in this feeling? The Angry One interrupts to ask her if it is true. She says of course it is! What other love would she possibly be—they interrupt again. They want to know if their love is gone—but he’s not. He’s just a Restless Man now. He’s just different. They ask Martin why the Restless Man is so affectionate to them if it’s not him anymore. Martin says he doesn’t know, but a theory could be toxic love being the way he's meant to attack. The two of them are breaking down what the Restless Man’s actions mean rather than just enjoying his presence. She will no longer stand this slander. She begins to frenzy in upset, and Martin and the Angry One leave. She yells after them that the Angry One would destroy all that remained of the one they love if they were fully consumed by the disease of the book and then they would be trapped knowing that what little was left of him was gone—because of THEM!

She cannot believe they would do this to her (yes, she can). She is the embodiment of love and she’s being left by everyone. She knew this would happen, that’s why she trapped the Restless Man in the first place. The Angry One can’t leave because then they would die and so they will stay no matter what Martin is trying to do.

This Mother Nature has returned. She is trying to reassure that someone else will love her, but she must establish healthy boundaries. That a healthy relationship can look scary to someone who is used to being able to know and control every aspect of the ones they love, but the ones she loves should get a chance to love her back properly. Plenty of people love bugs and would love her all the more when she shows she can speak. She is a novelty and deserving of love, but if they do not want to be controlled, then it can feel worse than Beholding’s invasive stare. She needs to make them safe and let them feel her love. She asks this Mother a simple enough question: If she isn’t supposed to love this way then why did she get the book that lets her exploit those she needs? Of course, this False Mother blames the Mother of puppets. She wasn’t meant to have the books, Mother Nature says—the books were simply a way to siphon energy off the Fears so they wouldn’t change the world. The Fears were threatening to rip the fabric of reality with all their power, so they needed to be…separated and then their power siphoned away further.

She can’t help but feel a burst of warmth at that. Mother of Puppets is still looking out for her—she knows that but to have it confirmed is lovely.  The False Mother is right though—she can’t go on like this. The Angry One’s dependence on her is not just love, and though she feels the love that the Angry One gives the Restless Man, it’s so small compared to the love of thousands that she is used to feeling with her followers. They used to house her, protect her, feed her, be her. How can just blind trust be love and feel like love when the person can betray you and leave? How can she feel loved if they are not giving everything they are to her to show their love?

She sees the Angry One walk in, returning to being the Sad One. They have tear streaks down their face, but their eyes are dry now. They seem lost. They say they love her—that she is such a beautiful specimen going against all odds and staying alive almost into winter and that she was the breakthrough they were looking for. A novelty—she was. They were going to write papers about her and could have shown her to the world. She would have been worshipped in their field. People would have come far and wide to see her—the only reason she wasn’t known to the public was because she never showed herself to their colleagues when trying to prove their findings.

She doesn’t want to hear this. She doesn’t want to hear an alternative love. She doesn’t want to hear what she would have had (will have if she plays her cards right, The F…Mother Nature, says) if she hadn’t betrayed those that love her to protect herself. If she doesn’t make the same mistake. She asks the Sad One if they still love her and they say yes, but it’s bitter. She is still amazing as a creature, but she has caused a lot of pain. She understands that. She is afraid. They say she has left a giant hole in their heart that will hurt for a long time. It doesn’t help that the book has his face. That’s why…

That’s why Martin has the book!? They gave him the book!?

That book has the Restless Man in it! They just throw away someone they love like that. Just like that. And now the Sad One will throw her away too. It really is a matter of time. She needs to stop them from leaving her. She can’t lose another like this so soon. She’s so close to being able to move in with another family, but she is filled with fear at the memory of her week almost completely alone. Everyone just gets to leave her here while she is trapped by the confines of this glorified cardboard and paper house! She wants to leave too!

She asks the Sad One to hear her out—to let her explain. She doesn’t want the Sad One to feel this way—betrayed and hurt and empty. She wants to fix things. She knows she can’t bring the Restless Man back to his original glory--the big doe eyes have been permanently replaced by the dead eyes of false and sickly admiration. She cannot undo that wrong. But the Sad One doesn’t have to hurt anymore. She wouldn’t dare act like forgetting the Restless Man would make things better. In fact, she wants to remember him fondly too. And they can think of his love and adoration together. They can bond over the joy he brought to their life with his big ideas and the light in his eyes. She shows the Sad One the love that she feels for both of them. She tells them that this love and adoration can be the feeling they have for the rest of their life—In a constant state of contentment. The Sad Ones lost and empty eyes have listened to her words, and with an expression of anguish, she says that she just wants the pain to stop. She is overjoyed at the chance to make things right, and she showers the Sad One with her affections. All at once, the Sad Ones expression loses all traces of pain as the empty hole in her heart is filled with love…

…Love and wasps.  

Chapter Text

The Dark sits in a small cat bed on the counter island between the kitchen and the dining room. There is a tablet playing the news propped up next to them. Margie looks proud of this development as she walks in first, followed by Ed and then Marcus.

“Here he is Marcus! Peanut’s gotten so big, you see? And he stays in the house and watches the news like a little gentleman. I swear sometimes he thinks he’s people, the cute little guy.” Margie’s smile is infectious.

Ed rolls his eyes, with a soft smile still on his face, “Of course, Margie. I don’t even know that a bat’s eyesight is good enough to watch TV, but he does seem hypnotized by it sometimes.”

Marcus nods and directs his attention to Peanut. “Hey.. uh.. little guy” His speech around the Dark is always awkward. The couple think he’s just bad with animals, but really Marcus just knows that Ed and Margie are unaware of the sentience of their new “baby”. He pats Peanut on the head with his finger until Peanut does his best impression of the squeak of a bat. He had been practicing and thought he was starting to do pretty well at recreating the squeaks that had come so naturally when he was still merging with this creature and crying what seems like forever ago. Marcus stops petting him and gives a little nod apologetically. “Well, uhm hey! So I have some friends that would probably think a pet bat is pretty cool. If you all don’t mind, I’m um. I’m about to go meet with them for coffee and I think that it would be pretty neat if they got to meet…. Peanut.” Marcus has clasped his hands in front of him and looks to Margie mainly as he waits for an answer.

Unsurprisingly, Margie is delighted that Peanut can acquire more friends and gets up. “We will drive you! Ed, grab your keys. I just need to get my purse and put on my shoes.”

Marcus shoots a pleading look to Ed, who returns a sympathetic smile and then walks after Margie. Peanut hopes that Marcus can feel the holes they’re trying to burn into the back of his head. He must feel something because he soon turns back toward Peanut and whispers, “Your cat friend apparently can pull numbers out of the air because I received a text asking to bring you to an address, signed ‘Beholding’ with a cat face.”

Peanut did their best to glare, whispering back, “I don’t care for an explanation, Marcus, you have to stop my parents from going.”

Marcus just throws Peanut a look before Peanut says, “I AM their baby, Marcus. They say it all the time.”

Marcus rolls his eyes, “Fine. Why don’t you just tell them who you are then?”

“Not right now! When things settle down, I’ll talk to them, but right now they are happy, and I don’t want to scare them.”

Peanut overhears Ed addressing Margie. “Darling, I think Marcus was meeting with friends more close to his age. Us old farts probably won’t be able to keep up with their new kid lingo.”

Marcus calls out to Ed. “We don’t have new kid lingo, Mr. Bennett, we are all adults!” Peanut hisses instinctively and Marcus shrugs, “I’m not going to act like I’m meeting teenagers to suit your-“ he silences himself seeing Margie come into the kitchen.

Margie starts for the cabinet, “I hope they like Peanut. I don’t know how long bats live but having people to help us care for him will be exceptional if they like him enough.”

Marcus puts on a warm smile, “I think these are just the people for that, Mrs. Ben--.” One look from Margie and Marcus corrects. “Margie.”

Margie starts packing a few snacks and chocolates in her purse as Ed walks in, keys in hand. “Margie, dear, I don’t think full grown adults need snacks from—Marge we aren’t going to a potluck” Ed adds as he watched Margie pull a pie out of the fridge.

“I know, I know, but I want to make a good impression! And who doesn’t love pie! It’s not like we have people jumping at the chance to love on this sweet baby boy.” Margie began cooing at Peanut.

Marcus sighs, “alright, we…ready to go?”

A shorter ride than Peanut anticipates results in them parking outside Helen’s house. Marcus clears his throat and dashes inside, no doubt to warn the inhabitants of the impromptu parental visitation. Ed and Margie grab their offerings, Ed grabbing the pie and Margie grabbing Peanut. The loud shuffling and hushed whispers barely masked by the walls and door of the house.

“Oh my” Margie exclaims “Who needs a house so big? Showing off a bit unless there is a large family there.”

He knew she would say that. He’s glad she isn’t looking at them smile.

The front door opens and Jon and Marcus step through, Jon is speaking. “I think it will be fine for a small bit and the—Sir, DON’T TOUCH THAT”

Ed has been walking through the lawn and stops abruptly, “What’s wrong? Is there poop? Is.. what is it?” Jon points at the ground in front of him. “The mushrooms…They um… they are dangerous.” Jon says.

Ed looks down at the lawn in front of him and notices the mushroom ring. “Oh! You’ve got mushrooms! I didn’t even see them. Must be going blind with how big they are to miss something right in front of me! Hold this, love” Ed walks to Margie as she perches peanut on her shoulder and holds the pie for Ed. Peanut begins squeaking in protest, but fear of speaking out halts him from doing anything else.

Luckily Jon and Marcus share a look and Marcus speaks up. “uhm, Mr. Bennett, I don’t think—”

Jon repeats “They are dangerous, Sir!”

Ed pauses next to the Extinction but waves dismissively at Jon. “Don’t worry about me, son, I’ve got the back of a young man and pulled many a mushroom from my own yard in my day. I wonder what’s making them grow everywhere. I don’t think we’ve had this type of mushroom infestation. And these ones especially are weird, mate. Just look at this!” Ed leans over and pulls one out of the ground with a small grunt and pointing at the small blue rings on the head of the mushroom. Margie walks over to the door and Peanut peeks at Ed’s hand. Margie addresses Jon. “Ed, we’ve had that same type of mushroom in our yard for a couple weeks now, remember? You’ve been pulling them up like crazy from the yard!” Margie leans toward Jon, “That’s my Ed, dear. Always a helper, him! Not much of a listener though, I’m afraid, so unless you absolutely want those things in your yard, best let him just do his thing. My name is Margie, dear. You have a rather large house! Very impressive.”

Jon looks at Peanut on her shoulder and then to Ed pulling up mushrooms. Peanut follows Jon’s gaze to the shriveled and dried up mushrooms at Ed’s feet. Ed, noticing the new attention, addresses Jon. “Well, I’d ask if you see what I mean, but they are just dying as quick as I pull ‘em.”

Jon just stares at the mushrooms. “I … I don’t understand.”

Ed just shrugs, “I don’t either. A real wonder of the universe. It’s all good though! Better it dies then overgrows, you know?”

Jon’s face contorts into shock as his gaze jumps quickly back to Margie. “Margie, you said? Peanut’s mom.. m—not.. You’re not Mother Nature, by chance are you?” Margie’s head tilts a bit in confusion and then she laughs. “Oh you are so sweet, my dear! I do feel a bit like a magical princess having this little baby that seems to understand me! And I do have a bit of a green thumb if we are bragging just a bit. You should see the lavenders I grow! I probably could take the moniker of Mother Nature by my garden.”

Jon’s expression turns contemplative at Margie’s answer, and Peanut sits in absolute confusion. From what the others have said to him, Mother Nature was a voice and a force, not a kindly old woman who adopts them as a literal mother figure. Surely Jon doesn’t think Peanut was some favored Fear that got the physical adaptation of mother nature all to himself. She doesn’t even talk to him. 

Marcus is looking at Jon suspiciously as he clears his throat and Jon snaps out of his thoughts. Jon welcomes everyone inside with quick introductions and directs Ed to the bathroom to wash up. Martin immediately asks if anyone wants tea and Margie agrees so long as he eats some of the pie she brought. “I also have snacks in my purse should you need or want anything else, my dear. Do you know a good tea for an apple crumble pie?” She follows Martin into the kitchen and Peanut flies off her shoulder and onto the back of the couch. Marcus gives a slight half nod to Peanut and whispers to Jon, “They insisted on meeting you. I think they are wanting to have babysitters that they know will take care of him.”

Jon just looks at Peanut incredulously. “….right.”

Peanut just sighs with a small squeak. He will tell them eventually, he wants to say. But they stay silent. Ed comes back to the living room and sits on the couch, making sure not to sit directly in front of Peanut. “So, you been friends with Marcus long?”

Jon, caught off guard by what should have been a relatively predictable question, looks to Marcus for help.

Marcus shrugs. “We met probably about a month ago when I befriended their cat.”

Ed is delighted, his head turning to look at the kitchen. “Did you hear that, Margie! There is a cat here!”

Martin is heard mumbling something and then clarifies “Not here right now! They-they aren’t ..uh.. they are indoor outdoor cats-a cat. Single cat—just one.”

Jon chimes in. “Yes, you know how cats like to explore.”

Ed chuckles a bit. “yeah I can imagine so! Might be dangerous for a curious thing outside.”

Jon agrees with a nod before adding. “Indeed.” He sits in contemplative silence for a bit before saying, “I would have been more concerned if the mushrooms were still there. I have to say I’m shocked you could pull them so easily.” Jon’s watching Ed intently, as though mentally documenting every movement. 

Ed just looks at Jon curiously. “Oh?”

Margie and Martin interrupt the current train of thought by walking in and Marcus casually walks to the window and looks outside. Martin takes to serving Jon a plate and Margie serves Ed and Marcus before both sit. Margie smiles “I hope you all like it. And I hope I didn’t keep Martin away from the riveting conversation too long. The boy is a blessing in the kitchen. Your mother must be proud.”

Martin looks only slightly uncomfortable as he smiles “Thank you.”

Margie laughs a bit. “Don’t be shy about it now! Your kitchen is any old woman’s dream with the organization of a modern-day cooking show.”

Ed places a hand on Margie’s knee, “Come now, Marge—you’re making him uncomfortable. You can’t just compliment us men like that.” He throws a smile and wink at Martin as though there is an inside joke there.

“Well, I disagree on that one. I am one proud mummy to my grown kids and they are told all the time.”

“That’s different, love. We were blessed with daughters. Girls handle that sort of thing.”

“And if I had a son, he would be a Martin with an immaculate kitchen and a wonderful hus…boy…friend? Nesting Partner!” Margie announces proudly. “And he would also know how much I love him.”

Martin looks downright embarrassed and Jon smiles, nudging Martin while mumbling “How’s that, Martin? You and Peanut can have the same Mother. One that appreciates you.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Just like her, honestly. She tries to adopt anyone younger than us. And bats!” He eyeballs Peanut. “I’m still not totally convinced they didn’t give her Rabies.” Peanut squeaked indignantly. Margie smiles and scoops Peanut off the back of the couch to hold him, her plate cleaned of pie and her teacup empty. Ed brings up their initial meeting with Peanut and how as unlikely as a trained bat is, there are no likely scenarios that explain Peanut’s behavior. Margie laments that she couldn’t help him more his first couple days with them. “He was bawling like a little squeaky baby, poor thing. Still hasn’t found his old house, so we’ve just taken him in as his new folks. Just as well. I think the whole neighborhood thinks of me as a mother to them”. Martin compliments Margie’s pie and Margie agrees to share the recipe if he ever wants to come to her house to cook with her.

Jon sits impatiently, looking around periodically as though trying to find a subject to guide the conversation to. He’s peeking at Ed more and more throughout the whole thing. Is he studying Ed?

Margie took the silence as an invitation for a topic she has clearly been keeping in her mind. “So you all have a pet cat that Marcus met! Has he been talking to the cat too? Will we get to meet them tonight? I love animals so much. Oh! I hope they don’t eat bats” She fixes a slightly worried gaze to Peanut.

Jon awkwardly laughs a bit, “Ah no no, they don’t eat bats. They were quite taken with Marcus as soon as they met him, so it was, I guess, a sign to our impending….friendship.”

Marcus is awkwardly sitting there, silently watching the conversation as Jon tries to speak about Beholding without truly speaking of Beholding. Their curious nature is easy to latch onto for appropriate cat talk, so Jon does his best. Martin gets up and begins to gather plates. Margie gets up to help, despite the protests of Martin, Peanut is set in Marcus’ lap.

Jon abruptly addresses Ed, seemingly reaching some breaking point of patience. “Alright, I… Are you alright? Not feeling sick? Or lightheaded? No impending doom or anything?”

Ed smiles and jokes instantly with a pat on his stomach. “Heavens no. Been digesting my wife’s cooking quite a bit over the years. Though it’s very good cooking–I’m just joking around” Ed becomes a little concerned when Jon’s face stays serious. “You allergic to apples or something? Are you getting woozy? I can phone a doctor should you nee-“

Jon interrupts, “No… not the pie, it was lovely—I’m fine. I’m alright. I meant the mushrooms outside. It’s been enough time that side effects of any nature should be taking place.”

Ed’s expression changes from concerned to confused. “What are you on about, Mate?”

Much to Peanut’s and Jon’s surprise, Marcus is having trouble masking his concern. Right.. they don’t think they’ve mentioned the mushrooms yet. Extinction is a concern of Peanut’s sure, but on the backburner due to Desolation and just… Honestly since it’s slow acting and doesn’t attack anything, Peanut almost wonders if it can do anything at all.  Margie comes back in with Martin insisting Martin keep the leftover pie as Jon continues. “I-I-I Had never seen that type of mushroom before. I just am concerned that there might be some… side effects to you touching it with your bare hands. I mean-- I mean they died super quick in your hands, so… what if there is a toxin in them?”

Ed thinks for a moment and then shrugs, “I don’t know. I don’t feel any different. I don’t even really remember the mushroom’s appearance, so they must not have looked that strange.” Ed turns to Margie. “Do you remember anything about them lovely?”

Margie frowns, “Ed you had said they looked odd, you showed us the little blue rings on them remember?”

Ed shakes his head, “I can’t recall. Old age must be getting to me!” Ed chuckles.

Margie laughs, “Of course” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Had you ever seen mushrooms like that before, dear? With the blue rings?”

Margie’s eyes flash concern for the briefest of moments when Ed says he hasn’t to his knowledge. She shares that brief look with Marcus and she then smiles at Jon and Martin. “Oh look at the time. My shows are about to be on, and I had plans to do a little knitting tonight. I’ve been practicing making sweaters for Peanut. Well, I hate to cut your visit short with Marcus. And you almost didn’t get to see Peanut at all, but we really should—"

Marcus chimes in, “Well, I could watch Peanut, and Jon and Martin could arrange a ride back home if you all want to head out before me. I know it’s probably been a long day for you too.”

Ed begins to protest at first, clarifying that he’s fine and he’s not feeling any type of way from a couple of mushrooms. Margie reassures him that that’s not why she’s leaving, and tells him that she’s going to get her purse from the kitchen and make sure she has everything. Ed watches her walk into the kitchen area and he grabs his keys. “Alright, then.” He looks at Jon and Martin with a confused smile, “Be lucky in your type boys. Women make some awfully crazy choices.” He laughs and Margie is heard scoffing, “yes, like loving you so much!” she says, though there is no bite to her words.

Ed laughs and nods, calling back “Exactly! That’s nuts, woman!” He tips an invisible hat to Jon and Martin, “You stay safe out there! I’ll go warm up the car.”

Margie comes out of the kitchen a few moments later and pets Peanut in Marcus’ hands. “I know you know how to behave, but you stay safe.”

Margie walks up to Jon and Martin and gives them a hug. “Ed has learned to follow my crazy whims, so he won’t ask any questions. But let Marcus know if there is anything strange about those mushrooms that we need to be careful about, alright dears? I don’t want to know what they are or where they come from. Just if I need to know anything direct.”

Confusion crosses Jon’s face as he asks, “Do… do you know something? About… about the world? Cause we are fighting agai—”

Margie holds up her hand, and in an instant, she looks older and more worn down. “No, I don’t.” Her soft smile returns as she continues, “And, my sweet boys. Even if I did—No, I don’t. Sometimes …staying in the dark… is the best way to handle a situation. The dark can save you.”

Everyone sits stock still as Margie sees herself out. It seems an eternity before Martin speaks up. “She… I mean… she definitely knows something, right?”

Marcus sighs, “No, she doesn’t”

Jon disagrees, “No, didn’t you hear her? She—”

Marcus stands up straight, his face stern. “I. Heard. Her. Did you? Cause No. She. Does. Not.” His voice is unwavering and direct.

Peanut finally spoke. “Marcus is right. You can’t drag them into this just because they might have a story for you, Archivist. It’s within their right to leave it alone.”

Jon responds “I am not just in it for a story, Peanut. If they have information that can turn the tide of what’s coming, then we have an obligation to the world to know it.”

Peanut began toying with the shadows of the room. Making some grow and dance around them, and pooling new shadow around himself. He wasn’t one for intimidation tactics, but the Archivist was not going to bring his family into this. “Knowing and doing is what got you into the mess with Beholding to begin with! Margie is right. Sometimes leaving well enough alone is the answer, and it’s a choice anyone outside of us should have.”

Jon looks lost at first, looking at Martin who is looking down at messages on his phone and then at Marcus whose face shows clear opposition toward Jon. Jon huffs angrily, “Well what about you then? You were at the hospital, then you helped handle Desolation, and now you are here with the Dark. Do you even know what is happening to you? You have to understand the importance of knowing what you’re dealing with.”

Marcus does not falter in expression as he stares down at what, in comparison to him, is a small man.  “I am getting by just fine not knowing the details. I see fire, I put it out. I see a talking cat warning me about a bird imitating a doctor and I roll with it. I see 5 service dogs enter a hospital with 2 people, I point them in the direction of the room full of animals. I see a guy flirting with a lady oozing worms, I let romance happen. If you focus on the whole of the world instead of you and yours, you risk getting swept up in shit that’s too big.”

Jon looks helpless. He looks down at Peanut, and Peanut speaks up, calming down and dissipating his shadow tricks. “You have allies in other Fears, Jon. You don’t need to drag humans into this.” Martin puts his phone away and looks up at Jon who is looking up at Marcus again. “So… You’ll do nothing?”

Marcus sighs. “I didn’t say that. I can help out on the outskirts like I have been. Your google cat can send me a message and I’ll deliver Peanut and help be muscle with whatever. Especially if it has to do with protecting the Bennetts and our neighborhood. But I don’t want to know the details. I don’t need to know how far the rabbit hole goes. Just tell me if I need to put fire in it or not.” Marcus holds an expression on his face that is asking if that’s enough. Jon, as an answer, visibly relaxes.

“That’s perfect. I can do the knowing if I have allies.”

Marcus rolls his eyes and sets Peanut down on the back of the couch. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Walk a bit and then taxi home. Peanut, you know how to get home.”

Soon enough, Marcus is gone. Martin sits with a faraway look and Peanut reminds Jon that they were called out here for a reason. Jon immediately recalls the original purpose of the visit. “Oh! I got so caught up in the impromptu visit and Ed with the mushrooms that I almost forgot!”

Jon explains the situation at hand, Martin’s gaze becoming a little more distant as the conversation goes on.

It has taken a few days for Martin to open up when he came back from his last trip meeting with Sydney regarding what to do with the Corruption, only telling Jon about the details today. Martin has met with them a couple of times and was hinting that this last meeting he was confident that Syd would see that Adam is gone. He can’t and couldn’t show them an activated book to prove his point, but they did, according to Martin, admit that Corruption would only refer to Adam as The Restless Man and his behavior is the same every time he comes out. According to Martin, The Restless Man never speaks—only offers a soft smile and an embrace that feels stiff at first, but then seems to relax. After a time, he would let go and return to the book. The Corruption shields Sydney from ever being corrupted themselves.

But Martin’s return—though with the book—is not one of celebration. It is one of a thousand-yard stare and stunned silence. He still speaks with Jon of course, but he’s skirting over what happened. He just said the same thing until today, “I got the book. Sydney isn’t coming. Drop it, please”. 

And It is today (about a week after Martin came back with the book) that Martin starts asking about the Dark and Terminus and trying to figure out what they know about Corruption. Peanut has been forthcoming about information regarding their previous encounters, but they aren’t up to date with the Corruption or their humans. In fact, The Restless Man’s development is new information to them.

Peanut assures them that if the humans are dead, then Corruption can’t get too far for too long. They only manage to send out a few sentinel wasps here or there, but they don’t travel far from their hive. It seems like a separation anxiety thing. Martin looks at the floor in front of him and says, “They have a new hive. I walked in on them making it.”

Jon and Peanut give Martin their full attention as he recounts walking out of the house to look for Sydney who was taking too long to leave. They were in the pole barn where Sydney had kept Adam’s wasps and Martin thought it was going to be a firefight. He did not expect to watch someone sobbing, partially screaming and gagging on wasps who bury themselves deep in and flit around their new hive with no regard to the well being of the flesh they just imprisoned. Martin admits to running away like he had done with Jane Prentiss and laments not finding something to burn her with.

“What if she goes out and infects people just like Jane Prentiss? What if she’s just as strong as she was with that? What if she’s stronger?” Martin is clearly panicking, and Peanut’s darkness starts ebbing from himself and creeping toward Martin almost instinctively. Martin’s demeanor shifts as his mind tangents with the new darkness flowing toward him. “And what do we do about the mushrooms? They can’t just be harmless! I know Ed just pulled them up like common weeds, but that can’t be all there is to Extinction! I mean come on. It’s manifesting, so it was real!”

Peanut tries to reassure Martin, hopping over to him and encasing him in a blanket of Dark. Peanut speaks “This is a blessing. This means that the burden of Extinction is the Fears and possibly fear acolytes alone. The Hunt says it smells dangerous, so I won’t hold out hope it’s harmless to everyone, but it is not something that can hurt those with no knowledge or burden of us Fears. Better to be harmless to humans than to cause a lot of casualties. We can study them further and see what they are here for.”

Martin breathes in deep and then sighs, calming down slowly.

Peanut is left waiting while Jon and Martin are calming down in the Dark. They aren’t sure if dark helps either of the humans in it, but they don’t tell him to go away, so he remains in place. While there alone with his thoughts, Peanut reaches out again to Mother Nature. He’s done so a couple times since hearing of her—met with silence in all previous times. Beholding speaks to her all the time, it seems. Spiral admits to talking about madness, and even the Flesh spoke of the beauty in change with her. This time is no exception for the Dark, though. They simply shut their eyes and ask what they are supposed to be doing? Why a bat? Did she send Margie and Ed to him or is he just lucky? Why isn’t she speaking with him? Is his presence hurting Ed and Margie? Did he bring the mushrooms to their house just by existing? What does the Extinction do?

Nothing. Silence. Left… oh…

Martin speaks up, saying, “Well we at least have a working theory from our friends about the mushrooms. They texted while your…parents…were leaving. And While Marcus was here.” He pulls out his phone and shows Jon. Jon and Martin are speaking now. The Dark can’t hear it. He’s zoned out as he finally understands. Mother Nature is a Mother of nature. Not just plants, but the very nature of the Fears themselves.

And like what his nature would dictate, even as he’s trying to go against it,

He’s left in the dark.

Chapter Text

A being of such finality shifting into a mortal coil (or a mortal-esque coil at the very least as he supposes it’s uncertain the actual status of his current state of decay) creates a new sensation very different from the one-track non-mind that the End was accustomed to. Though this is not new information, it is becoming more and more apparent that the cognitive dissonance this mortal coil is creating against the core understanding of the world is causing…distress.

Death and change of this world are inevitable. Accepting his role in this world is the only way to eradicate fear of that change. Eradicate his fear of the inevitable, and he reduces the ability to be changed by fear himself.  

And yet, here he sits

He’s with likeminded individuals mostly, he tells himself. They do not wish to engage either-- though for different reasons than he. They acknowledge that a fight between opposing fears where an entire world is on the line is a battle of colossal proportion that no small creature should burden themselves with. It’s as Georgie said—this is too big for them. As one of the fears, he can confirm that she was right from the start. Jonathan’s involvement was not going to help or hinder anyone or anything in such a grand scale battle. If not Jonathan—a different archivist would have given into the nature of the position. It is hubris to think that the Fears even feel a sense of time or anticipation the same as humans do. They are not foiled—they didn’t have the foresight to have a sense of success or failure.

This current thought being a background line of thinking in the End’s mind as they discuss what happened at the sleepover at The Archivist’s new headquarters. They had gone back inside and continued the sleepover after the Dark’s departure, and even these 3 humans and this old owl stayed for the fun. The Archivist had accommodated by ceasing ‘save the world’ talk for later, and that progress of his is not lost on the End. Sleepovers and camaraderie are fun, as Terminus is coming to learn. This current tea party at Georgie’s flat is filled with more lighthearted stories of humans escaping or loving the Fears, and the few times the fears made plans and attempts on their own. Terminus wonders if this is something they can continue regularly.

Beholding tries their best to have the best story, but the End is sure the Flesh’s “monster pig 2: The piggening” is the victor for best story overall. Melanie and Georgie crack up every time it is brought up.

Beholding scoffs “I have definitely done better scares than that, how is that one the best one?”

Georgie pets Beholding, almost as an apology, as Melanie cracks up trying to speak. “It’s because of how inefficient it was! ‘Best’ is subjective to the audience—ask any youtuber! Their ‘most viewed’ video is almost never the video they worked hardest on. Most of the time it’s not even the video they personally thought was their best.”

Beholding’s eyes widened in sadness, “But you’re the audience. Does that mean—”

Melanie coos and pets the Eldritch Horror that has grown upset at their perceived dip in popularity—Change is inevitable, but this is definitely not something that would have been on the End’s apocalyptic bingo card.

“No No, you’re still alright.” Melanie’s eyes convey sympathy and then a confusion that is only matched by Georgie as they both freeze in place. The room seems to stop temporarily, and the End feels worried. Terminus isn’t completely up to date on Melanie’s opinion of Fears, but the two girls’ reactions to Melanie’s reassurances showed that this is likely the opposite of how Melanie feels. Georgie is the first to break the tension by laughing. Oliver seems relieved and walks a bit closer to the crying cat in question, and Melanie turns to Georgie almost in an accusing manner. Georgie smiles at Melanie more deliberately, stating “Doesn’t matter what kind of cat, you can’t possibly leave a cat to be sad.”

Melanie slowly turns back to Beholding and clears her throat, removing her hand from the situation. “What I was going to say was just… um… there is a different scale used for humans and...Fears. You would likely measure the ‘best’ by more effectiveness and m-fear success, but humans will measure entertainment value and human success. And the Monster Piggening—“ Melanie’s voice cracks a bit as she stifles laughter— “was the pinnacle of entertainment and fear failure. There were 19 piglets loose in a mall with numbers 2-20 spray painted on their side.” Melanie’s voice raises as she continues to repeat the story with the tone of incredulity.

“Piglets released, numbered pigs.  And a mall shuts down because they can’t find the one that’s labeled 1.” She pauses for dramatic effect, “Because it doesn’t exist. But the plan wasn’t to make them question themselves. It was to clear the mall to have a pig #1 appear as giant monster pig 2.0 to the unsuspecting police. But the police that went in after they cleared the mall was of the Hunt, so Monster Pig 2.0 just died in an anticlimactic fashion, no one was scared, and we humans just came to be blessed with hours of video footage uploaded of police officers chasing baby pigs…”

Georgie giggles before adding, “I feel like I remember that. Yeah yeah—that wasn’t too long ago, was it? The Comments sections were not holding back with that one. Now we know why the culprits were never found. And how someone transported 20 pigs without being detected.”

Beholding is smiling and laughing along at this point, their self-doubt curbed temporarily. The End isn’t sure when in that conversation it occurred, but Oliver is now sitting with Beholding in his lap and he’s petting them absentmindedly.

Beholding addresses Melanie with a smile, “I see what you mean! Flesh was so new that I don’t think they knew what –well they didn’t know anything—but I don’t think they knew what would make people scared. I think they are much happier as a butterfly fixing faces and things.”

Oliver nods, “The Flesh did act as a tiny plastic surgeon in the hospital” he says, and Melanie adds, “And fixing my eyesight at Helen’s house.”

Georgie’s expression becomes more contemplative as she says, “I wonder what all of the Fears can do in these new forms.” She forms this as a general question, but her glance briefly falls on the End before deliberately avoiding his direction. She’s right to wonder though—he is the fear of the End after all. The fear of Beholding beholds things.  The fear of being Hunted hunts things. The fear of the Dark produces darkness. The End had only been abilities bouncing between moments in time before solidifying into a small being of their own. Consciousness is the new novel thing for him. Power? is not. Stepping through life, not knowing what they are capable of until he just tries something sounds interesting unless he is in his current situation. Now, trying out powers and seeing what he is capable of might kill someone—so best just accept what he has already. He can fly. He can talk. He can sometimes see the cold grasp of death positioned on those that appear in his dreams. His hesitance of consequences goes back to feeling the aftermath of situations now. He briefly wonders if his old self—if given feelings and a consciousness—would have the same reservations about testing the limits of his abilities. He survives the guilt by maintaining a separation between death itself and his existence as the Coming End, so how would one react to obtaining consciousness without the sense of time?

He has apparently been pondering this out loud because Melanie speaks from her position on the couch across from Terminus.

“What about now? Do you feel a sense of time now?” Her eyes are focusing on him rather than her tea. They seem to have adjusted to using her eyes again because her gaze seems intense, like every part of his answer matters. He thinks for a moment, sitting in his chair in Georgie’s flat, recalling the moments where his thoughts had caused him to feel like time got away from him. Does he feel time passing properly? Is this how humans feel time or is there perception of it more stagnant and linear?

Beholding answers for Terminus, “Oh I do! I know I do. We wouldn’t be able to plan and have a tea party otherwise! I feel lots of things now! Like this tea!” Beholding jumps from Oliver’s lap and sips their tea to prove their point. Terminus can’t help but agree, offering explanation aloud.

“I think I do as well. Before, actions all felt simultaneous in a way. Our existence was not based on being a creature unto ourselves so there was no true self awareness past a task. Though some, it seems, relished in existing and choosing during a task, others like myself simply were. Either way, we currently still exist when we are not active, and I can no longer jump automatically to the next task.” He stops there, as he feels he’s answered the question more than thoroughly. Terminus doesn’t think it’s necessary to remind the humans in the room how they have always been stuck on the 4^th dimensional plane. If all the Fears were connected, then they likely experienced what could be considered life as he did before the change: a jumbled mess of memories with only partial information as well as small blips (which apparently could be minutes to centuries of human time) where he felt he was at least similar to sleeping. Well between the dreams.

The End continues, “Honestly dreaming is the closest thing I can think of. You are conscious for a specific task, and as soon as the world slows down and you’re idle, it feels like you’re whisked away to the next thing.”

He knows more context than before which brings reason and understanding to those memories now.

“I wonder if the Extinction is awake enough to feel time.” Oliver’s contributions to conversation have been few and far between, but the End has always had a fondness for Oliver’s abilities to address the important issues.  This particular addition drew in everyone’s attention as the new question is left hanging in the air for a while. Georgie looks down in contemplation and Beholding cocks his head to the side.

Beholding speaks first. “I guess we will never know since they can’t talk to us…Or didn’t talk to us, anyway.”

Melanie shrugs, “I don’t know, one would think if it could talk it would have. It… I mean, it showed up at Helen’s house for a reason, right?”

Terminus isn’t so sure and mentions as much. “If they are arriving based on our presence, they might not engage with the prey.” He begins mumbling a bit to himself, hypothesizing. “Though if they were cognitive, they might be—”

Georgie suddenly speaks, “Apparently they are not immediately any sort of threat to humans at least.” She’s smothering a smile on her face as she indicates messages on her phone. “A quick message from Martin. Apparently, Peanut’s parents have paid Jon and Martin a visit and his dad ripped up the mushrooms with no side effects at all. Jon is apparently studying his every move over small talk.”

Melanie leans over to Georgie and reads the messages herself. Beholding’s eyes glow as they likely are ‘reading’ as well. Beholding’s eyes squint, “It’s really really hard to not tell the Archivist about the sadness of The One He Loves. I have been informed that talking about it helps sometimes so blah blah secrets blah I shouldn’t tell the Archivist first but I feel it’s just silly to keep it in and message you like The One He Loves isn’t sad on the inside.”

Oliver rolls his eyes with a smile and the End can’t help but chuckle as well, “Since secret spilling is in your nature, I know it will be hard to imagine. But remember that others do not like being an open book. Choosing when, if, and how to divulge information affords a feeling of control. It’s why you were classified as a fear to begin with.”

Beholding tries to continue down this new path, but the End cuts them off, “Keeping on track—we can get back to the nature of things later—you said a human just pulled them up with no side effects?” He is addressing Georgie now as Beholding pouts a bit impatiently, leaning into his tea. Georgie simply nods in response, and he continues “Well then… seems a bit odd for something called Extinction to leave survivors.”

Melanie is watching Georgie’s phone and offhandedly says, “I wonder what causes them to manifest. Like, do they just appear? Are they moving from some place or just growing?”

Georgie shrugs and shakes her head, “It’s a bit of a mystery. I mean everyone else showed up as animals, but they only have like… a set consciousness right—that’s how you all said? You can’t just grow somewhere else now, like, Beholding said they took a train to get to the hospital for Jon.” Georgie finishes her statement looking between Terminus and Beholding. Beholding’s eyes widen and they sit up straight, “Oh! Peanut also said that he thought there was some outside their house! If they do grow toward the fears, and can be multiple places, then we were at the hospital for a while too!”

Oliver looks unsure as Georgie sends a text on her phone. He speaks to Beholding, “I don’t know. Terminus has been at my place for weeks now and we haven’t seen any mushrooms like that. Maybe it’s just when fears congregate?”

Beholding offers, “Or we are like the books and give off a beacon when we use our powers?”

Melanie scoffs and gets up from the couch, walking to the window, “We’ve been here joking for hours while beholding has been using their powers, so if it was the powers theory then the—oh.” Melanie stops as she looks out the window. “Well, damn.”

Oliver stands up and walks to the door, Terminus following to confirm the small fairy ring outside the flat. It’s a small ways to the grass and, before anyone can say anything, Oliver plucks all of them up and watches them immediately shrivel and die. Melanie is heard from the window, “Why would you just pick them up!? What if the dad’s situation was not repeatable? You could have died!”

Oliver starts heading inside, seemingly unfazed “Well now we know that it is repeatable.”

Beholding comes outside and stands next to Terminus. “I mean, it might be congregation still.” Their quiet tone makes it clear that Beholding doesn’t think it is congregation—and they are still fairly certain of their original hypothesis. Beholding does need to know things though so bringing up untested theories is simply in their nature.

Terminus contemplates a moment and then says, “Why don’t you see things and talk to me about the things you are seeing and if they come back, I’ll let you know.”

Beholding’s eyes seem to light up with excitement before glowing intensely green, “You’re asking me to know things?? Oh, I can know things. I will know things so hard.” Beholding’s stream of consciousness begins flooding soon after that. They speak of the baby next door in the flat. Of her mother being concerned the baby isn’t her husbands, but that surely she is his because it was just that one time and the dates probably don’t match up. An old man is sitting in the retirement home wondering if anyone is going to find the dirty plastic skeleton he hid in the walls of his house before he sold it and how it will be the best prank ever once someone discovers it. Another man washing his hands wondering what he was thinking being so recklessly resigned to let fate decide, and if the mushrooms are going to cause any type of – oh Sorry Oliver, moving onto a woman--

Time passing regardless of activity must be a fear. Terminus is certain of that as he waits and listens and waits. The humans are inside speaking and periodically peeking out the blinds at the experiment that is occurring. Terminus didn’t get the name The Coming End that Waits For All and Cannot be Ignored for nothing. He has already made up his mind that he’s going to sit and wait for at least an hour before even speculating about this hypothesis. Luckily for all parties involved, it only takes approximately 30 minutes of continuous ability usage for a pulse to start.

It's very light at first. And quick. Almost like a lightning bolt. A small pulse of blue light shooting from seemingly off in a random direction but the same direction each time and stopping right at the lawn in question—the one they are standing in. The small bud of mushrooms predominantly that same blue and then fading to the typical brownish gray of a common mushroom save those blue rings on the top and form in that very same ring that Oliver pulled up once already. Terminus stands staring, mesmerized and watches as the mushrooms inch closer to Beholding, growing in size as well. Their movements seem so erratic as they mostly grow rather than lurch forward. Terminus watches them grow until each mushroom head is nearly the size of a human fist and stand only a few feet from Beholding before snapping back and remembering his position in this experiment. He hollers over Beholding, getting the attention of the cat as well as the humans inside. As soon as Beholding’s eyes stop glowing, Extinction freezes and stops as well, seemingly solidifying into place. Oliver and Melanie are out in a hurry with Georgie lagging as she is texting on her phone.

Melanie reacts first, “Those are huge!” Oliver is nodding in agreement as Beholding stares at them.

So our powers are the beacon, and they are in fact chasing us. Terminus is unsure why that revelation makes him uneasy. He made the experiment to confirm a possibility that was already there. Him knowing that it’s true shouldn’t make it worse, but it does somehow. Must be a consciousness thing.

Georgie heaves a sigh and then looks at Oliver, “Feeling brave again then? Also…” She looks down at Beholding and Terminus “This means no more powers at my flat. My flat is not a beacon for Extinction.” Beholding nods without taking their eyes off the mushrooms while saying “Oliver was afraid that the mushrooms were going to cause side effects and feels like…. He….might have… made a mistake…” Beholding trails off slowly looking up at Oliver, “Like I’m doing cause when and if and how to tell things makes humans feel control.” Oliver had leaned down to start pulling the mushrooms up—this time with gloves—but had paused as Beholding had started speaking. Oliver just slowly speaks as he starts pulling the mushrooms up again. “Thank you, Beholding. I appreciate you .. outing my concerns on my behalf… but as it stands, best to minimize the spread of side effects—should their be any—to the one person who has already touched the mushrooms before.”

Even with the large size of the mushrooms, they still immediately shrivel and die. Terminus explains to everyone what he saw and how they are formed.

Melanie looks toward the horizon that Terminus indicates as Oliver immediately walks inside. Beholding’s eyes flicker—the power immediately stopping when Georgie shoots them a look. “Sorry sorry. No powers” Beholding trots inside, the rest of the group following. Georgie sits down, “Well last I had updated Martin, we had just had a working theory. I would say the theory has just been confirmed. Which means they should likely visit the hospital to see if the fairy rings are there as well.”

Beholding sits on the floor and tilts their head, Georgie responds as though they’ve asked a question. “No no, they need to investigate. I don’t mind pondering and investigating the safety of my own flat, but I’m not going to seek out more answers. This is not a way to get me to join your rag tag team. Honestly, I don’t think anyone should be trying to take this on again.”

Melanie sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “honestly, did no one learn anything the first time.”

Beholding chuckles “okay fair’s fair. I won’t ask again.” Georgie mouths “Thank you” as they all sat for a moment. Terminus watches as they all start the conversation again, they speak of small victories and funny moments. Terminus watches their faces and sometimes hears their words. He is lost in thought about the inevitability of all things—death, change, life—and how each person he met since being an owl has coped with these inevitabilities. Some just protect a small area they deem home. Some lash out at anyone around them. Some people seek to save the entire world. As Terminus looks around at the group around him – one in the “accept everything” category, two in the “small home" category, and one seeking knowledge-- a twinge of concern hits Terminus’ heart. He isn’t sure what he will do with his new enjoyment of companionship—if he does anything at all—but he does know that if he grows to be the type to fight against inevitability—if he is to attempt to delay the Coming End for All—that he has decided that these new friends will be worth the effort.

And that alone scares him

Because it shouldn’t even cross his mind to fight the inevitable. He has lived long enough to know, conscious sentience or not, how inevitable the end is for everyone. He knows that extending a life makes no difference in the grand scheme of things. That attachments only lead to a struggle against an unstoppable force so great that the fear of it birthed him. He knows that with this conflict in feeling, the best case scenario would be isolation and observation of the world as one of Beholding’s creatures—never doing and never engaging. Just watch in fascination while everyone else forms their attachments and pushes back against an unstoppable force in a vain attempt for a little more time with the people and environments and things that they have bonded with despite knowing the inevitability being mortal has on this world in its current state….

…And yet, here he sits…

Chapter Text

I have to have faith in Mother.

I have to have faith that Mother’s indifference to the books we have being lost to the Archivist is not just masking or hubris or idiocy, but just cold calculated objective fact that losing the artifacts doesn’t even put a dent in the power she is amassing. I have to believe that she will guide us through the small confined sandbox. She will best the false mother. We will make the world brighter and better and new.

She is so strong.

She has knowledge and foresight that I can only hope to possess someday. That’s why she told us all that we could not live together yet, and why she told our allies that they cannot experiment on their books in the same place twice (though clearly two of their allies didn’t see fit to take that advice to heart and now their books are gone). She knows and can predict the movements of others—it’s futile to assume you can do something she will not expect. Whether one of our own or this Mother Nature Creature, no one will best Mother.

That’s just how it is. She will take over this world and the false Mother Nature will just have to realize that change is just going to happen and that some things are just not going to stay the same. This world is meant to be in chaos. It’s not meant to be this way anymore. Some things are just not meant to be.

Like the hospital…

I was a doctor once—a weeks ago anyway. I return there (to the place of my defeat) over a month (5 or so weeks) later to see if they still recognize me. They recognize me as a bird immediately and it still occurs to them that birds aren’t doctors. Birds can’t be staff—not nurses, doctors, or techs. No matter how many times I try to be.

Lo and behold, my visit does show me one thing—the security guard of the hospital is accompanying those idiots and they are making trips to the hospital and searching the premise. They seemingly find what they are looking for as they have uprooted the rings of mushrooms that have appeared there since my departure—the ones that make the Mother uneasy. She says they are unnecessary in her plan—that it merely serves as a scar in the long run—how the world was to change, I suppose.  

It brings me joy to know that my enemies—these dissenters of Fear—are running around obsessing over nothing. Pulling up glorified weeds—doing Mother a favor, even if one is to be honest. It is strange though, that these mushrooms can fill me with such dread and still not be a concern in the wake of her plans. I haven’t felt true terror like this before, the likes of which we are. Stranger still that there is no terror in the eyes of those around the players of this game. Humans, typically seeming so easily struck down by terror and fear that they drive themselves mad at the whispers of something possibly wrong, are idling walking by these pockets of dread—these scars of fear—and feeling nothing. They aren’t even looking at them. Does this mean the Archivist retained his inhumanity? Is this why he fears these things that humans don’t even seem to have on their radar?

The more I watch the humans, the more it becomes too apparent. It’s not even a matter of just not caring about them. I recognize it from the years and years spent hiding in plain sight, watching the confusion of my victims compile onto itself by the anonymity from something so obviously wrong that only they can see. Even those watching the Archivist pull the mushrooms up, watch them shrivel and die too quickly to be a natural occurrence, seem to have their eyes mostly focused on the abnormal movements of the Archivist himself. Their eyes just gloss over the mushrooms. The mushrooms are masked—hidden from the natural eyesight of humans—hidden from everyone but their victims like I used to be. I can’t know for sure that I’m right, of course, but monster knows monster and they hunt like me.

It is worse than us just living among humans and becoming too weak to cause much harm to them. Because I know that fear—that dread that I’ve grown and become. I feel that fear because those things, mindless little growths that they are, are hunting us somehow. They grow outside of the hospital that I was in. Desolation mentioned mushrooms in the forest. Corruption had to deny that they were responsible for the ones growing near the ranch. The Leitner books give off almost no energy when dormant and almost as much as us when activated, so it stands to reason that these little things would hunt activated books too.

I watch lazily as the butterflies are flying away, the enemy dispersing behind them. I follow, of course, continuing my job of gleaning information from the enemy as best as I can. There was no Leitner for me to test thus far, so until Mother gives me a new objective, I must make up for the failure of obtaining the address to a fucking Boots (damn the Coroner). I may not be able to use my power to get close, but I can still sneak behind them to see what information they have. Mother might not be interested in the mushrooms they seem to be chasing, but she is definitely interested in the Archivist. Maybe they will find something of note.

I pause in my flight to hover once my eyes reach where they are headed. Mother must learn of this—this is much worse than we anticipated. The scar-- one Mother is unconcerned with-- is so much worse than I originally thought. I should have known that the origin of the scar would be the focal point. A Maw that looks like it could swallow us all should it want to.

I take off toward the forest. The forest is full of spiders after all, and if Mother doesn’t want me to visit her directly, then getting in touch with her this way would spare me from her ire. She’s been trying to keep a close eye on those professing to be neutral anyway. There were rumors of their locations and at least a couple of them went to this particular forested area. The Journey is long, and I find myself stowing away on trains and subways to decrease the vast distance between the hospital and the forests that Fear calls home. After what seems an amount of time adequate enough to throw my terror into a state of dissociation, I arrive. My thoughts focused on one task and one task only. 

I fly in, attempting to see any arachnids or even webs at this point. I have to tell Mother; I have to find her. They must have become our fear. The scars must be hunting us. A cruel just desserts the false mother put into place as the consequences or our transgressions. I have no proof, and I don’t know what they can do to us, but I know that this much is true:

We are the victims of our own scars.

Chapter Text

I am a marvel to behold as people stare at the cloud of blue outside the small hospital. Seeing a cluster of butterflies flying around someone is a spectacle unto itself, but add temperatures cold enough that bugs aren’t really existing right now? Well, I’d be hard pressed to believe that people are only staring because of my beauty. I almost want to make a show of it. Look at me, I would say! I am the best butterfly cluster there is! I can’t flex flesh and muscle, but I can fly in Scotland in mid-December! The dread the fairy rings has brought all of us disappears almost immediately as the fungus shrivels and dies in the hands of our now quiet security guard. Marcus is dancing a thin line, continuously justifying helping more and more. Accompanying the Archivist to pull up the mushrooms was only half of what he was doing here, though. Talking to his workplace about possibly restarting him a little later is his personal reason for being here, which is why he quickly excuses himself from the group.

As we wait for Marcus to return from inside the hospital, Jon and Martin strike up a conversation as our motley crew of animals watch. I, for one, am torn between watching the conversation and watching the small pulse of blue that flickers along the ground. I don’t know if the blue is real though cause no one seems to notice but me. It’s pretty though! It’s blue like my wings.

Jon starts speaking, “I sometimes wish I still had the ability to get a story out of someone or something. It came in handy for information gathering and getting what I needed from people. I feel like using it to help Marcus keep this job after we drug him into this wou-”

Martin cuts him off, “No, don’t start that. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Martin sighs, “That guilt thing that you do. You act like every decision that’s ever made in or around your presence is something else that you can tack onto your shoulders. If someone makes a decent decision, then you let them accept the pride of it. The second someone does something you think they will regret, you decide that you bullied them into it.”

Jon winces a bit and looks at Martin, “didn’t we though? We tried to get Margie into it, and we’ve called Marcus to help us with these kinds of tasks, and the Eye even found his phone num….ber.” Jon points down and then begins looking around—slowly at first but speeding up the longer his eyes fail to land on their intended target. “Where did the Watcher go?”

Martin begins looking around as well, “I mean, he can’t have gone far. It’s not like we could really lose him.”

Jon immediately looks to the one peacock to join them, the other having stayed with Helen in her home. I think Jon’s right to blame the Spiral on anything—shifty fowl that they are. That thought comes and goes quickly as the Spiral responds.

“It Knows You still holds connections to present company that runs too deep for any trickery. Fearing that is a waste of time and energy.”

Jon squints, but doesn’t verbally respond as Martin continues to look about, widening his field of vision toward the hospital doors, but stopping short at a small patch of mushrooms that had seemingly sprouted up out of nowhere. “Oh not again… so what, he’s using his powers wherever he is. And a lot if they are already growing here again.” Martin pulls up the mushrooms unceremoniously before eyeballing the door to the hospital itself. “You don’t think the Eye went inside the hospital, do you?”

I wouldn’t put it past Beholding to go exploring, but the door is far enough away from us that I would think we would have noticed if he was causing a scene trying to get in. As Marcus steps out of the hospital with Beholding in hand, I realize that I am not the best at thinking anyway. I just started a couple of months ago!

Martin and Jon seem to take responsibility for Beholding, as they appear sheepish while looking at the approaching duo. Jon speaks first, “He didn’t cause too much trouble, I hope…”

Beholding hops down from Marcus’ arms and beams with probably undue pride. Marcus addresses Jon, “The hospital said they can cycle me out for an extended period. My boss says she understands family emergencies well and being so far from my parents when they need me would be stressful on anyone.” Marcus shared a look with Beholding, and Beholding takes that moment to speak, “I know I was taught—I know I was taught that if and when and how information gets out is important cause humans feel control with it, but I know that the Archive was feeling guilty and I thought I would be able to help and it was just a teensy bit of information so—” Beholding lets the sentence die as Marcus’ face gives nothing away to the internal mood or emotion.

Jon opens his mouth to talk, but Marcus sighs and starts first, “It… did come in handy to know how to spin the story to relate to my boss, but I would kindly ask that information not be revealed like that again without prior authorization. I do not consent to be an unwitting accomplice to more… abilities than necessary.” Beholding seems unfazed by the boundary set, simply doing their best impression of a salute in Marcus’ direction.

Jon nods, “That explains the mushrooms regrowing if you were using your abilities. How long did you sift through that poor person before getting what you needed? I mean, according to Georgie’s texts it was like—what, 30 minutes of continuous ability used and widening your ‘Knowing’ to a larger area before the mushrooms came after you in the flat?”

Beholding scoffs at Jon, clearly offended. “Not long! Not long at all! I did not pry for more than I needed, thank you.”

I fly around Beholding, “Maybe Extinction is just stronger here? Not that I know why that would be, but maybe it just … knew where it was going this time. It was already here at the hospital after all.”

Beholding shook their head, “but the mushrooms were at the flat first, too!”

The Spiral looks off onto the horizon, silent and cryptic as ever. Marcus shrugs, “Well we came here to confirm your mushrooms were here, and they were and then I saved my job, so we are good to go.” He begins stepping toward what I can assume is the bus or subway station. Of course, that’s when the Spiral decides to speak up.

“Extinction is attracted to energy of Dread, and like most plant life, it is able to grow faster in a place it has already taken deep root.” Their eyes do not leave the horizon. Jon looks to the Spiral, clear distrust in his gaze before some puzzle piece seems to fall into place, his eyes widening and then he, too, is looking toward the horizon.

Martin stares at Jon for longer than necessary, and Marcus had paused during that edition before rolling his eyes and only taking enough steps back toward the group to be noticed, “you all about to take the long and expensive bus trip with me, or am I going alone?”

Jon seems to snap out of it a bit, making eye contact with Marcus, “We have to go look at—”

Marcus holds up a hand. I am glad the stare Marcus is giving is not directed at me, cause it is intense and pointed. Jon immediately chokes on the words he was speaking, forcing them back into his mouth to hide away in a box.  At least if I were the words, I would be hiding in a box. The few seconds of silence before Marcus speaks holds a thick air.

If I didn’t know better, I would be questioning whether or not Marcus was a Dread Acolyte by now—he can be scary!

Marcus simply said, “I just need to know how many bus seats I’m looking for. I don’t care for the details. I never care for the details.” Marcus’ face has returned to the resigned and unemotional state he typically displays, staring at nothing in particular on the grounds around him. I still think he’ll warm up to us eventually, but considering what we used to be, I can’t blame him for still wanting to stay far away from the situations. Maybe someday, he will let us tell him that we are better now and won’t eat him for knowing too much. But those are details—and Marcus doesn’t want details. And I don’t want to be under the intense gaze of Marcus.

Jon stayed silent, so Martin supplies that they were likely not accompanying Marcus home. Jon simply nods in agreement.

There is a beat of awkward silence that no one seems to know how to break. I am too nervous to even beat my wings, and have landed on the ground next to Beholding. Beholding is just watching the humans (as one would expect Beholding to do).

Marcus speaks, quietly and with only a small hint of disdain. “I moved farther from my parents because I didn’t want to work in London. I only wanted to work in a small town because I was hoping for an uneventful job in comparison to the busy streets of London.” Marcus side eyes Jon before continuing, “Clearly, I was incorrect in that thought process. But here I am hoping again, despite what should be my better judgement, that you were the exception to the rule.”

Jon seems to shrink into himself a tad, offering a small apologetic smile. “We should hope so.” Marcus seems to nod at that, and then he waves his goodbye, walking towards the bus station. Jon watches him leave, waiting until Marcus is well out of view to speak again. His gaze falls to Martin with a desperation and excitement to speak what he’s discovered in a way that only a Beholding Acolyte would. “The Extinction is attracted to energy of the Fears right? And we turned Daisy’s cottage into a door.”

Oh! The Beacon!

I begin flying about in delight as I realize what they have been thinking about. “So we are thinking the Extinction might be at the Beacon now?” I fly around Jon’s head and then begin, flying toward the Beacon myself, “Let’s go—let’s go see!” One of me looks back to verify that the group is following.  

 Jon and Martin begin walking toward the horizon behind me, Beholding and the Spiral falling into place behind them with no difficulty. So that’s what the Spiral means by growing easy when you already have deep roots. The Hospital is a relatively short walk from the Beacon, so we won’t be long. Up and over a hill or two and then we are there!

We enter a determined silence, and though I really want to break it with any conversation, I can’t figure out what to say. This is almost as silent as trying to walk with Lonely! I flutter about at a loss when Beholding begins bouncing, apparently having thought of and becoming excited for something. “Archive! Are we going to have a Christmas celebration? Are we all going to have a Christmas? We didn’t have a Halloween, and I know that people tend to celebrate Christmas and the start of a new year together, so I was wondering if we were going to have Christmas. I just thought it would be fun and cool. I haven’t been alive long enough to have had a Christmas before” Beholding has slowly gone quieter and quieter, almost growing meek at the idea.

“Christmas!” I say excited, whether more for the holiday itself or the conversation starter is up for debate. “I will celebrate Christmas with you! We can play a human Christmas game and eat Christmas food.” I don’t know what Christmas food is or if I can eat it, but I can always try! Beholding perks back up at my addition to conversation and adds that we can play a human game called secret Santa.

“I’ll be your ‘Santa’ and get you something awesome!” I say, when Martin adds “I know you’re new to it, but Secret Santa’s whole point is that you don’t know who your ‘Santa’ is.” He squints and leans slightly toward the nearest of me, “It’s a secret..”  

Beholding gives a questioning look, trotting up to walk alongside Martin, “It would be so hard not to peek though.”

I chime in, “What if they have to guess which of me is the Santa? You have a one in twelve chance!”

Beholding huffs, “Well, can’t we just have regular Santa then? We can find a Santa cause there is no way I’d know which of twelve butterflies packed my present. You’re all the same you!”

“Well one of me could wear a little beard and Santa hat, so it would be easier to figure it out.”

Jon sighs, “That goes back to it not being a secret Santa”

Beholding speaks up again, “Exactly, so we will find a Santa and make him the secret!”

Jon sighs and shakes his head with a smile, “Watcher, that’s not how—” He abruptly stops as Martin interjects,

“We will do our best to find a Santa, but it’s a bit of a short notice so we might just have to give each other presents and call it at that.”

Beholding seems content with that answer, looking ahead and getting lost in thoughts. I like the idea of Christmas with a Santa. Hopefully, we can find one.

If we can’t find one, I can probably make one.

As I begin making a mental list of things I will need to make a Santa, the air shifts around me, interrupting my Polar Express train of thought. It was a subtle chill at first, making me think I just got too into my list. The further we go; however, the worse I seem to be. Flying feels heavier—harder—as the windchill finally seems to sink into my exoskeletons. I can still fly, but it’s weighed down by the change in my environment. As I look around to my peers, I notice that Beholding’s face has contorted into concern, their ears back, and their eyes darting about. Spiral is unreadable as always, and Jon appears to be feeling the change as well. Martin is the only one seemingly unaffected. Ever the observer, though, he has most certainly picked up on the change in his peers.

As if to prove me right, Martin nudges Jon, “Jon? What is it. Everyone has gone quiet.”

Jon keeps his stare forward as he responds, “You can’t feel that? It’s… It’s like the air is filled with decay, but worse.”

Beholding looks slightly relieved, “I am glad I am not the only one to feel it. I think we were correct in our assumption that Extinction was drawn here, but if I was the only one that felt it...” They shiver, “Well, It almost feels like being hunted.”

The closer we get to our destination, the thicker the air is. Jon is right, the air is heavy with death and decay. The End is inevitable, but this feels like a heavier finality—definitely Extinction. The walk falls into anticipatory silence as we close in on the Beacon. Martin is mostly watching Jon’s reactions, and Beholding’s expression is stiff. Spiral seems to notice that too.

“It Knows You would be wise to limit the knowledge gained through Knowing at this time. No doubt this close to the roots would pose a great danger if power was used frivolously.”

Beholding sighs and nods, “I know I know. It’s just hard cause I just want to know what we are—”

We all stop as we reach the bottom of a small hill—the last obstacle between us and direct sight of the Beacon. Ascending the hill are fairy rings. Ranging in sizes from small to medium, there are small clusters of these rings.

Jon clears his throat, “tread carefully everyone” he says before ascending the hill himself. The Fears made sure to stay away from the rings as they followed the humans. At first, I question why Jon and Martin aren’t just pulling the mushrooms up, but the answer comes naturally as the further up we go, the more of these rings there appear to be.

Beholding suddenly springs into a sprint, dodging the rings but running to the top, “I can’t take it anymore, I have to see what the cottage looks like!” He stops at the top of the hill soon after and gasps, a terror spreading across his features as he looks back to the group following him before returning his gaze toward the Beacon.

I fly up, seeing the Beacon right before the humans lay eyes on it themselves. I have never seen what the Beacon looked like before, but since they had said in the hospital that they lived inside it, I’m assuming it was not… this…

The windows appear broken out, the roof caved in a couple of places and the whole thing takes on a sickly hue. The blue ringed mushrooms that have broken through the house have grown the size of trees and sickly vines have broken holes in the wooden door as well. Despite all that, a small light illuminates the interior of the Beacon, adding to the eerie environment.

Jon and Martin stare in shocked silence. Beholding looks up at the two, “Will the mushrooms stop growing? They are so big. Do they feed off the doorway?” Beholding shifts uncomfortably, “I don’t… I’m scared to try and Know. We are too close… At this proximity, they’ll get me if I try to know.”

Martin nods slightly in agreement before addressing Jon, “Jon, we .. we were in there.”

Jon just responds with, “I know”

“Jon, we would have been in there if you didn’t have to be hospitalized.”

“I know”

“How long do you think this took?”

“I don’t know…Weeks at least? They might have had mushrooms that we weren’t paying attention to when we rushed me out. Or maybe they were in the back yard and we didn’t see. We didn’t really start watching for them till Helen’s house and we haven’t been back here since it’s so far out of the way.”

The two lapse into silence again, as we watch the mushrooms near the cabin move and shift and grow at various times with no rhyme or reason apparent to the naked eye. Even the creaks of the slowly crumbling Beacon carry a weight to them. I cannot imagine the Beacon being inhabitable, much less inhabitable in the last couple of months.

Though I suppose a couple of months ago I couldn’t imagine at all, so …

Jon calls out to a couple walking past the Beacon. He lightly jogs to them and begins talking to them more, gesturing to the Beacon. The two look up, following Jon’s hands and then look back at him with a muted surprise. There are very few people here, but the ones that are present behave in much the same manner—glossing over the Beacon as though there aren’t unnaturally large mushrooms claiming the domicile and breaking it. Jon’s conversation ends and he returns to us with a confused expression.

“I don’t understand.”

Martin encourages Jon to continue, so he does. “Well I asked them if they had seen anything unusual, and at first they say they had, so I thought… well, I thought. Well, I asked them what they saw that was strange and they referred to you,” He points at me, “saying that it was unheard of for butterflies to be out this late in the winter. I asked them if they had seen anything else. Now, you saw us. We were standing well within eyesight of that cabin… so when they said no…” He begins scratching his head and then runs his hand through his hair.

“I even pointed it out, Martin! I couldn’t believe it!” He gestures to the Beacon again. “I explained what was strange about it, and they just said ‘oh that is a bit weird isn’t it?’ and then moved on like that was just a random..normal oddity! Oohs and aahs like that are for things like albino animals or something slightly bigger than usual. Certainly the complete destruction of a building brought about by a tree sized fungus is more shocking than an ‘oh that’s lovely’ type response!” The longer Jon is talking the louder and more frantic his words are. Martin shrugs, “Well there has to be something to them then. The Dark’s… dad… had remembered the mushrooms existed and recalled pulling them up, but didn’t remember anything unusual about them. Maybe they just sort of blend in?”

Jon looks on to the destroyed home, “Maybe… but if that’s true then why do we see them? Like see them see them?”

Beholding looks up at them, “Oh! What if it’s an acolyte thing? You know, anyone who knew the fears closer than other people can keep their wits about them with the mushrooms!”

Jon’s eyes narrow, “So does that mean Margie and Marcus were avatars?”

There is a small silence again as everyone lets the question hang in the air.

I don’t know who Margie is, but Marcus seems really accepting of the fears so he could have been. But he also stays away from knowing things on purpose, so I don’t know about being an avatar itself. But wait, “Do we know that Marcus remembers the mushrooms being odd?”

Beholding scoffs at the notion but Jon looks to me in contemplation. “I mean... I mean he didn’t ask questions when we said we were coming here. He didn’t ask questions about the mushrooms when we told him to pull them up.”

Martin looks to Jon, “Yeah but he wouldn’t, would he?”

“Margie reminded Ed about the Mushrooms though, so she recalled them at least… or…”

“or she remembered us being concerned and rolled with it.” Martin offers. When Jon looks to Martin, Martin offers more, “What? I am just saying, she obviously has to be quick witted to know about Fears and not get swept up in them like us.”

Jon shrugs, “well it’s not like we can ask her anyway. She likely won’t tell us anything.”

Beholding nods and adds, “Peanut probably also won’t want us asking anyway.”

Martin spares a glance to our small cat companion before continuing, “Well, what are we going to do about this?” he gestures to the Beacon.

Jon shakes his head slightly, “What can we do about it? Just avoid this place. Shouldn’t be too hard to avoid considering how far it is from London.”

“That’s it? Just avoid it ourselves and hope for the best?”

“Yes, Martin that’s exactly what we do. It’s all we really can do, and we’ve already seen firsthand that they aren’t going after anything that’s not a Fear.” Jon looks about a little longer before nodding decisively. “If we find anything that … stops the cottage from being a beacon then great, but as it stands—we are just going to leave.”

Martin sighs in resignation, “Well I’m glad we made this trip. Now to make the trek back to civilization and then map out bus rides back. Maybe we can see if Marcus has left the station yet.” Martin pulls out his phone and immediately starts calling Marcus.

Marcus had not gotten on the bus and had actually run into a snag in finding busses not only with an open seat this close to departure but running this late at all. He was looking more so for hotels and hostels for tonight, planning on regrouping afterward.

While Martin is still on the phone, the Spiral takes this time to remind us of their existence. “Buses and Subways is a suitable method of transport back for you…” It’s tail swishes and fans out as it begins walking toward the side door of another cottage, far enough away that the mushrooms are thin there. “But we will be taking a much faster route. The one we took the Forever Blind the first night that Darkness paid us a visit. You see, we are not one for roads ourselves.”

The Peacock’s tail swirls around the door, the pair of Humans’ eyes widening at the sight of the side door of the cottage—it’s bright yellow color a distinctly different hue than the surrounding environment. How did we miss this door? Our thought process is interrupted by Spiral finishing its statement with a hint of pride.

“We prefer Hallways to highways.”

Chapter Text

The Part with Helen feels the Other waiting at one of their pinned doors. He excuses xemself from Helen—though Helen is occupied anyway—and seeks out the Hallway door closest to vis new home. Two parts of the same whole can always find the other when presented with the need to do so. She can trudge through manipulation and deceit; zie needs only to have a destination. This is troublesome for hir as needing a destination still feels new to ver. Though unfathomable for some, the doors becoming more solid—xyr limbs essentially locking in place—has only caused more confusion for em within the halls. No longer is she twisting and dancing any which way. No longer is he appearing and disappearing in random succession without a care or message or desire. Desires and messages are for identities. Choosing sides is for identities. Destinations are for identities. The burden of identity is the burden of purpose—and this burden is one accepted with less than grace. Ve believes ‘begrudgingly’ to be the moniker that is most accurate. Eir identity is so solid now that identity seems to dictate everything they do.

Helen has become stronger in the months with the Archivist though. Helen needs identity and as identity and purpose and destination returns, so, too, does the solid nature of Helen as a whole. Pride and glee in watching Helen undo everything that ze has done is not above him. As antithetical as it is to xyr foundation, this new development does afford her more leeway. The Archivist is not as necessary in eir day to day as before. Helen is able to see the world and trust most senses and even regains purpose enough to be cleaning the house to music unprompted. Helen sees a need and fills the need with no outside input and no one to prove that the need is real to begin with. Music has always been a destressing technique in Helen—as with quite a few people out there. That knowledge was almost lost in the wake of vis mental attack, but music has a way of tying people in place. A human being may lose everything else—but a tune is a tune that seems to be remembered forever.

A small wait is all that is required before the collective seeking Extinction reunites with the Resigned Security. The Archivist is speaking disdainfully to zem as though xe has lied about the hallways being gone. Assumptions are the bane of humanity—Just because that is also where they thrive does not mean this particular moment is completely his fault. It Knows You accuses ver of being defensive when explaining this, so ey respond to the accusation.

“We are simply reminding the Archivist that no one ever asked us if certain doorways were still available. In truth, there is an odd ignorance to the Archivist failing to question how a bat and a peacock traveled from Scotland to London in short time.”

The Archivist, never one to remain silent when the opportunity to speak is presented, almost gets said opportunity; however, twelve tiny mouths open up to interject on behalf of the Watcher’s former acolyte.

Of course, the Tailor of the Corporeal responds in opposition to her. The Butterflies are of some mistaken impression that there is a rivalry afoot.

“You know, you don’t have to be mean or condescending every second of every day! You could just say you didn’t think to tell anyone! Of course, that’s only if you actually didn’t think to tell anyone—which you probably did think we’d want to know but didn’t tell us anyway cause you’re a big fat stup-”

“Now now!” The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers interjects, interrupting what is likely a tirade from the Tailor. Keeper of the peace, per usual… “What’s important is we are able to travel them without getting lost now.” There is a nervousness about the statement that reminds them that xe did trap this Lonely One and the Stranger Not Stranger within xyr halls for a stint what seemed like an endless amount of time ago while simultaneously only a few brief moments.

What words can zie use in this moment? “We are indeed able to distinguish where we are and where we are going when one of us is posing as a beacon to the other. Otherwise, we would unceremoniously be opening random doors. The outside is pinned down to specific places, but the inside is still ours.”

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers is not reassured in the slightest, but The Archivist sighs in what seems to be relief, though there has not been any obvious trouble in navigating or knowing eir hallways. Well, not from anyone but It Knows You. Even vis newest comrade, the Resigned Security officer, seems to be walking through just fine despite never having seen inside these halls before. she is intrigued by the confidence—by the surety—in such an unsure environment.

It Knows You lets out a small whine as the walls become the focus of the cat’s attention. “Weren’t these halls purple a few moments ago? Have they always been blue?” Nervousness and frustration strike in the tone used as the once lingering gaze begins bouncing between the faces of all parties present. The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers is doing the utmost to keep a steady gaze and follow xem as is required, though no confidence is present in their footsteps. The Archivist and the Resigned Security, on the other hand, are both walking in confident strides still, unhindered by It Knows You or the changing halls.

The Resigned Security is the one who answers with a shrug to start, “Purple’s got a lot of blue in it.” Footfalls pause and arms drop down and scoop up It Knows You with care as the relatively small creature continues to speak in unsure questions.

“Yeah I know, but they weren’t… I mean I don’t think they were… Were they blue? Cause I could have swore—”

A small head scratch from the Resigned Security is enough to silence It Knows You, albeit temporarily. The Security Officer speaks, “Whatever might have been is irrelevant. What we know now is that the current wall that we are currently staring at this very moment is—” There is a glance up to confirm before continuing “—pink.”

It Knows You cries out in half defeat, “But I thought it was blue!”

“Well it’s pink in this moment, and whether it was something else before or it’s always been pink is irrelevant. Cause it’s” The Resigned Security guard looks up again with a sigh, “My apologies… lavender.”

The Archivist chuckles at that and responds, “Much better color choice than pink anyway, if I’m to be honest.”

It Knows You perks up at the Archivist’s words, “So it was pink before!”

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers simply adds, “Just try not to look around too much. It won’t be too bad that way.”

Ey are caught off guard by the Archivist knowing with such confidence that the wall have ‘changed’ from pink to lavender. There is no doubt spoken when confirming that—the statement is a simple point of fact. That is …odd.

“Archivist, are you able to see the changes within us as they happen? The walls twisting and changing, we mean?”

The Archivist seems taken aback by hir words and the candor in ver question. Truth be told (without being twisted), she is also surprised at verself. Then, a small deviant smile crosses the Archivist’s lips before a non-answer follows: “Oh what’s this? You’re wanting straight forward information from someone? How interesting.”

Alright, Archivist. Let’s see if secrets spill under a bit of pressure.

With that internal declaration, he changes the environment once again, more deliberately this time—as a test. It Knows You cries out in the arms of the Resigned Security, “I can’t even Know what direction we are going! I thought it was supposed to always be a right turn! That’s what Helen said in her statement, but I just looked back and that’s a right turn so we must have gone left at some point! How is that even possible?” The Resigned Security offers quick reassurances and explanations of the importance of the here and now versus focusing on what was or could have been before. This cycle repeats a few more times before the Archivist realizes that It Knows You has no choice but to try to Know the environment and responds to the unspoken declaration of conflict.

“Fine. I will be candid, but only in exchange for stopping what you’re doing. Watcher is going to go mad in here otherwise.” The Archivist’s eyes roll as defeat is reluctantly accepted.

They ponder for a moment, realizing ze have the upper hand and not necessarily wanting to immediately act. ve ultimately decide to respond: “If it will get us the answers we seek then we will offer you the reassurance that this current visit will only have the controlled changes necessary to complete our task.” As they finish speaking that guarantee into reality, the walls around everyone seem to be solidifying in place—the walls no longer carry the weight of doubt within em. The walls are made of dirt similar to a mineshaft. The walls will always be made of dirt. The group present can trust that and build a foundation of knowledge off of that—much to xyr discomfort. Once the hallways within continue making absolute sense for far too long, the Archivist begins the long awaited and, frankly, underwhelming explanation.

“I can tell when something around me changes. I know that what was is not what is presently and it solidifies my minds ability to stay level in your hallways. I know everything I am seeing is real, but I also know that everything I saw was also real.  As far as being able to see the changes physically happen—I cannot. It’s like, Knowing that the hall has always been dirt, but it was also always Lavender, but it was also always pink. Like rather than you actually making any changes, we are stepping in and out of 3 distinct but overlapping realities.”

The power to overexplain is not lost to the Archivist, they see—especially the ability to explain while saying nothing.

The Archivist adds, almost as an aside and with a hint of resentment—“It doesn’t do much for your word games, though, does it? To know what you’re saying is true while also knowing that anything can be twisted.”

A thought crosses eir mind and zie smiles a bit. “Ah yes we’ve witnessed you falling for our words.”

The archivist huffs, “Yes, well, I suppose I…” There is a pause in thought, and the footfalls behind ver slow as well. Xe has stepped several feet ahead of the group he is guiding, ultimately deciding to refrain from slowing to allow the group to catch up at a lesser pace.

They continue with a question on vis mind, “So does that mean you can know yourself enough in these halls to guide your way out? You could be solid in yourself enough to find the exit as some have before?” A certain hedge maze comes to eir mind. Xyr mind is flooded with follow up questions, and suddenly ey are struck with anxiety at the implications of said flooding of follow up questions. Has hir halls absorbed the need to Know from It Knows You and the Archivist? The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers likely wouldn’t have that connection anymore and he is absolutely and uncomfortably certain that the Resigned Security bears no need to learn or gain knowledge from any situation. she decides not to dwell on where this need for knowledge comes from, but rather focus on what ey were going to do with it—After all, they are not the ones derived from the fear that someone was watching suffering for the sake of seeing what happens.

The Archivist has stammered out yet another non-answer, summing up to stating ignorance of ability associated with this newfound sixth sense—this newfound surety in a world of doubt.

The Archivist pauses in walking again when a second peacock comes into view. Due to the surety of the hall and the Archivist being certain of the facts laid out, the only response from the Archivist is one of frustration. “I might not be completely certain of my ability to find the exit, but I sure can pinpoint the poor facsimile of a second peacock. There are only 2 of you and one is absolutely with Helen.”

Ze concedes defeat and as quickly as the second peacock is, it is no longer. “apologies, Archivist. Creation was never our strong suit—More the Tailor of the Corporeal’s, we think. Still, can’t blame us for wanting to test our limits.”

The Archivist’s voice was low and as threatening as could be manifest from a tool once made for Fear’s use. “We agreed to only controlled changes.”

Ey flap xyr wings in response a bit, “Yes, of course, Archivist. Controlled changes in order to complete our tasks—like bringing forth the door.”

The door comes into view as though summoned, but as the discussions have implied, the door has both been there and not been there this whole time. The door opens with the help of eir Other Part, and something shifts inside her—that hunger. The urge bled into him from It Knows You in the halls—that need to know and understand. That need to see what happens. Ve, once trapped in the What If’s of the past, now have the hunger for the What if’s of the future.

The Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers is the first to notice a shift in eir halls—paranoid about not maintaining control, most likely. The Resigned Security, ever the observer, stares at the Cobweb of Smiles and Stammers before focusing on the fowl in front of the group. Eyes only widen for a moment of understanding before being replaced with the same stoic expression—resignation for the events to come.

Zie steps through, and the hallway both is and isn’t a long stretch for the remaining group members to get to the door. The Archivist is scared now, yelling out about xyr agreement—how silly. Finding information is the ultimate goal of It Knows You—he cannot be blamed for changing vis task from getting to Helen’s house to finding out how solid the Archivist’s new mind is. The Archivist never said her task couldn’t change.

“Controlled changes to complete our task, dear Archivist! Don’t you worry…”

As the door shuts the rest of the group in, the last thing heard from them is simple.

“We are very much in control.”

Chapter Text

The direction has been changing too quickly for us to have been correct, but we think we might be onto a better target. Leader Daisy has been fully reintegrated into the pack and is able to pick up on our collective excitement and shift in target. We have been tasked with hunting the pockets of energy of Dread—and have been relatively successful in our endeavors thus far. We have collected a small pamphlet of the Lonely, a Security Camera manual for the Eye, a Book of the Dead for the End, and an Almanac aligned with our own thrill of the chase. Target Jon seems to have the idea that any book is priority, but Friend Basira disagrees. Leader Daisy is in agreement with Friend Basira, so after the first book, we have changed course to look for books of our allies’ likeness. So the Eye, the Flesh, ourselves, and the Dark. We are also wishing to hunt the neutral parties as well—so the End and, if the Flesh is correct, the Lonely. Friend Basira is on the phone—distracted from the hunt at hand, but still trailing behind us.

“I’m trying to understand what you mean, Helen, I really am. I don’t know who that is. No, No I’ve heard that name bef-hold on.” Friend Basira looks to Leader Daisy, “Where had we heard the name Margie in regards to—” Basira gestures toward us and then widens the gesture, “all this.”

Leader Daisy shrugs in response and Friend Basira returns to her phone, “Alright, just text me any information you have from this and we will see what we can do once we get back.” A few more words are exchanged before she hangs up. She answers Leader Daisy’s unspoken question. “That was Helen, apparently a woman named Margie came ‘round saying that Dave was concerned about his son. Haven’t heard from him in about a week and thought Jon might know something. Helen said she’d text us updates or more information.” She finishes as she seems to be corresponding via text currently.

Leader Daisy seems concerned, “a week? Once we get back to Helen’s, we will look into it.” Leader Daisy smiled softly, “a missing person’s case—like old times?” She nudges Friend Basira with that small smile now directed at her as well.

Friend Basira scoffs at that, “With fear gods thrown in…” she pauses and then laughs, “So, yeah I guess it is like old times.”

Leader Daisy and Friend Basira have a shift in energy. They are maintaining good energy and discussing hunts passed. We try to keep our concerns to ourselves, hopefully masking the feeling of violence that we feel approaching. Leader Daisy deserves a moment of levity—we are not hunting violence, we are now hunting something bigger. We will keep tabs on that feeling to ensure warning is given if they begin hunting us.

Leader Daisy looks at us a little too long, and we think we likely failed to keep worry completely hidden, but she gives us a small but sure nod before breaking eye contact and continuing to talk to Friend Basira. The Leader has delegated the task of safety to us—we will not let her down.

One of us stays behind with the leader, one of us trails ahead for the target at hand and the other three fan out to ensure protection from the violence. Friend Basira looks to Leader Daisy with a less than pleased look before asking “What is that? What are they doing?”

Leader Daisy simply responds “They are hunting, ‘Sira, it’s kind of what they do.”

“Ah good, that’s definitely the part I was confused on.”

Leader Daisy chuckles, “It’s hard to explain the details exactly. they are worried about something they’ve detected in the surrounding woods, so they’ve split the task up.” She begins pointing to us in kind when describing delegations, “One to stand guard, one to lay eyes on our target, and three to fan out and try to spot the new element in the hunt.”

Friend Basira looks to our leader in suspicion, “How will we know if they’ve…. Wait, how did you know that’s what they were doing?”

Our leader’s expression flashes with a small hint of the pang of guilt she just felt. Her expression corrects itself long before the feeling leaves, “I didn’t want to worry you, but with us… hunting these books, I’ve felt more and more connected to them again.” She holds up her hands in a placating gesture and ceases walking temporarily to quickly add, “Nothing like it was before, I swear! It’s just like an emotional connection. It’s not like thoughts or urges or control or anything. Just like… heightened empathy almost. I can sense their emotions and sometimes a vague indicator of the cause.”

“Well I’ve been hunting with you just as much, how come I’m not in the feelings loop?”

“I…” Leader Daisy seems confused and looks to us for answers.

We are happy to give it, “Because you did not want to be with us.”

Basira seems upset at this answer, “Oh and Daisy does, does she?”

“yes.”

“Like hell she does!”

Leader Daisy tries to intervene, “Basira…”

We cease walking. As confusing as this response is, it only shows that there is a discussion that must occur. “Friend Basira, it is clear you do not want to understand what has and is happening with us. We thought it would be alright for you to live this way, but you seem to be demonizing us in the wake of your ignorance.”

Friend Basira is taken aback, “I’m sorry?” She is not sorry—in fact, she is very angry.

“Leader Daisy was given purpose with us. She was a part of something greater. She is still in control and will still make our final decisions, and in order for all of us to work most effectively, we must understand the others needs and wants. We, alone and only, are already a collective—we share thoughts, emotions, motivations and drives. We let Leader Daisy in to understand us better as we realized we were hunting  more, and she let us in as well. We will never force you to join us, but we were not lying when we told the Dark that we felt you belonged with us more than them.”

Leader Daisy and Friend Basira share a look—our leader’s apologetic and our friend’s seeking confirmation.

Friend Basira nods, unhappy with the confirmation she has been given. She stares straight ahead and begins walking again with a sad smile, “Just like old times…”

Leader Daisy chuckles sadly and they fall into silence. Friend Basira seems to be glancing at us more as we continue to walk, and acceptance is slow but seems to present itself on her features as she offers a small nod to us after her contemplation. Maybe she will join us soon.

The trees are thinning on either side of us as we walk—a clearing to our left and what looks to be the start of a neighborhood to our right. Our target is close-we can feel them- so we indicate to head out into the clearing.

We are howling in the distance. One of us has found the beasts of violence and it is charging toward us. All parties in the main group are on alert, but Leader Daisy understands that there is no real chase.

The Slaughter is running—they are scared. Their violence is never with meaning though, so our guard remains up. The two beasts burst into the clearing and are attacking two of us. Friend Basira seems caught completely unaware, “That… is not hippos. Hippos?”

Leader Daisy simply says “I don’t know” to answer. We stand our ground and argue with the hippos out loud and naming them so Leader Daisy knows who they are, and there is a pause in movement. At first, we think it was a recognition of us—and maybe it was—but their vision is unmoving as they stare into the field and see rings of mushrooms. The mushrooms here bear the same markings as the ones we are to stay away from. They are the Extinction, but these are…alive. They are moving about in the clearing, growing and shifting. As though snapped out of the sudden trance, one of the beasts speak, “The lines of friend and foe are blurry in times of true war, and our war has become a multifaceted one.” The other continues this train of thought and addresses us directly. “This is why we will give you warning. Be wary of the those with the rings of blue on them. We watched them claim one already.” They both turn with a grace we did not anticipate and are out of sight in mere moments.

Friend Basira yells at us suddenly, “Be careful!” and we retreat out of the clearing to avoid the mushrooms. We all gather together near Leader Daisy as the mushrooms continue to contort. Leader Daisy watches in confusion, “I thought Jon said they only grow and move and all that when powers are being used?” She briefly glances at us, but she knows we are not using our abilities now. We had stopped using them when we had gotten close enough to hunt our target the old fashion way.

We are about to explain the reason for the mushrooms, but behind us draws our attention as we hear a familiar voice in the distance.

“Even when Melanie trusted her, I knew she was bad news and now they did this!”

Leader Daisy and Friend Basira both share a look, Basira inquiring, “Is that Jon?”

Jon’s voice continues as we all begin to follow it “-- And you just know the second I say anything, those two stupid birds are going to make excuses about how this was helpful somehow or that it’s fine cause we didn’t die! I mean, how dare they?”

We walk out into the back of a house in that small neighborhood, the cellar door in what looks to be an abandoned building is propped open. Jon is with Marcus, Martin, the Flesh, and Beholding as they make their way out of the cellar door.

The Flesh immediately agrees with Jon, “I knew they were mean! You all saw everything in the hospital!! They didn’t tell us the doctor was the Stranger, and they called me a snack but in a bad way! Just mean.”

Martin shrugs and addresses Jon, “Well at least you found us a way out.”

Jon seems displeased, “I have no idea where we are or if we are even closer to home than before. I was just trying to go back to the initial door where—” Jon has been surveying the area and his eyes land on us approaching, “Daisy! Oh good we must be nearby somewhere! How long have we been gone?”

Daisy just shrugs, “I didn’t keep track of you, Jon; I have been searching for Leitners.”

Martin looks to Basira, “Well, what day is it?”

“It’s December 20^th” Basira responds.

Martin and Jon seem taken aback by that. Marcus is in the background and shrugs, saying “Felt longer than a week…” Marcus pulls out his phone and stares at it for a second before nodding and putting it away, “right… it’s been a week. Why wouldn’t it be dead?” He chuckles, “Charging a phone wouldn’t happen to be a power one of you have?”

Beholding shakes his head no, and Marcus just nods. “right…”

Jon then addresses Leader Daisy again, “Is there a Leitner in this neighborhood? What brings you around here?”

Friend Basira interjects, “What brings us here? Why were you in a cellar, Jon?” She points at the yellow cellar doors that they just exited.

Jon deadpans, “Spiral. I’ll explain what we found in Scotland and the details of it later but there was a lot of Extinction there. We found out the hallways of the Spiral still exist, they are just locked—like in specific locations? There are quite a few of them though from what I saw so I don’t know why they are complaining. Anyway, as we got to a door at Helen’s house which is apparently a Spiral Hallway door, the bloody thing ran out the door and closed us into the hallway!” He stops in frustration to emphasize his point and then continues. “I did my best to ‘sense’ Extinction in the halls since I knew that there was a huge cluster of it where we were and I didn’t want to open a door and be so far away that it would take us days to get back—Don’t laugh” He looks to Friend Basira, who rolls her eyes.

“Sorry, just… you took days to get back anyway so probably should have just exited the first door you saw.”

Jon continues, “Well, I was beginning to think I’d have to. But I did find I could determine if something was nearby the door, but not how strong or how much or anything. So I just went out the first door that had the Extinction nearby.” Jon pointed at the cellar door. “That’s why I’m here. So are we hunting a Leitner or not?”

Leader Daisy looks to us. Right, we never told her what the new target was, so we address Jon. “While on the chase, we had a change in target—one we thought would be more beneficial assuming that they are not an enemy already.” We glance in the direction of the clearing. “The Vast is in the skies nearby.”

Jon perks up at that, “I’ll take another potential ally, Mike wasn’t so b-“ his expression falters and he looks to Leader Daisy. He continues, “Well, let’s go into the woods and talk to the Vast…” he begins walking toward the trees.

Marcus clears his throat and addresses Daisy, “can you call me a taxi to the nearest bus station? I’ve been gone a week, apparently, so I am not going to go with you.”

Friend Basira pulls her phone out and indicates for him to follow, “I’ll set you up with transport and wait out here for you guys to do what you need to with the Vast.” As she’s making arrangements on her phone, she looks up and asks Marcus, “You wouldn’t happen to know Margie, would you? With a friend named Dave?”

Marcus frowns, “Dave is my dad. Margie is.. the little bat’s .. um.. new mom I guess.” He seems reluctant to say that.

Recognition flashes on Daisy’s features. “The night we first saw the mushrooms, the Dark mentioned that his ‘mothers’ name was Margie! That’s where I heard that name. God that seems so long ago.” She’s mostly talking to herself as she begins following Jon. We split up, half staying with Friend Basira and half going with Leader Daisy. The Flesh and Beholding accompany Leader Daisy as well as we make our way back to the clearing. Leader Daisy looks at the ebbing and flowing mushrooms with a new understanding as she glances up into the sky at the creature making them move.

Jon and Leader Daisy aren’t looking at each other, a tension suddenly between them and a sense of guilt emitting from our leader. Martin and Beholding notice the tension and while Martin is wise enough to  decline addressing it, Beholding  is not.

“Archive, you are very tense. Does it have something to do with being here in a clearing with one of the Hunters? Because that one time when she--” Beholding looks back at Martin as Jon shushes Beholding while he and Leader Daisy both stare at them—Daisy with a guilty expression and Jon with an angry one.

Jon speaks first, “Watcher! Now is not the time to bring this up.”

Martin gives Jon and Daisy a nervous look, “I’m sorry? what?”

Daisy moves to answer, her emotions seeming to indicate the decision to confess, but Jon speaks first. “It’s fine, Martin. It’s not something that needs to be addressed right now. It’s fine.”

Martin doesn’t seem convinced, and he looks to Daisy. “What happened?”

“It’s simple really” a voice calls down, having crept closer. Martin looks up as she continues to speak:

“We have a history in clearings.”

Chapter Text

“What, I’m not allowed to comment in your ‘so secret I’m speaking plainly in a public setting’ conversation? It does pertain a bit to me since you are speaking of the night this Hunter killed one of mine.” She speaks with a light tone, flitting about, noticing that they back up when she approaches.

Not when she approaches. She looks beneath her, seeing mushrooms trailing behind her, seemingly following her movement. “Peculiar” she says, before lowering down.

“Careful!” The Archivist yells out as his hand raises in caution. “Stop using your powers to fly and just use your wings. We will pull up the mushrooms so it’s safe. Well-“ He looks behind her and rocks his head in contemplation, “We will pull up some of them.”

She spreads her wings and begins flying with them, a much more laborious adventure, she must admit. “So these are unsafe for fear consumption then?” she asks, flying to the side of the clearing and making a landing away from the mushrooms—all of which have ceased their chase. The Hunter splits off from her ‘pack’ and begins picking the mushrooms—no doubt making herself busy to escape thoughts.

Martin simply indicates towards the mushrooms and says, “They are the remnants of Extinction. I guess Peter was somewhat right.”

The cat of the group jumps forward to stand next to her and exclaims with glee, “You’re a bat too! The Forever Blind is a bat, but he’s much smaller than you are.”

The Vast nods at her little cat companion and pats their little head, “That’s nice dear.” She says without looking at them—she’s looking up at Martin. “Martin, if I recall! How are you? Did you and Peter have your fun?”

Martin is looking at her in confusion and then frustration, sarcastically remarking “our fun? You mean when he tried to manipulate me into thinking that I was supposed to save the world with him by taking over the institute only to find out that I was nothing more than a pawn in a gamble made between him and Elias? That fun?”

“Yes” she gives a devious look, "unless there was some other fun you and Peter had."

Martin’s eye twitches momentarily as a look of disgust flashes on his face. She laughs a bit, “You met Simon, so I don’t know what you were expecting me to be like. I don’t care to try and distinguish what’s teasing and playful fun and what’s mean fun. It’s alright anyway, I’m sure you have things you want to talk to me about that you think are more important.” She looks to Jon, “You always seem to be in the middle of something.”

Jon hesitates for a moment. “Well, the world is not safe.”

The Vast smiles and looks at the mushrooms as they shrivel and die, “I can see that.”

“Not those—Extinction is only dangerous to the Fears. Though, they chase you only when you are using your power, so I’d stop using your power if you could.”

She hums, “What’s the point of pulling them up then?”

The Archivist murmurs, “Well there are a few fears on the ground, so we don’t want them to get… injured? I guess…”

The Hunter ceased picking up the mushrooms and stated, “There were hippos that came by…” She pauses at Martin’s shocked look, “I know it sounds weird but,”

“No no, the Slaughter. We saw in the news like forever ago.” Martin starts, “I thought they had died though. Shot down when rampaging the Zoo what seems like years ago but it’s only been a couple months, hasn’t it?”

The Hunter continues, “Well they said that the mushrooms, ‘claimed one’ already. And they saw it. It almost sounds like it actually kills the Fears. So, in order to prevent these traps from possibly killing someone else, we can pluck them up.”

The butterflies hanging around the cat begin swaying and flying a little more erratically. A small voice seems to come from the center of their flight. “Slaughter saw someone die? In.. was it in these woods?” they begin to fan out a bit, their small bodies seemingly stretching out a bit and then wisping around the 2 dogs sitting at the edge of the clearing. They begin having their own conversation, leading to one of the dogs and the butterflies leaving and heading deeper into the woods.

The cat also seems concerned, looking up at Martin. “Didn’t you say that the Forever Blind had mushrooms outside his house?” Martin pulls out his phone, and sends a quick message, reassuring the cat that the message will hopefully be read soon.

 “But no, it….” The Archivist waves his hand to draw attention back to himself.  He pauses as though he received the attention too quickly and looks down, his eyes darting about as he searches for words. He finally looks at the Vast in an earnest determination. “It’s the Web.. the Mother of Puppets is doing something and we are trying to—”

She cuts him off, “Oh that.” She waves a wing dismissively.

Martin looks to her in shock, “Oh that? That? She could be trying to end the world!”

“Oh dear, that does sound dreadful.” She deadpans as she does her best impression of a human looking at their nails.

Jon huffs out in frustration, “Look, I know you lean into how tiny everyone is, but sometimes people really can make a difference. We can’t just idly stand by and do nothing.”

“Why not?” she says simply, which seems to confuse the Archivist as he looks at her with a blank expression, attempting to sputter out some response. She poses again “Well, why not, dear Archivist?”

Martin chimes in for him, “because if we do nothing, the world might end. We have to do everything in our power to stop it.”

The Vast ponders a bit and looks at the Hunter clearing mushrooms. “There is irony staring you right in the face, isn’t there?”

This seems to bring the Archivist back into the conversation, as he snaps out of the confusion. “Look, whatever you mean by that aside, it’s up to us to protect the world from the Web getting her way.”

The Vast chuckles a bit, “Archivist, you misunderstand. That’s just like you though, so I don’t know why I expected more. Mother Nature and I have had our chat. We’ve come to an understanding, and she knows that I am contented to live the rest of my life—however long or short that may be—existing as this little thing I’ve become. Whether I’m small enough for you to comprehend or too large for human comprehension, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still as insignificant to the grand scheme of things either way. My position in life itself hasn’t changed—only my position in your life.”

Martin seems a bit uncomfortable at the ideas as he looks down and begins to shuffle back and forth, so she addresses him, “That is not any type of insult to myself or the belief that I shouldn’t do anything at all. I’m not the End, now am I? It just means that trying to live for a higher purpose rather than for the enjoyment of living is a rather useless endeavor.”

The Archivist huffs out again—huffy little thing, isn’t he?— “That has nothing to do with the topic at hand.”

“I disagree” She says simply. “I am assuring you in my own way that my lot in life is something I’m content with. I will not stop you or join the opposition. I am assuring you that I am a non-issue. I even kind of like being small. Puts vastness into an easier to achieve perspective. Even you are so much larger than me now.”

The Archivist’s face lights up as he, she’s sure, unfortunately thinks he has a point that can be made. “If we do nothing, this new perspective will be lost. You’ll be at the whims of the Mother of Puppets and the manipulation that that brings.”

The Vast chuckles a bit, “It sounds like if I join you, I’ll be acting based on her movements which means I’ll already be at the whims of the Old Mother.”

Martin scoffs, “So because you don’t want to counteract anything and ‘base your movements on someone else’ you’re going to let—I don’t think you understand that the world is ending if the Web wins.”

The Vast shakes her head, “I swear, you lot are always catastrophizing everything.”

The Archivist groans, “Maybe it might seem like it to you, but I don’t feel content to just lay down and let something preventable happen.”

“Archivist..” She looks toward the mushrooms again, a beat of silence in the air. She begins speaking again, her tone shifting to something far off, like she’s no longer speaking directly to the Archivist. “The small version is so easy for you to understand. Extinction is literally staring you in the face showing you what to do. You told me what to do in the microcosm, but, still, you do not understand that the same rules apply here.”

The Archivist looks lost again, so she continues. “Destined to repeat yourself. Determined to ‘make it right’. You were in the position you were in for a reason. You became the closest thing on this Earth to an important person.”

The Archivist barks out “Now you are being vague on purpose!”

She yells back, “I’ve humored you long enough, Archivist. I am doing just as you told me and sparingly using my powers to prevent the spread of Extinction. Since you’re so hellbent on doing things, go do them. Go hunt down the extinction and thwart the Old Mother just as you so successfully thwarted Jonah” She takes flight, but not before she sees his look of shock—as though he’d been slapped. As he calls after her, saying something she doesn’t care to retain to memory, she spins in the air. “Go on Archivist! Don’t you have something better to do?”

Chapter Text

My movements are rampant. My heart is racing as the inevitability hits me in this moment. Of course, with the joys of choosing down when up was an option comes the looming threat that up would choose to steal me back from down. The soil is moving above me and though I dig away, I feel the dirt around me shift and the weight of down become lesser and lesser.

The smell of musty air is hitting my nose. I go not only deeper but lateral in the hopes of throwing off that which is chasing me. What would be chasing me? I already rejected her! What would Up need with one of those few who don’t wish to exist in the big and the open and the disgustingly vast? The more I use my power, the more it seems to come for me and I try not to let my hopelessness seize my body. I know I’ve already lost: The knowledge that the vast is present is nothing harmful, but in knowing that I am being forced into its world already mentally places me in the big world I will be a part of. My world, once small and manageable, is now filled with chaos and is threatening to swallow me. The weight of dirt between me and Up ebbing and flowing as an indicator of the predator finding or losing me.

My power in overdrive to push the dirt around me only seems to push my predator into overdrive as well. My fate is an inevitability. A cold pressure hits me: It’s not dirt—it’s not down.

I am not fast enough.

Up got me…

“Fucking finally—Jesus Christ” is the first I hear as I am pulled out of the sanctuary I once called home. The environment around me is a blurry mass of color, my eyes unable to adjust to the size of the massive world I am pulled in.

“Stop squirming—you could have died, you idiot.”

I continue to fight, but there is no dirt to push him away. I feel the dirt coming closer and the voice controlled by my captor begins cursing quietly and then says, “get back, go on the porch.”

A new voice enters the fray, “You are the Buried, correct? We aren’t going to keep you up here for long.”

I pause my movement. “You know me?” Have I been found by a friend, or another messenger? They feel familiar…

The first voice is back and frustrated, “I said get on the porch-” there is the sound of a door opening and a gasp. An older male begins yelling out from a bit of a distance. I hate that there is so much distance—this world is too big!

My limbs begin fighting again as the world’s size seizes my nerves. I call to the dirt once more.

“Lord, Marcus, my lawn! What… Where did—are those mushrooms movin’?”

My captor’s voice is a murmur, his face close enough to mine that I can see him clearly. A thinly veiled anger on his face. “If you don’t stop using your…dirt powers long enough for us to have a conversation then I will just throw you in the mushrooms myself.”

Mushrooms? I cease fighting in my confusion and look down to see the edge of a ring of blobs that I am assuming are mushrooms too far away to focus on. They give off a faint blue glow in certain spots. I try my best to fight the building anxiety of being too far off the ground to focus on the dirt below—my body itching to kick my power back into gear in order to escape the sky around me.  

The second voice that I heard whispers harshly in response, “Marcus! Martin said that it might be deadly! And the Buried doesn’t know any better!”

“Well, this talk has to happen and I can’t very well toss him back in and yell through the dirt, can I?”

The older man’s voice returns, “Marcus did you see that? Are they thin or something? They looked like they were swayin’ in the wind for a second there”.

Marcus calls out to the old man, “Yeah they had a growth spurt, ha ha. Don’t worry, sir, I’m pulling them up, just uh.. found a mole in the yard.” I look down and see that he is kicking over the mushroom blobs, the blue light dying as soon as the mushroom is displaced.

“Of course you found one…I didn’t know we had those bastards in the yard since no hills turned up. Oh lord, Marcus, don’t let Margie see or she’ll adopt the bloody thing!”

As if on queue, a woman calls out, “Don’t let me see what, Ed?”

“Nothing, love!” The elderly man calls back, and then a little quieter, he says with an underlying chuckle, “Get rid of the mole, Marcus, and you’re a lifesaver! Peanut doesn’t need a brother!”

A door signals the man’s departure. And a silence falls over us. Marcus sighs, “At least we found out what was causing the mushrooms in your yard…” more silence and grunts as more of the mushrooms were laid to rest. “so…. Does Jon need to talk to this one too, or…?” He leaves the question open and pauses, mumbling something about ‘pitiful shaking’ and abruptly moving me down as he sits on the now desolate ground, the shriveled corpses of mushrooms littered about. The dirt being that much closer is soothing in a way.

The voice of the one that knows me answers, “Even if he did, they are a little busy at the moment. I have a feeling the answer is going to be no anyway, so I don’t think Jon would mind me speaking on his behalf this once…”

“Alright, well let me just—” Marcus sighs and curls up around me, cradling me tightly in his arms, leaning forward and bending his legs in front of him on the ground. The air is still present—I can still sense the world around us—but its enough pressure that I am able to focus a bit more. This Marcus is warm and while he’s much bigger than me, his arms are so much smaller and more manageable than the vastness of the sky. There is a safety here, and I sink into him gratefully.

The silence is brief before Marcus speaks, “Peanut… I will tell Margie you talk if you, for even a moment, think of telling Jon about this. Stop looking at me like that and just talk to this one already.”

“No no, I think it’s sweet! You’re being so nice to him. He does seem to have anxiety.” The one called Peanut remarks with a light-hearted tone. Marcus clears his throat and with a movement that I feel occur but don’t see, Peanut is prompted to address me. Suddenly a voice is near my face, “Buried. It’s the Dark. I’m close enough for you to see.”

I look up and confirm a little bat has joined me in Marcus’ arms. “Dark. That’s why you know me. So the mushrooms… They..” I look at the shriveled leftovers as they answer me,

“It’s the growth of a predator of the Fears—the Extinction? It’s been hinted by previous encounters that the result of the Fears interacting with the mushrooms somehow kills us. They are drawn by our use in power.”

Marcus adds, “That’s how we kept knowing where in the yard you were digging—the mushrooms would crop up or move to a new spot based on you using your … dirt… I guess. So stop using the dirt power, the mushrooms won’t grow and you won’t have any problems.”

The Dark nodded in agreement with that. So I could have died… I was being chased by Extinction. I dip my head into Marcus’ chest and feel his chest rumble as he made a small vocal reaction. and after a beat, Peanut chuckles, “You know you could—”

“no.”

“I can tell by your face”

“No, Peanut. I want, like, a dog—a normal dog-- or something. I don’t want anxiety dirt. I just feel bad that he’s all… nervous.”

The Dark addresses me again, “Buried, we are working with the Archivist against the Mother of Puppets to—”

“Ugh her” I interject. Silence gives me permission to continue, “She dug me up ages ago. Tried to convince me to go take control of the book that the Eye stole—was ‘taken out of play’ but now is back. I could feel the storm brewing between her and the Archivist and she got to me first and I ran and I hid and I just don’t want to do it”.

Marcus nods, “Well that answers that.” His grip on me loosens, but the Dark makes a noise that stops him from letting me go.

The Dark attempts to address me again, but I won’t do it and I immediately start saying as much, “I won’t stay up here and I won’t get into something that is so much bigger than me. You aren’t fighting battles in the dirt-you aren’t dealing with a small situation at hand. This world is so massive and every decision you make up here sets off dominoes of changes to every other soul and thing in it. It’s too much and I don’t want it!”

Now, I’m yelling and it’s not until a while of repeating myself that I hear Marcus and the Dark attempting to soothe me. I simmer down and curl into Marcus attempting to make the world I’m forced into small and manageable. It’s not working but it’s all that I can do since I can’t get away with physical strength alone and the Extinction threatens me if I use my powers.

Marcus sets me down, addressing the Dark as I begin my dig into the blissful Down. “I’m not holding the mole hostage—he said no.” He said simply.

The Dark was responding. Saying something about checking on the Archivist….The Forest…

It doesn’t matter. That world is behind me now. I know how to not be caught again. I will push the dirt with feet and nose and body. I will crawl as the others of my current likeness crawls. I will not bring the Up upon me again. I will stay safe and happy and confined.

I do not need to find out what happens should I be trapped up there. I do not need to bring the scorn of the Extinction. They looked so small, but even the Dark seemed to fear them. Marcus seemed to use them as a credible threat even when I did not know what they do. It’s fine though. I learned the only lesson that I need to take with me to my small world.

Do not cross the mushrooms.

Chapter Text

This is peaceful. What had that ‘Martin fellow’ said? ‘Even the fear is gentle here’. This world feels weightless, timeless and he thinks for a moment that this might truly be death. Terminus gets us all in the end, he supposes. His life did not flash before his eyes like so many mortals claim happens in death, but he guesses a life dormant and isolated just doesn’t get the dignity of flashing before his eyes. What would it show anyway?

There are fleeting sensations hidden in the fog. Of viscera—of predators—of being watched. Small fragments that ebb and flow like the tide—small enough that he isn’t even sure if they are really there. Mockeries of the powers he knows are out there.

There is a nudge. A bit of a nagging as he feels a pull—it’s not his kind of pull, though. It seems to slide right off him. The nudge burns and he feels it sear through his mind like a nightmare—not physically painful but a mentally charged battle. There is no lasting sensation and after a few beats of a heart he’s sure should be his, the burning is gone. The fog and cold and damp returns slowly until he is, again, weightless. He’s sifting through the endless, isolating fog once more for what is an unknown amount of time. There is nothing to do here but to exist. Seems fitting.

A new nudge collides with his nothingness and he is being dragged unceremoniously towards the new pull. This one is his kind of pull—it’s fog and isolation incarnate. It’s his loneliness—it’s his home. He doesn’t fight it. Why would he fight being where he belongs? He feels whole again—and that thought brings him pause. Is he back? Did he return to his origin before Beholding’s damn meddling? Did they all return? He knew she was planning something, and he wonders if this is a sign of her success.

He sits a moment. He waits. He listens to the ebb and flow of the sound of silence. He senses his surroundings as best he can and discovers that his environment is simultaneously endless and confined. No, he is not back to the way he once was, but he’s not as mother nature left him either. This limbo is entirely new.

At least it feels right…

Suddenly, he’s being called. It’s a feeling of being haphazardly dumped onto the ground—regaining life and vision. There is crying and then a gasp and then he turns his gaze to…

The fucking butterflies…

“You found me again, I see” he says, bored and somewhat annoyed. He pats his pantlegs as though to dust himself off—the movement pushing fog off of them.

Wait… pantleg? Oh…hands…

He’s looking at the part of his appearance that he can see, a ghostly, foggy visage of an older …man? Masculine presenting at least. The Flesh flitting about his head excitedly, making silly exclamations.

“You’re alive! You’re alive! I can’t believe it! We all thought you were dead.”

“Was I not? That’s a pity…” He means it too—death was nothing to be feared if the feeling of home was what he would be looking forward to.

He is surrounded by dogs and a cat, Jon, Martin, and the two hunters. Martin has a confused look on his face and Jon has a guilty one. Jon always has a guilty look on his face though so he feels like nothing must have changed since his..not-death.

“You don’t … I mean you vaguely look familiar but I was expecting the Lonely to be like… Peter Lukas or someone I’d know if they were in human form, you know? I can’t place where I’ve seen you before though.” Martin is closer than Lonely would like him to be, but the Lonely says nothing in the hopes the conversation will die on its own. It will as he feels a sense of time fleeting. He knows he’s only got a finite amount of time, but can’t quite place why.

Jon is speaking now, “I .. uhm. . Do you remember… Jurgen Leitner?”

Martin shivers, “I saw-- well, I never saw his face…exactly” Martin murmurs, “alive or intact anyway..”

Lonely is standing with his shoulders sagging, his face a mix of despair and disappointment. “Do I look like Jurgen fucking Leitner?” he sighs and begins looking around the ground around him to just try to make sense of his new form and his sense of fleeting time. “Why would I look like—” his eyes land on a small pamphlet on the ground a couple feet or so away from him. The light fog caressing some of the air around him seems to be wafting out of the little book. “What…?”

Beholding steps up and taps the book. “We were so worried about you, cause Viscera said you were friends! So we ‘hunted’ you and found the creature you were in, but it was just…acting like a normal creature. The Everchase said you were, for sure, in there and the Archive also said that the creature had been affected by you to confirm. At first, the Flesh just followed you while we came up with a plan, and Everchase said that if you weren’t still in there, then they wouldn’t be sent to that creature when the target was you. That made us all think that you were still in there and possibly alive!!”

The pause here is longer than the Lonely is ready for and he squints at Beholding. “There is definitely some steps missing between finding the Coati and me being Jurgen Leitner…”

Jon clears his throat, “Well, at the behest of the Flesh, we were trying to—” he puts his fingers up in quotations while he says “—Free you from your hellish prison.” He puts his hands down as Lonely rolls his eyes.

Jon continues, “Well, the Hunt tried killing the Coati, but it just.. came back. Like turned to fog and came back.”

Lonely scoffs at that, “Well I could have told you that we were still immortal of sorts. The Slaughter came to kill me and landed what should have been a killing blow. I turned to fog and managed to get away. These fleshy bodies are our new prisons, though, so we can’t expect to get out of jail so quickly, can we?”

Jon rolls his eyes, “Well, it’s not like you were talking to us or anything! We had to –wait the Slaughter was trying to kill you?”

Lonely shrugs at this, “You can’t seriously be surprised that the embodiment of senseless violence was senselessly violent…”

Martin interjects, “Not surprised exactly, they just seemed very shaken up about your death is all…”

Lonely chuckles, “They likely almost got caught by those things too. I was running for my sanity—just because I wouldn’t die doesn’t mean I want to sit there and be hurt—and I didn’t have time to redirect away from the feeling of impending doom. I ran straight into the ring of mushrooms. They seemed to be… well.. coming toward me too. I don’t remember much after that except fog and nothingness. Just figured I was dead or something.”

Jon shrugs at that, “No not dead. Seemingly stuck within the animal still though. So we tried to trap the animal in the Desolation book we stole, but the Coati just… fogged out of the book.”

The Flesh lands on his shoulders and chest and if, well he doesn’t know better actually so he’s assuming they are hugging him. “They were all going to give up on you, but you and I escaped the zoo together and bonded over that, so I couldn’t just leave my friend like this! I cried and convinced them to try one more thing! Just one! Cause maybe the desolation wasn’t a good book type for you! That’s when Daisy mentioned that they had the Disappearance—a Lonely book!”

Beholding pats the pamphlet again, and Lonely nods in understanding, brushing off his clingy companion. “So, the Disappearance stuck and now I’m in a book—able to come out at your behest rather than floating eternally into nothing.” He pauses only briefly before sighing. “I suppose it makes sense that the visage this book has in ‘default settings’ is the man that used it to skirt humanity’s sight for years, popping in and out of my line of sight so many times.”

Martin shrugs, “I suppose. There was no creature that emerged when it swallowed you, though. You just got eaten by fog. And while the Flesh ended up showing us that you were you and not some autopilot monster set to attack us, it still was very stupid to just drop it back on the ground like that!” he turns his gaze to the butterflies now flitting about again. “No one else can fly and escape, so you could have hurt us!”

The Flesh hovers in the air a bit before simply replying, “But we didn’t!”

“So, the Books have a finite time that they work then?” Lonely interrupts. “I have this sense of time running out, like a clock timer ticking down.”

Beholding nods a confirmation, “that is what we’ve found.”

“Well, at least I get to return to my own space. I have no idea how long I’ve been gone.”

Beholding chimes in, “OH! In case you missed it, then: Happy Late Christmas!”

The Flesh spin around his head and respond, “We celebrated with you, kind of! Even though you didn’t see it. We were following you around and let the Coati chase us and play!”

Lonely nods at the new information, though truth be told he never knew time as the Coati—no reason to keep track of days so he still doesn’t know how long he’s been gone for. The idea that Flesh hung out with his animal vessel sets off a chemical reaction in his mind that he loathes to admit exists.

These butterflies are growing on him.

He pushes the thought from his mind temporarily in favor for addressing the humans of the group.  “Has the Hilltop road thing happened yet? Slaughter was talking about some power ritual gathering thing at Hilltop road happening soon.”

Everyone freezes around him and Daisy finally speaks. “So, Hilltop road is where the Web is amassing her power, then?”

Martin addresses the Lonely, “Nothing has happened yet.” But murmurs under his breath “Of course it’s Hilltop Road…”

Jon also addresses Lonely, “What else can you tell us about the Web’s plans?”

Lonely looks at Jon with squinted eyes and pursed lips, “Slaughter said that I wasn’t joining the Hilltop Road ritual so the Mother wouldn’t care what happened to me. Then, he pondered out loud if he could kill another Fear like the Hunt avatars used to be able to murder avatars and then, I was hippo food, soon to be mushroom food.” He looks down and beholding and the book, “Now a book… not even a large book. A pamphlet…” He sighs, resigned.

The humans in the group start speaking of planning an attack on Hilltop Road as the Lonely feels the fog around him thicken and start to tug him back into the book. The Flesh flit about, saying silly goodbyes like they were truly friends. And maybe they are—Lonely certainly isn’t required to do anything in this friendship, so it is probably the best kind of friendship he can have. The humans peek up and watch as Lonely sighs and says goodbye to the Flesh, extending a smile and a hand up and patting one of the butterflies in solidarity and acceptance.

It immediately dies as fog encompasses the bug before the fog and bug vanish. He recoils his hand and freezes, “ah… my apologies”

Disgustingly, the remaining butterflies seem to grow those capillary tendrils they did what seems so long ago and a new twelfth butterfly was born. The tug from the book is stronger now, so he gives one last smile to the Flesh, “Maybe when you’re not busy sometime—not often—you could let me out and update me on the goings on…”

The Flesh is unfazed by Lonely’s bout of manslaughter and flits about in delight—agreeing immediately. Hopefully, Flesh won’t make him regret the offer.

Finally, as Lonely’s form dissipates, he makes eye contact with Jon. “ and Good luck on your little war, Archivist.” He tips his head, the last of him dissipating into the book. “Should you need me, please don’t.”

Chapter Text

Violence in the short term only requires one aggressor and one (or more) victims. But one aggressor will not spread the violence for long—one aggressor’s senseless acts are so temporary by nature. Two aggressors working together (as our two forms are) can aid in elongating these encounters. The more aggressors, the longer the violence. This is why we agreed to side with the Old Mother in the end. We now have allies in flames and loss, allies in decay and rot. The Faceless as well – though those wearing faces during the change seem unable to take them off now. This accumulation of allies promotes such a beautiful array of violence offered at our disposal. Still, we look among our allies preparing and know that destruction, even with a thousand allies, will still be finite in comparison to our true nature. One-sided aggression will always burn out like a lit match.

No, our nature in the long term requires at least two aggressors on opposing sides—sides and ideals that cannot be compromised.

Our nature requires war.

We warned those that would see us destroyed of the Extinction—the only possible method of our demise—in order to ensure that we continue to have an opposing side worthy to start war. The Old Mother spoke to us with her accomplice’s voice—telling us that we are right to follow our nature here. They said they have faith we won’t misstep, so hopefully they forgive us aiding the Hunt. The Hunt is more our kin than any other, so we wish them to remain competition. They understand violence, they just calculate and plan first. We did not understand the purpose of the plan and focus, but we do now.

We have had time to get used to our newfound cognition—to change the tides of our violence to encompass the entirety of war. We can plan and experiment with our violence just as we did with the Lonely. Just as we did with the Stranger when the Stranger returned with news of their failures. Through our experimentation, we see now that the Fears cannot be killed by any except the Extinction, though the Mother has told us that the Lonely didn’t die. We are not one to question her, so we try not to argue. We know what our eyes showed us, but we also know better than to question Mother. The eye can deceive just as anything can.

They just usually don’t.

The Mother is small, but still weaving her web here in this old house. The strings still present, fading out of vision as the strings exit the domicile to who-knows-what or who. The inside of this house cannot withstand the weight of war, and we try to tell the Old Mother that the shambles of Hilltop road will crumble should we stand here. The Web does not speak to us directly usually, her faithful human minion tending to act as her mouthpiece, so we do not expect an answer. The Web was merciful to her cohorts, so Annabelle spent time in a recently rented home in order to rest away from the elements that Hilltop was now exposed to. A hole in the ceiling to the elements above and a hole in the floor to… below. Not us though—we must protect what is here. Annabelle protects things too: an artifact very precious and very hated simultaneously. Mother tried to destroy it at first. Fire did not burn it, weapons were useless against it, Mother even threw it into the unknown below, but it didn’t stay. During the time that the book was in there, Annabelle seemed distraught. There was a confusion, then concern. It wasn’t long—a few minutes, an hour maybe, and the book seemed to be spit out. Annabelle and The Mother seemed grateful at that.

We don’t stay down there either…Just get spit back out should we fall in there after a time.

But after trying so long to destroy it, now they keep it safe as though it’s diamonds to humans. Packed away in a small bag always carried by Annabelle. She brings it with her even now. She and Jude of the Lightless Flame are returning to us as we prepare. Mother told us that our opposition would come to take the house—to take the artifact should they know it is here. That should they arrive, we should be prepared to defend what’s ours.

We have been ready for this.

Annabelle speaks to us all now. She says that from where she is stationed, she hears that the Buried has declined the fight. She seems unconcerned, speaking as though she is saying trees are plants. We are told to gather inside, our artifacts and us in place. Annabelle says they are on their way, telling all of us to refrain from attacking until word is given. She is looking directly at us when she speaks. We understand her concern of us—we are the largest of the Fears now. We can do the most damage, but all of us are equally ready to be finished with Mother’s plans. All of us have mentioned our small reach—how infinitismal we have become in comparison to our peak. Even on the outskirts simply poking holes in reality’s fabric saw more damage and widespread destruction than we can do now.

Cognition has done nothing but make us feel and know peace. Disgusting.

We will not stay like this. Mother will make things right with this building and maybe this artifact and this plan. She has to.

…Footsteps approach. Our hearts thumping to the rhythm of war drums as we wait for our enemies to advance. The Archivist’s voice is heard through the doorway exclaiming that he knows this is a trap. Annabelle disagrees, stating where we are and who is in here. She is giving correct information to opposition, which gives us concern. Is she trying candor to strike peace? We huff at her, but she shakes her head slightly. She then calls to the Archivist again, stating that we will not harm him as he walks through the threshold. The silence stretches too long until butterflies appear and tiny voices relay to the opposition the honesty of Annabelle. The Archivist is the next to peak in, staring at each fear consecutively. We feel he lingers too long on us. We hope it is us that gets to crush him. He enters and looks among the humans here, eyes stopping on one of the Faceless. She grins and waves at him. The Archivist murmurs something low out the door and then moves out of the way. Slowly these creatures enter: dogs, a cat, peacocks (we did not think the Spiral would participate..), and a tiny bat on the shoulder of the Archivist’s sidekick. The sidekick too looks at all of us, skipping over the Faceless, but he winces and stares at the floor after looking at The Crawling rot’s mobile home—very much shuffling on it’s last legs. Likely she would need a new one after this battle, unless we are made better again soon. She does not like to be alone for long.  The final members of the humans enter—the Hunters. They can be canon fodder to fuel the Hunt’s fight should we feel they aren’t trying hard enough. The butterflies circle around their allies like large halos.

A protective stance. We did not know the Flesh could do battle anymore. After their attack on the Eye’s little archive, we knew the old them could. The fight seen through the eyes of our one soldier present was a spectacular display of violence, but they didn’t know that they challenged War itself to a fight. She would have made an amazing acolyte if it weren’t for the Eye’s intervention. Her anger sang to us long before we had hold of her.

Enough reminiscing

The Archivist and Annabelle are speaking: Archivist with thinly veiled disgust and Annabelle with overt amusement. The Archivist explains that there is a stalemate here—friend and foe is equal. Annabelle looks to the hole in the floor, with that same amusement. And holds up a book. She asks if the archivist is familiar with it.

Ugh, so much talking about nothing. This is a waste of time.

We do not hear the conversation for a moment, but suddenly, Annabelle opens a book, and an amalgamate of spines and flesh and sinew attempts to climb out. Before it can exit and seek, she tosses the book into the Unknown Below. After a few moments, the butterflies cease their protective flight and slowly scatter. Drifting aimlessly on the wind, only speeding up if approached. To escape…

The shock of the enemy is palpable as they take in what happened. Annabelle looks to us and we understand. That was our signal, and we charge in delight.

War is upon us.

Chapter Text

It’s a silly thing really. Scary, but silly nonetheless. The Flesh flying away—a cluster of butterflies flying aimlessly—being the spark that ignites the fight. Cats are supposed to be these predatory creatures, but they don’t feel like a predator. They just feel small. They hope the Archive forgives that they feel they can’t do anything but watch. But with their eyes—their Knowing—they try their best to look for anything that can give their side the advantage. They drink it all in, setting aside their usual demeanor to take mental note.

As soon as the shock of the Flesh flying away wears off, a whirlwind of activity rises all at once. The switch is flipped on everyone’s abilities: Darkness falls in the far corner, looking too hard in the near corner only provides uncertainty and doubt and talons. Confusion gives the Twisting Deceit the advantage of always being able to sneak attack. The humans on both sides are throwing books and then hiding away, trying not to be seen first. Beholding’s side is having an easier time with this, as The Forever Blind sees the books being thrown and shrouds them all in his unnatural dark. In the corners that have their own dark, Forever Blind is able to utilize their ability to bounce between dark spaces like portals, though the Ravening Burn is throwing flames into those places, quickly extinguishing the dark corners. Still, Forever Blind continues creating their pockets of darkness. These spots of temporary blindness scare Beholding, but they are gone as soon as the book’s creature finds a target. They try not to focus on what they cannot see and, instead, just focus on what they can.

It is Ex Altiora that catches the first human—if one can call her that still. Crawling Rot is fast enough to evacuate, but the vessel itself is too slow. The Lichtenburg figure is absorbing the vessel as the Burning Acolyte runs to the book and kicks it into the hole. Pulled by an unseen force, the figure and its prey suddenly dragged into the abyss below.

Without a vessel to protect, the wasps are faster and descend into the battle, attacking the Twisting Deceit and some of the Everchase. Even as wasps, the Twisting Deceit’s doubt and question seems to disorient and cause pause. The wasps fill one of the Everchase, and the dog starts growling and thrashing to keep control. The poor thing shakes and seizes, eventually falling and succumbing to death. But rather than becoming the new vessel of the Crawling Rot, the wasps that are in the body evacuate, seemingly dying as they exit. The One He Loves grabs the Desolation book and opens it before throwing it in the hole in the floor. Just as the butterflies had, the Black Kite fills with fear. Suddenly, they are unaware of the situation around them as their mind becomes that of a regular bird. It cries out and flies erratically away, causing The Burning Acolyte to cry in response and charge at The One He Loves. The Everchase and the War are in their element, causing the most carnage on one another. The bite force of the War tears into one of the Everchase. The dog seems to die, then it rises and continues fighting. The pack of dogs rip the throat out of the War, it dies, then it rises and keeps fighting with a renewed vigor. The blood splatters of their battles grow, covering both parties in a fair amount of it as it drips from mouth and throat and paws.  The Hive dog reawakens and fights, though it is clear that it is not controlled by the Crawling Rot. The Wasps dive into another—The Twisting Deceit, and the bird begins to convulse, succumbing to the same temporary fate as the Everchase.

This shamble of a house is covered in blood and fire and shadows.

Aside from the humans, this is a war of eternals. This war could be endless.

There is a balance both sides seem to be weighing as well. Beholding can see the hesitation in using the books—they see the humans glancing more and more at the opening in the floor. Beholding catches that books of present Fears aren’t being thrown—their security manual, the Almanac of the Everchase. Those are being guarded to prevent loss of fighters.

The Forever Blind covers The Burning Acolyte’s face in darkness, allowing The One He Loves to gain the advantage. He shoves the Burning Acolyte off him and she loses her footing. With a shriek, she is falling. The One He Loves extends a hand. She does not take it.

The Webbed Puppet is standing and watching the fight, next to the Mother of Puppets herself—she seems pleased. Why? Is endless war part of her—

They snap their head to the doorway, temporarily losing their Sight in favor of looking directly at the quickly advancing and growing and undulating mushrooms destroying the door and cracking the floorboards.

How long have they been fighting?

Suddenly the floor space is much smaller as the mushrooms burrow under and then break through the floor. The Twisting Deceit is closest to the doorway. Mushrooms cannot doubt and collide with them instantly. The Peacocks that were once the Twisting Deceit are attempting to fleeing the commotion, but are stopped short by War. War tramples the peacocks and grabs one in their maw, while Extinction seems to hone in on the darkness below the floor, descending into the hole.

The Webbed Puppet’s smile becomes one of victory. With the floor in shambles, she holds on to a hole in the wall as the house shakes. There is a pause (as much a pause as this fight has gotten) as everyone feels the tear in what seems to be reality itself.

The rift is…open?

Just as suddenly as they all froze, panicking movement sets in as the rift begins to drag the house and the fears in with it. The house’s floor is slowly cracking as the pressure starts to tilt and warp the floor slightly toward the rift, but not enough yet to cause anything to slide. The Fears all lean away from the rift as though fighting new gravity. Beholding digs their claws into the floor as best they can, and regains Sight once again. The Stolen Assistant is there, grabbing a book, charging at the center of the room and opens it, attempting to dig her heels into the moving and cracking floor. It’s Dig, Hezekiah’s Likeness tumbling out of the book-- and Beholding thinks he looks like he is almost completely comprised of dirt. Hezekiah does not struggle against the pull of the rift at all, maintaining as steady a hold on the floor as the book he tumbled out of. There is no darkness to shroud them from his gaze this time, and one of Beholding’s allies gets grabbed. No… No They are incorrect! I Don’t Know You is biding their time in the background just as Beholding is, under the guise of an ally (just as they made the Stolen Assistant do). Just as with the Twisting Deceit, I Don’t Know You is foiled—Buried’s book does not care if they know anyone or not. One cannot pretend to be an ally because the books have none. The dirty hand grabbing the parrot seems to squeeze tighter, and the dirt grows and begins surrounding I Don’t Know You’s feathered frame. They have nothing to truly fear from this as we found with The One Alone. They will just come back out of the book as the One Alone did.

The Stolen Assistant tosses the book into the rift, and with a crushing grip pulling I Don’t Know You in tow, Hezekiah’s likeness is dragged in.

They are throwing their team in…

Then Beholding finally does something that their old self would never be able to do.

They Understand.

The War throws the Peacock from its mouth into the rift as it is reanimating. The other one stays dead, unable to utilize the Twisting Deceits immortality anymore. One of the two hunters—The Everchase’s leader— attempts to shove the Stolen Assistant into the rift. Before she can, the Stolen Assistant dives out of the way, gripping the Leader’s arm and pulling her faster into the Rift. To stop the hunter remaining from chasing the Leader, the One He Loves grabs her and pulls her back. It is not long before the remaining Hunter set her sights on revenge.

Beholding yells to everyone—to anyone—to stop, but they do not have the ability to be heard. The house has become loud as the very air around them is being sucked in. The house is crumbling, and they are losing. The Archive is looking around helplessly as well. The Rift’s pull begins to affect the Fears more, the pull becoming stronger now.

The Webbed Puppet is walking calmly through the fight, gliding effortlessly as though she is guided by premonition —though that … that is impossible, Beholding thinks. She pushes past the Archivist and grabs the Book of the Dead, opens it and tosses it in. Two of the Hunt take the opportunity to run at the Mother of Puppets, clearly setting their target on “Web” based on how deliberate their movements are—how precise they’d have to be based on the size of their target. She’s a large spider, but she’s no tarantula. Beholding Knows that she is a larger than average Cardinal spider. One of the Everchase is held back by the Webbed Puppet, having run back to grab it by the scruff and attempting to drag it away. The other of the two barrels into the cabinet below. The Webbed Puppet tries not to show her fear, but the Fears are present—Beholding can sense it. She drags the dog in hand as the remaining of the Everchase pause their current efforts in an attempt to stop her in time. She throws the dog into the rift and all the dogs immediately either get mauled by the War and don’t get up, or run away if they have the chance-- the one underneath the web getting caught in a bag strap and running out the door with the bag attached. The Archive is on the Mother of Puppet’s side of the fight now, picking up the War Book, opening it and tossing it in. Despite the War being gone, the hippos remain rampant and defensive, stomping around and stampeding, crushing more of the floor before they finally exit.

The more of them that get thrown in, Beholding notes, the stronger the pull into the rift is. Their claws are failing them, they know they don’t have much time. The One He Loves is running out of weapons, throwing down the Almanac of the Everchase and watching as it does nothing, becoming aware of the Everchase no longer being here. The Crawling Rot flies toward The One He Loves and he opens the only book in his hand: The Disappearance. The One Alone begins to climb out of the book, sees the Crawling Rot advance and lets loose a cold, unrelenting fog.  The Wasps seem to be starting to be consumed by the fog surrounding them. The Stolen Assistant dashes through the fog and grabs the book from the One He Loves. He calls out to her with the name she stole, knowing that it was pointless to do so, before looking out and running outside. The Hunter tries and wrestle the book from her as the fog attempts to recede back into it, the One Alone attempting to fight her hands off as well.

As her last resort, the Stolen Assistant dives into the hole, taking the Crawling Rot, The One Alone, and the remaining Hunter with her. The sides are dwindling. The fight is almost over.  The Webbed Puppet is holding a book in her hand and is walking toward the hole—the book is black with a closed eye emblem on it. The Forever Blind has been a needed asset for our side, and one of the only allies they have left. Beholding is trying to think of what to do, and tries again to scream at the Archive.

The wind is too loud.

They are not heard.

The Archive is trying to keep track of the Security Manual and reunites with the One He Loves who is also holding a book. They are discussing something, whispering into each other’s ears. Beholding has no time.

Beholding runs past their allies and jumps, clawing at Annabelle as she tries to throw them off. With fang and claw, they fight and successfully sink their claws in the little black book. Annabelle throws Beholding and the black book is tossed to the ground outside of the rift. Beholding knows it’s only delayed the Forever Blind from joining them. Beholding twists their body, but they are not so lucky.

As Beholding sinks into the rift, the feeling of dread hits them as they feel themselves returning to the amalgamate of fear they once were. They feel themselves shifting, growing--feels their edges pressing into the world they now love. They begin drifting away from feeling whole by themselves—drifting from the solid form they are growing used to--that they could do more than exist with. Their understanding of love slipping from paws that are losing form. They want to do, not just see.

Struggling is futile.

Beholding fights anyway.

They try to find purchase in the inky blackness, try to pull themselves away from the world. They do not want to hurt the Earth—it doesn’t need to be changed! They try to call out, but they no longer have a mouth. With the last of their identity, they hope the Archive wins despite all odds.

Please, let them live again.

Chapter Text

The Mother of Puppets watches as her team falls—as the Archivist’s team falls. Her team was meant to fail--meant to retreat into the rift to be one with her again. One who does not learn from history is doomed to repeat it—and she counted on the Archivist to do just that--and he did so so well.

When she first spoke with her queen piece in October—Annabelle—she confirmed that the world wasn’t changed. Mother of Puppets already knew, but she needed to hear it… to see it herself. Annabelle, so used to being a marionette, continued to serve the Web without any hesitation. She felt the hum of the veil at its thinnest still in Hilltop. She needed to investigate… She started acquiring allies and keeping tabs on the Archivist and his friends. They found out where the Dark lived as a disgraceful pet and moved in a few houses down. She was still in control—she still has plans. The fears were all really pulled through. Were their animals their tethers? No. They might be glue holding them in their respective places, but they weren’t the single tether that the linchpin to the apocalypse was supposed to be. The Archivist was not oozing the energy of 14 marks anymore, so he was, sadly, not it either.

Then she discovered Extinction.

Of course, the new mother would make the final piece something untouchable to the fears. Something that dies as soon as they pluck it up. Something that pooled in a cottage so far from the rift that it would be damn near impossible to get it to grow enough at Hilltop to be pulled into the rift. She assumes Mother Nature probably felt really smug with that one—but underestimating the Mother of Puppets will be her undoing. Letting her retain some powers would be as well.

She discovered the Leitner’s as well. She found Dig first. Her spiders hunting down the little mole and offering it to him. He declined, and that troubled her at first. Was she going to have to kidnap the fears to get all of them into the rift?

Then she found out the Leitner would pull the respective Fear inside. But with the rift closed, they were just returned to their forms after a time.

She was not surprised that the Archivist suspected that she was up to something, and so she continued to leak information through the less reliable members of her team. The Stranger and the Desolation were good for that. The End even pitched in with spreading information unintentionally. The Vast saw the big picture, but luckily spoke in riddles. She had not worked with the Archivist like the Mother of Puppets had. She did not know how hard it was for him to understand. If the Archivist had not acted, or if he had collected one book and hid it far away, leaving her to do all the hunting for things. Likely, this plan would not have come to fruition. But the Archivist had guilt he needed to try and rectify. He was almost the harbinger of the apocalypse, and still felt personally responsible for all of his friends’ suffering. He saw that inaction was necessary for the Extinction, but did not think inaction could be used in the bigger problem he was facing. Because inaction is not in his nature. Humans ‘can’t just sit there and do nothing!’.

With this fight set up, she was able to bring the Leitner of a Fear or the Fear itself to hilltop road. It was a delightful song of war and power and the perfect amount of energy to bring the Extinction as well. They all needed to be called to come into this world, so they all needed to be present to leave it. As long as she could get all 15 of them inside the rift before the first fear that went in was ‘rejected’ and returned to their body, they could skim the energies of the worlds beyond. She didn’t even want to leave this world immediately anymore. She wanted to use their energy to change this one—spit in the face of the Mother that thought they bested the Mother of Puppets.

Pitiful Archivist fell for it again.

They all showed and the fight broke out. Laughable really, immortal energies engaging in a losing battle. Her side’s only goal was to get all 14 fears in by any means necessary while using enough of their power to “summon” Extinction. Since their goal was not to survive, it made making sure the Archivist also loses even easier. It’s why Annabelle showed them the activated Leitners pulled the fear under: If the Archivist was throwing them in too, they all would have a better chance of beating the timer the rift would set.

And that went beautifully…

The Flesh was the example

The Vast went in with Ex Altiora and the Lichtenburg Figure

The Desolation was proof that The Archivists team was going to help with Leitners

Then the Extinction was called loudly enough that it came in.

She knew of her victory then, but she couldn’t leave yet. She couldn’t leave it in the hands of anyone else. She had to be here until the very end to make sure it went according to plan.

He will not open the door wrong this time.

The Buried and the Stranger were pulled in together.

The Spiral was thrown in, tucked deep inside the peacock it once controlled.

The End went with the Book of the Dead

That’s when the Hunt pitifully tried to attack. They were thrown in as well.

The Slaughter was thrown in by the Archivist—thinking he was thwarting her, she bets.

The Lonely and the Corruption were thrown in by the remnants of the Not!Them.

The Mother of puppets watches the world crash around her, the rift splitting the house. Animals running loose or dying. The wind is howling and the Eye figures out two seconds too late what her plan was all along. She keeps her eyes on the prize, making sure that Annabelle gets Beholding to fall in. Once they get swallowed, Annabelle is quick to activate and dump the Dark’s book into the rift.

She’s done it.

The lonely little Martin takes down Annabelle, but that’s irrelevant now. Mother of Puppets lifts up on the webs near her and starts swinging toward the rift. As she spins in the air toward the rift, the Archivist’s voice is heard before she can look at him. “You can’t leave!” She expected a more desperate plea. A bargain, but he sounds too sure…  a false plea with underlying confidence? 

 She is right there. There is nothing he can—

She looks back at the Archivist.

No…

NO

Of course. This whole thing started there, didn’t it? What do humans call this? Just Desserts? Dramatic irony?

The Archivist spoke again, opening the book in his hand. His little Martin holding Annabelle beside him.

“Mr. Spider wants another guest for dinner.”

The spindly legs with large coarse hair exit the book, giant, crazed eyes looking in all directions at once before they freeze-- before they all hone in on her. Everything feels like it’s going in slow motion as she realizes that in being last to go in, she’s the only one that could be seen.

She is so close…

The legs jut forward so much faster than they should. The eponymous Mr. Spider exiting the book and running at her.

God, he even has that stupid hat.

She is so close to the floor as his leg shoots forward. Mr. Spider’s massive form allows him to easily stretch his leg over the rift in the floor and crush her against the wall on the other side. She will not die, of course she won’t. She will just be stuck. Mr. Spider is having no difficulty withstanding the rift’s pull. He’s bound to the book after all…

He impales her and pulls her over the rift to him. She doesn’t feel the pull of the rift anymore. She’s bound to the book now too.

The Last thing she hears before being pulled into the book and away from victory is the Archivist, his smile obvious in his tone.

“You Forgot to Knock.”

Chapter Text

Mother Nature watched the world through a kaleidoscope of color and energies bending and twisting around one another. Content to watch the beautiful array of the chaos that is naturally created, she had never dreamed of doing something so blatantly present. No desire to disrupt the chaos aside from an indirect nudge here and there is what that "inaction" of hers boiled down to. Not until the colorful array was being tampered with to the point of threatening the balance of the world as she had it.

She had tried to make all of them as comfortable as possible, but she didn’t need to be omnipotent to know that some of the new inhabitants would have a hard time adjusting. She is not all powerful, and she knows that, so she had to redistribute energy into those books in order to keep the creatures that obtained (or were possessed by) a new consciousness alive. She knew there was a chance for collaboration, that the Earth still held the tools with which the Fears could succeed again. It was an acceptable threat though, she had decided. If Fear were to succeed in their efforts to change the world again—then the world was simply meant to change.

That didn’t stop her from nudging Jon in the right direction in the beginning. If she could feel guilt, she would have. Jon had never been able to make decisions in his life, and she had never truly taken notice. He was almost given the burden of an apocalypse on his shoulders, and still held onto the guilt of being unable to save anyone—of being so easily used to the detriment of his peers despite all the odds stacked against him. A human being blamed for not stopping what amounts to demigods. She only knew one way to change that guilt, and that was to let him be the hero he was trying so desperately to be for all these years.

‘You forgot to knock’, he said. His heroic tale coming to an end as he closed this chapter, the door, and the book in his hands. The final piece of what has been created from the energy of Fear became the tether that holds them all in place. The gust continued to grasp and pull in an attempt to grab the last piece required—but the Archivist kept it to his chest. The book did not heed the call anyway, the power it wields dormant with the book shut.

She thought how wonderful it would be to say that Jon faced his adversaries in confidence at his newfound victory in that moment. It would be wonderful to say that the opposition ran with their metaphorical tails between their legs. Both sides, however, stood stalk still as the gusts of the rift faded away and the building around them seemed to tilt more upright now that the pull was gone.

She noted Annabelle spoke first. “So that’s it, then…” Her expression seemed lost. A puppet on strings for so long, she would need time to readjust to making her own decisions. Therapy will go a long way, Mother Nature concluded. Jon stood, stunned into silence as Annabelle simply left. Martin stepped to Jon’s side and while it took some time to understand that they won, they did eventually all leave the dilapidated former homestead.

The fallen pieces did too. This was definitely a good thing, as Oliver was not having a good time with the feral owl with which he had been conversing only moments prior. The curtains were now shredded and all small furniture was askew as he had tried and failed to comprehend the sudden change in character and subsequently failed to trap the animal. Then, merely an hour later, the owl froze and looked at Oliver. “What... happened?” Was the question that left his beak, but Oliver very much could not answer. He would later find out about Hilltop road’s situation from Georgie, who was present in the dramatic retelling Jon gave Helen (which was met with eyerolls aplenty by the Hunters, Daisy and Basira. Not that they were present in the end, but they were skeptical nonetheless).

The Fears all took their time finding their place. Of Course, the Web was trapped in Mr. Spiders home. Becoming the eponymous character. She and the rest of the Leitner books were taken to the Extinction Cottage, which was regrowing slowly—all the mushrooms had died when the Extinction fell into the rift. The books were kept there sealed away, except for the Disappearance. The Lonely was perched on a shelf in Helen’s house, and he was—just as he had said—more than content being a book. The Flesh was there too and, true to the agreement made, the Lonely and Flesh would visit from time to time. Much more than the Lonely wanted, of course, but he wasn’t forced to speak or even pay much attention. This made the visits much more tolerable, so he refrained from speaking on it. The Flesh mostly just talked about the difficulty of living with the Spiral at Helen’s house, though there was no real bite to the statement. The Spiral made less attempts to get a rise out of the Flesh, and the two fell into a much better equilibrium.

The Buried and the Vast were quick to return to the dirt and the sky, respectively. They had no strong opinions on which world they liked more from start to finish, which Mother Nature had appreciated just as much as those essentially fighting for her. The Vast continued to coast along the wind, scaring the locals by trying to initial small talk. She was and will likely always be the poster child for carefree. The Buried, surprisingly, did pop up topside periodically. Marcus would visit the Bennet’s home and tap on the ground, offering food and things to the little mole. Marcus would be loathe to admit that he did, in fact, want ‘anxiety dirt’ as a pet. The mole had several little pockets of trinkets that he kept safe, and he grew less and less anxious about the world of “Up” as time passed. He valued Marcus’ friendship, and genuinely looked forward to his visits—deciding they were worth the giant world he was subjected to.

The Dark had returned to the Bennet residence as soon as he was a bat again. Marcus approached the Bennets and told them that he had something important to disclose before they resumed care of Peanut.

Margie tilted her head and simply asked “is this more or less important than Peanut being able to talk?” This information was quickly confirmed, as Peanut couldn’t help but ask “…what?”

Ed was laughing. “Good God Margie, I thought you had had the dementias when you told me that.” He explained that Margie had overheard them talking when getting ready to visit Jon, but that he did not believe his wife had heard correctly. Margie admitted that due to an encounter she and her mother had, she made a point to only focus on family and friends and not dwell on the abnormal. If you try to understand, you may get their attention. Marcus admitted that it was Margie who taught him that ignorance was bliss. After hearing about Martin’s encounter with Jane Prentiss, Marcus was glad for the lesson.

Corruption was having a difficult time readjusting. Mother Nature decided to let her find her own way instead of guiding her (for learning purposes, not because she’s bitter or anything…)

(She might be a little bitter)

Desolation and Jude escaped at the same time. Jude wanted to try again immediately, but Desolation came out of this experience wanting to prioritize Jude’s safety. It took some convincing, but Jude was on board with just doing something smaller and less deadly. They stayed with Annabelle, who eventually decided to move on, but had a lot of contemplating to do before she knew where to go.

That’s where the Stranger came in. They decided to stay with Annabelle too, and all of them eventually opened a little niche coffee shop. Some business came from the novelty of birds in the shop and the vintage atmosphere Annabelle naturally brought through her style and the decorations she adorned the walls with. (The Stranger posing as family members to recommend the “cute new shop” might have also helped).  

The Slaughter was the one who’s location changed the most—but this allowed for contentment that wasn’t ‘disgustingly peaceful’. With the Zoo discovering that Thug and Nicky were alive, due to their dangerous behaviors, there was a fundraiser to have them returned to Western Africa. Once fully funded, the Slaughter was shipped to Liberia where Mother Nature happily educated Slaughter on poachers.

Daisy relocated to a larger home to accommodate suddenly having five dogs.

“Are.. Are you sure we shouldn’t just, like… let them be outside?” Basira would ask.

Daisy shrugged and crossed her arms, “They don’t want to. I’m still their leader.”

Basira wouldn’t comment on it—and Daisy wouldn’t admit it out loud—but after the coffin, Daisy hated to be alone and confined. The larger space was just as much for her as her new pets and now with five dogs, she would never have to be alone again.

Instead, Basira just nodded and continued to take her belongings inside. The Hunt were more than happy to pat themselves on the back for a job well done from ‘hunting’ anything. This included small things like chasing squirrels, finding the remote, and hunting for the perfect seat in the living room; however, Daisy and Basira were occasionally called as a consult for missing persons cases. Having the ability to put a beacon on the target helped immensely.

They couldn’t officially hunt often though—all of the fears remember extinction's looming presence to keep them in check.

Back in Jon’s flat, Martin and Beholding sat with Jon to discuss the future. Jon tells the Eye that they can go anywhere—see anything in person that they’d like.

The Eye was excited to hear about travel and sightseeing. “You’d go with me too, right? I basically adopted you cause you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a family. I mean, the other Fears kind of count distantly, but I don’t think—”

Martin would cut in, “I’m sorry? You adopted us?”

The Eye nodded, “Well kind of! I mean you asked to be with me and signed the papers and then I got to keep you, so…”

Jon cleared his throat. “You mean at the institute?” With a nod from Beholding, Jon continued. “That was... basically a whole different time. That employment was terminated, so..” He let the sentence drop but the Eye looked devastated.

“So… we aren’t a family?”

Jon and Martin both held up their hands as the Eye was trying (and failing) not to cry.

“No no I mean. We are—we can be… or, I mean…” Jon fumbled with his words before Martin spoke up.

“Why don’t we make it official then! But since you’re the housecat here, it will be us adopting you instead.”

The Eye immediately perked up at that and agreed, then asked “So how do we make it official?”

Jon and Martin share a look of confusion with one another. Martin started, “I mean, I guess we could make a paper like a-adoption... papers and stuff?”

Jon shrugged, “I mean… you agreed to it, and we agreed to it. So that’s really it, I think.”

After an awkward pause as clearly the Eye did not understand, Martin clapped his hands together and smiled at the Eye.

“Oh hey, so you’re adopted now!”

Chapter Text

The First one is a Commission I purchased from "Leafy" on Twitter! They are an amazing artist who specializes in monsters and bugs. They have a Patreon where they are making a "Bee Boyfriend" game and by god that anthro bee is adorable. I needed help conceptualizing the Flesh's "biblically accurate form" and so I commissioned them to make it, simply describing it as "biblically accurate butterflies" and telling them which butterfly. You can see that I took great inspiration for it in the final piece that I myself made, so I wanted to show off the OG to give credit where credit is due. 

The Next one is a commission for what was one of my favorite scenes personally, which is "Jon is a Disney Princess". I purchased this one from SpaceRockBand on Tumblr and I have commissioned their art a TON for their unique and emotional style. I feel like I'm ALWAYS down to get more art from them, and their expressions were on point in this piece! You can just see Jon's "I'm done with this" attitude and practically hear him saying "So I see you have a similar problem"

The Last one is actually fanart of the Dark Comforting a very emotional Beholding by one of my bestest friends, EnbyNeti 

They have so many wonderful works and we actually met through their discord after I was fanboying about And Janus Blinked. They were very kind and nudged me into actually posting this story as a whole so I owe them a great deal!

THE FOLLOWING WILL BE LABELED JUST AS THE FEAR NAME AS EVERYTHING BELOW THIS LINE IS WORK THAT I MYSELF CREATED. The Only Exception is there is one labeled "Peanut" and that is cause I had to show how Margie sees her son. It will be right BEFORE the "Dark" rendition. (I still made it, it's just not a FEAR fear)

THE WEB

THE HUNT

THE CORRUPTION

THE EYE

THE EXTINCTION

THE BURIED

THE VAST

PEANUT (MAHBOY)

THE DARK

THE DESOLATION

THE FLESH

THE LONELY

THE END

THE STRANGER

THE SPIRAL

THE SLAUGHTER

**

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND BEING PATIENT WITH ME!! This is, like... my first time finishing a big project and it's not even like... BIG BIG, yannow? but I am still grateful for the opportunity.