Chapter Text
The mission was simple. Purge the cake monsters out of Holy Grounds of Godly Banquet. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet, the task proved to be much easier said than done.
The rusted stove having been lit, the entire place felt over a hundred degrees, causing her clothes to stick to her body from sweat. Wiping her forehead underneath her bangs, she stared around at the reddish tint of the place.
“This place smells…awful,” she muttered. “Like burnt butter and smoke.” Sighing, she folded her hands together. “O divine witches, forgive me for trespassing on such a heavenly place.”
Distant barking, howling, and whining could be heard. Without wasting another second, she strode forwards, readying her crossbow.
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The beast cried as the bow pierced it. Swaying for merely a second, it collapsed to the ground. Though the dead creature’s face was contorted to one of pain, Pastry felt no pity for it, and was rather focused on the hordes of small cake monsters that nipped at her ankles and ripped her dress.
There’s so many of them! Just what happened to this place? Who did all of this? Attempting to put distance between the swarm and herself, she kicked them to the side, before attempting to run. However, not looking where she was going, she tripped over a small hound that was just a bit too close to her ankles.
She fell flat onto the ground, hitting his nose against the floor. “Shit…” she muttered, her gloved hands red with blood. She started to pull herself to her feet, but then she heard a voice call out.
“Ah! So you’re the one Pomegranate was talking about!”
Startled, she quickly stood up, looking for the source of the voice. Behind her, the cake swarm had stopped attacking her, and had instead turned their attention off in the distance. Looking to where they were, she saw a figure standing on top of a distant candy cane pillar. Despite the far distance between her and the figure, she could tell something was wrong with his right arm, for it looked much larger and more deformed than the other arm.
“Who are you?!” she yelled back. “And who is Pomegranate?” She brought her crossbow up, steadying it on her left arm.
Silence. The figure made no noise, and Pastry wasn’t quite sure if the figure had heard her. She opened her mouth to shout again, but then the figure jumped. With a great, bounding leap, he jumped from one pillar to another. As he approached, the gap quickly closed. Jumping from one last pillar, he landed right in front of her.
She tensed up, taking a step back from the stranger. Pastry was a very tall cookie, standing much taller than everyone in the St. Pastry Order, but this cookie managed to tower over her. His black hair with red streaks reached almost to his lower calf, and his blue gaze bore into hers. Looking down, she shuddered at his legs, knowing that there should have been no way for him to be able to close such a large gap between them that quickly. In his left arm, he held a sword that resembled a much sharper bread cutter that was barely taller than him. His right arm hung at his side, drawing her attention.
“Hm?” he noticed her staring at his arm. Bringing his monster-like arm up and clenching his fist, he asked, “Does this scare you?” He laughed as Pastry backed up, releasing his fist. “The name’s Red Velvet, pleased to meet your acquaintance. Are you here to work for me?”
Pastry’s face mixed to one of shock and disgust. “Work for you? What is this nonsense?”
“Hmph, I was simply trying to figure out what business you have being here. Pomegranate had commanded me to solve the issue, not necessarily to crumble you.”
Pastry quickly brought her crossbow up, holding it to Red Velvet’s neck. “I suggest you back away from me.”
The cookie refused to move. “Know your place. I think you forgot that my army is behind you, and if given the word, they will tear you to shreds.”
Though she heard growling from behind her, she refused to look back. Instead, she stared him in the eyes, surprise and hatred mixing together. “You’re the one responsible for all these cakes?”
“No, it was Pure Vanilla Cookie,” he replied sarcastically. “What, did you think that the cakes just came from nowhere? Of course someone was making them.”
“Why?!” she exclaimed. “You’re a cookie, the cakes are our greatest enemy! Why would you willingly create more of them?”
Red Velvet shook his head. “I would explain it to you, but what would be the point? You’d simply brush it off, try to convince me that I’m wrong. But have you ever stopped to wonder, why are we so different? We’re made of the same ingredients, yet only one of us was allowed to gain consciousness.”
“You’re part cake,” Pastry said, looking down at his arm. “Do you make more cakes because you sympathize with them, being one yourself?”
“I am both cake, and cookie. You avoid my question, because you know that I am right. So do your worst! If you refuse to join my side, and want to keep insulting my army, then we can fight it out. I’ll even keep my army out of it, to keep things even.”
“So be it,” Pastry replied. Muttering under her breath, she chanted a verse, before firing her crossbow.
Red Velvet, who had already bounded further away, was grazed by the arrow. His right, cake arm started bleeding, but he laughed. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
Pastry looked up at Red Velvet, finishing her chant. “And evil be purged!” she shouted. Suddenly, the wound started glowing, and Red Velvet fell to his knees with a noise of pain.
“What… did you… do to me?” he said, gasping for air as he tried to stimulate his body’s condition. Though he tried to simply shake the pain off, it burned, and pain rang in his voice.
“The Fork of Judgment. It can not hurt those who are innocent, or at least it can’t put them in the pain you are feeling now,” she explained, readying another shot. This time, I’ll hit him dead on.
“Hah!” he exclaimed. “What a self-righteous weapon! Deciding what is good and evil based on its user!”
She fired another shot, but he brought his cake arm up, protecting his chest. He yelled in pain as it struck, and he curled over, in unbearable pain. Yet he refused to call upon his army to help him. Though she fights with a weapon that seems unfair, I will not stoop to her levels. I promised a fight without my army, and that’s what she’ll get.
Another small click could be heard, and Red Velvet knew that this would be it. There’s no way to defend myself, because I can’t even move my arm right now. Closing his eyes and readying for death, he clenched his teeth together. But then he heard a whimpering, and pawing at his head.
“Chiffon?” he said, looking up and seeing the cake pup. Trembling, he reached his arm out towards Chiffon, to scratch him on the head. “My dear Chiffon. It’s alright, everything is alright.” The pup snuggled close against him, refusing to leave Red Velvet’s side, and instead stared up at Pastry with soft, sad eyes.
Looking up at Pastry, he saw she was at a loss for words. Narrowing his eyes and wrapped his good arm around Chiffon, he hissed, “Why the delay? Just shoot me already! Or do you see the cookie in me, and can’t bring yourself to finish your mission.”
Sighing, she turned away from him. “I have better things to do.” The pain finally getting to him, his vision ebbed into darkness as she walked away. Refusing to remove his arm from his beloved pet, he fell unconscious.
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Drenched in sweat, Pastry ran through the tower, shooting down the monsters with her crossbow. Making sure to watch her feet, her black combat boots pounded across the cake stained floor. The bottom of her shoes were covered in crusted frosting and jam, and the bottom of her dress was torn.
Though she tried to clear her mind, it just seemed to nag at her. Why did I spare him? He may have been cookie, but he was also cake. And he was the one creating all the cakes, so why did I spare him? Is it because… he was right? About the form of judgment? She shook her head. No, no, stop thinking like that. He wants you to think like that.
Eyes closed, she missed the pile of buttercream, and slipped. Teetering sideways, she fell off the narrow staircase of the tower. She barely had time to register that she was falling before she hit the ground. With an oomph, she heard a crack.
For a few seconds, she lay on the ground, tears forming in her eyes. But without letting them fall down her cheeks, she pushed up off the ground. Her chest burned, and her limbs trembled as she got up onto her knees. She ran her fingers along her chest, then sighed. Broken. Taking in a rough breath, she stood up. Shake it off. You have a mission to complete. When you get back you can visit the infirmary.
She stumbled forwards, head hung low. As she limped forwards, she did her best to ready her crossbow, almost hissing in pain. Sprained at the minimum. Will I have to go home? But… my mission.
A shadow loomed over her. Looking up, a huge wolf with three heads hovered over her. Each with candy cane colored horns, red frosting dripped off their heads and combined with the drool falling from their heads. The two on the left growled, while the one on the far right stared at her like she was a treat.
Trying to ignore her pain, she brought the crossbow up. I can fire one shot at a time. If I do this right, I can take out a head per shot. She angled it shakily at the distracted head, and fired. As it stuck between the eyes, she muttered a chant under breath.
“And evil be purged,” she finished, waiting for the light to glow, showing that the fork was working. But to her shock, the glowing never started. “Impossible,” she muttered, staring in fear at the cake hound in pain. “The fork deemed it… innocent?!”
The cake hound struck by the arrow looked down at her, its dorky face having shifted to anger. It growled, and before she could back away, it attacked. She threw her left arm up, in an attempt to protect herself.
At first, the shock kept her from feeling pain. The arm she threw up in defense was now in the mouth of the cake hound. The cake monster pulled back, and she didn’t go with it. Instead, her stomach dropped as strawberry jam started pouring out of her arm.
Suddenly, she seemed able to feel pain. Screaming, she fell to the ground. Where her arm was missing felt like it was on fire, and it was pouring strawberry jam. Crying, she used her good arm to rip off part of her skirt and tie it to her arm, but it was pointless. The jam continued to seep through her torn dress, and she could feel her vision fading away.
“No!” she said aloud. “Is this the end?”
The cake hound hovered over her, growling. Though it soon faded away, replaced by a ringing noise. And as she blacked out, she barely noticed the cake hound backing away from her, as if someone had told it to stand down.
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Pastry sat in a chair, light shining down on her face. All she could see was Reverend pacing around the room, clearly distressed, but also another emotion. One that Pastry had never seen her express before.
“So you left… without completing your mission?”
“Reverend, I’m sorry! But my ribs, ankle, and arm! If I had continued, I would have died!”
“So what?”
Pastry reeled back from shock. Reverend stopped pacing, and stared down at Pastry, her gaze cold and hard. Quickly taking a deep breath, she tried to justify herself. “So… what? Reverend, is our mission worth that?”
“This mission was everything!” she hissed. “It’s what our entire Order stands for! And you returned home without completing it!”
“No! I-I-I’m sorry! I’ll return, I just need to…”
“There’s no justification for your actions! Leave this Order… and never come back. Ever.”
Pastry shook her head, sobbing. “Mother, this isn’t like you! Please, it was a mistake! I’ll complete my mission, just give me the chance! Please! I can’t live without you guys!”
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Pastry sat up quickly, gasping for air. Looking around her, she recognized the red flames of the tower and the melting of cakes that did not belong in such a place. Reaching up with her right hand, she wiped the tears off of her face.
I was… dreaming? So… I’m still back at the tower. None of that ever happened.
She sighed in relief, starting to calm down. But as she looked around, memories began to come back to her. I fell, and then… there was a hound. The fork… the fork didn’t purge it. And then… my arm!
She quickly looked down at where her left arm should have been, preparing to see a crusted stump that somehow had clotted without her losing too much blood. Instead, what she saw she considered to be much worse.
A scream could be heard all throughout the tower. Red Velvet, who was tending to his wounds, looked up as he heard it. Smiling slightly, he muttered, “Sounds like she’s awake.”
Drawing in a sharp breath of pain as he stood up, he walked towards where he had left her. She stood out very clearly in the scene of red, being mostly purples. As he got closer, she was standing, and her head was dipped down.
He opened his mouth to call out to her, but then he was suddenly cut off. She had rushed him, and using her left hand, she grabbed him by the neck and held him up.
“What the hell did you do to me?!” she yelled.
He opened his mouth to reply, but her grip tightened, not allowing him to speak. Choking on his words, he pointed to his neck with his cake arm.
Knowing she won’t get answers out of him unless she gave him his way, she angrily put him down. Rubbing his throat, he glared up at her, “I saved your life, that’s what I did.”
“Saved my life?!” she said, appalled by the thought. “You made me like you!”
Indeed, Pastry was now like Red Velvet. Her arm, which should have been a stump, was replaced with a huge, cake monster hand, one similar to that of his. But hers had a much more distinct coloring of yellow angel cake with a white melting cream pattern on top of it, looking similar to the coat of the hound he had called ‘Chiffon’ earlier.
“Would you have rather die?” he asked. “I called down Cakeberus, I attempted to stop the bleeding with a bandage. Nothing was working, so I made this for you as a last resort. I wasted a lot of materials for that arm, you know?”
“Why?!” she yelled angrily. “I didn’t ask for it! We’re enemies, for fucks sake!”
“Don’t think I did it because I wanted to!” he yelled back. “You spared Chiffon earlier, so I was simply returning the favor. You kept him alive, I’ll keep you alive… this time.”
He watched as she turned and started away from him, limping. “Where are you going?!” he called. “Don’t you have a mission you’re supposed to complete here?”
“I am retreating to get my wounds treated and get this wretched arm off of me. Be warned, the next time I leave this place, its lands will be reclaim by the St. Pastry Order. You can be sure of it.”