Chapter Text
The last thing Mr. Sandman had expected when making it to the squared circle was seeing the world around him dissolving into clusters of jagged light – it was as if the ring, the stadium, the audience had blurred into the most nauseating of abstract paintings. Blocks of the brightest and most sickeningly saturated color painted the atmosphere, the floor, the ceiling…his body.
He looked down at himself only to see that his legs and torso were nothing more than flickering particles of God knows what was consuming everything and everyone in the room - in the world? He had no words for the terror that gripped him, logical faculties frozen in fear.
A hand touched his shoulder, phasing in and out of visibility, arms enveloping what remained of the large man.
The man those arms sprung from gave him a sympathetic look, the solemn comfort given to someone who too was destined to be destroyed. He had a gaunt, thin frame, his wiry arms barely able to wrap around the larger man. The left side of his weathered face was concealed by auburn hair, an unusually long fringe that looked almost adolescent in style, contrasting with his middle-aged appearance.
With the left half of his face the only part of him not yet ravaged by the abstract distortion, Mr. Sandman's horror was only tempered by incredulity that his opponent was hugging him, devoid of the cosmic fear inherent in the situation.
"I used to say that I couldn't fix your corrupted parts, but you won't have to face them alone. Well, I lied. I can fix things, but I'm not going to be around for much longer," the last few words trailed off, voice wavering with emotion. His face was still buried in the clusters of flashing pixelation that used to be Mr. Sandman's shoulder.
The redheaded man pulled away from Sandman, the same blocky particles engulfing his body from the waist up. He no longer had any arms to hold the other with.
Mr. Sandman was nothing but glowing pixelation now, with the exception of his left eye that gawked at the other with the helpless inevitability of a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
Before the particles could obscure his face, the older man grimaced at him with a sharp inhale, choking down any tears that threatened to flow from his tired eyes. He forced a smile instead.
"The pain will be gone soon. Please...live on and be happy!" He just barely barked out the words as the lump in his throat gave way to a hoarse cry of anguish.
Dark. Empty. Void.
The scene before Mr. Sandman and the agony that terrorized every cell of his being was gone. Everything was gone. He was the only thing left in his observable universe - he had the sensation that not even a god was there to save him. Did he even exist anymore? What did it mean to exist? How would he get out of here?
Make it stop!
Make it stop!
MAKE IT-
His bedroom ceiling appeared before him. Heart pounding, sweat dripping and body quaking, the familiar scenery couldn't convince him that this was indeed reality.
