Chapter Text
The kingdom of Hatchetfield is a normal one. Nothing too grand or great, nothing too horrible, fairly average, or at least it was. Years and years ago, a particular king wasn’t satisfied with the blandness of his lands so he summoned six great and powerful demons. He thought he could control them, use their power for his own. But he was wrong. The six evils quickly got out of hand, spreading chaos and pain to every corner of the kingdom.
One of the demons changed, however. She met a child, one with magic in her blood, one who used that magic for good. Once the demon realized what she could use her own power for, she decided to be good. When she tried to convince her brothers to do the same, they thought her weak and tried to destroy her.
The redeemed demon knew she couldn’t beat them all on her own. By now, the child was a grown woman and she decided to help her pry the demonic control off of the land. She became the White Witch. Her sinister brothers didn’t consider it fair that she got a magic helper, so they dragged a poor, desperate soul to their side. He became the Black Sorcerer. They didn’t like sharing this soul, however.
The normally green, lush hills were stained with wet, crimson blood. Scores of bodies lay on the ground, chopped down like a forest. Thatch roofs burned, the air stained with its acrid black smoke, stinging Wilbur’s lungs. The faces of corpses were etched in permanent terror, some had knives and arrows still sticking out their backs.
Wilbur walked through the streets, the sound of his leather bag thudding against his leg with each step echoed throughout the now forever silent town. His thick, black cloak billowed behind him, like a storm cloud. Whenever he passed another life long gone, he’d glance at their face, looking for a specific person. So far, he hasn’t found who he's looking for. The longer he searched, the angrier he got.
After a few minutes of searching, Wilbur felt a hand wrap around his leg. Jerking his foot away, he looked down on a woman, a large wound on her shoulder soaked her plain, brown dress in scarlet. Her hand reached out again, meekly. “Please.” Her voice was small and scratchy. “Help me.”
Wilbur squatted low to the ground, looking at the woman without an ounce of care in his eyes. He raised a finger to her mouth with a shush and picked up her head with his other hand. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto Wilbur’s tunic sleeve. Resisting the urge to wipe it off, he placed two fingers on the side of her head.
He closed his eyes as a faint green light filled the woman’s eyes. She gasped as her body went stiff, almost sitting out of Wilbur’s arms. Wilbur reached around her mind, trying to find the location of the one he’s here for. After a few seconds in this state, the light left her eyes and she fell limp in his arms, void of breath. He dropped her body with a harsh thud and stood up, dusting himself off.
With newfound purpose, he strutted past all the right huts, took all the right turns, leading him to where he was supposed to be. The door to this hut was dangling on its hinges, blocking his entry. With a flick of his wrist, the door vanished, as if it was never there. His boots thudded on the wood floor as he entered.
Laying on the ground in front of him, finally, is the thing he’s looking for. Wilbur wolf-whistled. “Well, hello, naughty list.” He made his way over to the cold body of Paul Matthews. Once there, he sat on his knees and studied him. His hair was messy, matted with his own blood; face blank and mouth agape, no strength left in him to express ever again. At least, it never should express again .
His legs shifted and crossed over one another. He gently picked up the man’s head and placed it on his lap while he opened his bag with his other hand. Feeling around the space, his fingers wrapped around the cold metal of a knife. As he pulled it out, the black metal blade shined in the light filtering through the small hole that counted as a window here.
Taking a deep breath, he started talking. “I offer this man to the Lord In Black, Pokotho.” He pressed the knife to the man’s unmoving throat, not deep enough to stab but deep enough to slice. Delicately, he carved small and intricate symbols on his neck, partially matching the scars on Wilbur’s hands.
As he carved, he spoke to the air. “I offer his voice, forever Yours to speak through.” Blood didn’t well out of the wounds but they still showed his red insides. Once finished, he shoved the knife back inside his bag,
With his hand still inside, he pulled out a mason jar filled with a mysterious blue slime. He slid the lid off, letting it clatter onto the floor. Wilbur raised the jar to the man’s lips. The goo sloshed down into his mouth. It moved down his throat on its own, defying physics, as if it were alive.
“I offer his body, forever Yours to puppeteer.” His voice rang out with authority.
He placed the jar back into his bag with a clink. Taking a deep breath, he simply stared at Paul again. Why him? He wondered. Out of everyone in the kingdom, why did his Lord want this person as a servant? A swoop of hair covered his eye and Wilbur brushed it away. What is so special about him?
Suddenly, he gasped deeply as his eyes shot open, shimmering blue. He whipped his head around wildly, shooting up in a sitting position, out of Wilbur’s grasp. “Wh-what’s going on?” His voice shook in panic, body trembling in fear, chest heaving with violent breaths. When he spoke, it sounded slightly muffled by the copious amount of blood still within his mouth.
Wilbur placed a hand on Paul’s chest. “Hey, it’s alright.” He spoke, gently but with a sharp edge. “Calm down.”
Paul obeyed, slowing movements, going slightly loose in Wilbur’s arms. Tears started sprouting from his eyes, no longer water but the same blue gunk that forced its way down his throat a few seconds ago. “I-I thought I died.” He sounded slightly relieved.
“You did.” Wilbur responded simply. Paul stared at him in confusion. “Wh-what?” Ignoring him, Wilbur moved the hand on Paul’s chest to his head, threading his fingers between his hair. He leaned in close to Paul’s ear and whispered. “Do you hear that?”
Paul swallowed thickly, feeling as if there was something lodged in vocal cords. “He-hear wh-” His eyes suddenly went wide, eyebrows pointed down in fear, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. He went tense, hands and legs twitching every now and then, jerking in a specific direction as if they were being pulled.
His eyes rotated around wildly in their sockets, as if looking for something. Every now and then, he’d grunt, as if something was hitting him. Tears streamed down his face with reckless abandon. Wilbur pulled away to watch him writhing in his arms. He’s fighting it, Wilbur noticed, somewhat impressed. He started speaking again, keeping his eyes firmly on Paul. “I offer his mind, forever Yours to think with.”
When Wilbur spoke, Paul was supposed to succumb to the control but he wasn’t. Interesting. The violently shaky hands of Paul started to move up Wilbur’s arms, reaching out for help presumably. Wilbur obliged and pulled Paul closer, practically hugging him. With his hands still in Paul’s hair, he started running his fingers through it. “Shh,” He whispered. “It’s gonna be alright. Ya just gotta stop fightin’.”
He nodded dumbly against his shoulder and after a moment, the fear on his face melted away to joy, a gaping smile that showed a mouth filled with blue goo instead of spit. The pink of his tongue and mouth started turning a faded and light blue. “I do hear it.” He said joyfully, even chuckling a little after speaking. “It’s beautiful.”
Wilbur pulled away and smiled at him. “Good.” He moved the hand holding Paul’s head up to his cheek. Paul’s eyes were fixed soundly on the ceiling above. “How do ya feel?” He asked. The expression on Paul’s face oozed contentment. “Wonderful.” Pure euphoria shook his voice. “Good.” Wilbur repeated.
Green smoke started forming around Wilbur and Paul, fog curling around them protectively. Paul’s gaze was still fixed upwards, ignoring his surroundings. Once they were fully covered up, wind came from nowhere, spinning the smoke in a whirlwind. Spiraling around in maddening circles, the two’s hair flapped around in said wind. After a moment in this tornado, it dissipated.
Now, they sat down on the cool, dark blue stones of an empty amphitheater stage that was indoors. Dark metallic sconces on the walls lit aflame with blue fire as a deep voice rang out across the room. “Rise.” The two parted from each other and instantly shot to their feet, Paul did so jerkily, as if forcibly pulled up, while Wilbur placed his hands behind his back.
The clicks of boot heels on stone grew closer and closer. Paul stared at the dark doorway on the other side with curiosity while Wilbur watched with slight anxiety. Out of the darkness, a regal looking man adorned in every shade of blue stepped out. The same blue goo pumping in Paul’s heart dripped from the figure walking forward. His fur lined cape dragged across the floor.
Wilbur held his breath as He reached Paul. While he was sure he wasn’t in trouble, this specific demonic lord always put him on edge. “Hello.” He greeted Paul with a smile, showing off His surprisingly sharp teeth. He placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder while he responded unsurely. “H-hello.”
“You sound scared.” The demon commented, voice slathered in comforting honey. “Don’t be.” Suddenly, every ounce of trepidation in Paul vanished and his shoulders slumped in calm. That smile from a bit ago started forming again even.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked. Paul tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. After a few seconds of staring, he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
The demon laughed melodically. “No, don’t worry about it. All in due time.” He snapped his head over to Wilbur, all sense of mirth gone. “Take him to his room, then return.” Wilbur bowed his head and then grabbed Paul’s arm.
Paul stared at him with wide eyes as he was dragged down the hall. The rock walls became blurs of the black stones as Wilbur walked so fast, it was more of a run. They had taken a few turns before Paul pulled his arm out of Wilbur’s grasp. Wilbur stumbled slightly when he did so. “I can walk myself.” Paul remarked. A small “hmm” escaped Wilbur as he squinted at Paul.
Paul felt small under Wilbur’s stare, even backing up a little, but before the scrutiny grew too long, Wilbur turned around and continued his speedy walk. He followed him in silence, trying his best to keep up with Wilbur. They turned onto a spiraling staircase, stomping their way up. Very quickly, they reached a trap door. Wilbur stared at the door and it suddenly swung open with no movements from him.
Wilbur finished climbing the stairs and Paul followed. When he stepped into the room, he stared around in amazement. The chamber itself was a circle. A comfortable looking bed with royal blue sheets had a curved headboard, letting it fit right in with the strange shaped wall.
Dozens of instruments that Paul didn’t even recognize much less knew how to play were organized throughout the room. A thick, intricately designed blue rug sat underneath the bed. Light filtered through the blue stained glass windows, covering the already fairly blue room in even more of the color. A desk sat under the window, covered in neatly organized papers, and was sandwiched between two very large closets.
There was even a fancy, regal looking private bathtub in the corner, something Paul has never even seen before.
Wilbur spread his arms. “Welcome to your room.”
Paul looked shocked and pointed a finger at his chest. “Me?”
Wilbur slapped Paul’s shoulder. “Yep.” With that, he started walking across the wooden floor, about to go back down the stairs. “Wait.” Paul stopped him.
A small sigh left Wilbur as he turned back to him. “What?”
Paul started fidgeting with his hands, looking down at the ground. “Um, just, uh, what’s happening? To me. Right now.”
Wilbur stared at him, expression unreadable, before raising a finger and pointing to the sky. “Do ya still hear that?”
Paul tilted his head, raising his ear as he listened to the sound. Gentle, beautiful pianos filled his mind, shoving all his worries away. He grinned softly. “Yeah.”
He was so busy listening he didn’t notice how Wilbur was already close to him again, hand on his shoulder. “Do you understand what it’s saying?”
Paul grew confused. “Sh-should I?”
“Once you do, it’ll all make sense.” At that, Wilbur turned around and successfully managed to leave the room. Paul didn’t feel any less confused but once he listened to that song again, he forgot about his confusion.
Wilbur started running back to the chamber he arrived in. His mind flashed back to when he first was brought here, how his constant running back and forth made his legs hurt every day. By now, he was used to his constant tugging around. Hopefully, Paul will help with that.
He reentered the amphitheater, the demon standing there, waiting. Wilbur bowed again. “Milord.” The demon didn’t acknowledge him, He merely stood there, studying his cracked stone mask. “He’s not ready yet.” There was an edge of anger in His voice and Wilbur felt a pang of fear in his chest.
“He is puttin’ up a surprising fight but, rest assured, he will succumb to Your power.”
“He’d better.” Pokey sneered.
Wilbur lived in a tower in Castle Black that could not be farther from Paul’s room, so color him surprised when Paul poked his head in the next day when Wilbur was in the middle of his research. “Hey.” His mildly melodic voice sounded behind him.
Wilbur whipped around with a raised eyebrow, the open book he was holding nearly falling out his hand as he did so. “What are you doin’ here?”
Paul shrugged, bouncing his newly acquired dark blue cloak, as he looked at the many, many books and trinkets in Wilbur’s room. Open books and papers were scattered across the floor in a mess, ink bottles and quills were on any flat surface, magical artifacts lay pretty much anywhere, candle wax covered any semi-clean spot. His bed was hidden underneath said mess but none of the chaos in the room caught Paul’s eye.
In the middle of the whole room stood a tall apple tree. It was so tall, it even poked out the hole in the roof, letting faint light shimmer through its branches, lighting both the room and the leaves aglow. Dozens of apples hung off the tree, each a different color. Most were normal, green, pink, yellow. But some were blue and purple and Paul couldn’t help but look at the rainbow.
“What’s that?” Paul said with curiosity. Wilbur turned to the tree, trying to see if there was something special with it that he hadn’t noticed. “A tree.” He said, simply. “What ‘bout it?”
Paul chuckled. “Yeah, a tree with the weirdest looking fruit.” He took steps closer.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen an apple ‘fore?”
Paul sighed as he turned to Wilbur. “I’ve seen an apple before, just not a purple one.” He turned back to the tree and placed a hand on its thick bark. “There was an apple tree back home…” His voice drifted off and a melancholic expression spread on his face. Some blue gunk started forming in his eyes.
Wilbur sighed as he reached into the many leaves and plucked out a cyan tinted apple. He heard Paul start speaking, voice choked by his sorrow. “Why did I live?” He asked.
“Whatcha mean?” Wilbur replied as he polished the apple on his tunic.
Paul shakily turned his head to him. “Why did they all have to die and I get to live?” He sniffled after he managed to get the wordy sentence out. Wilbur stared at him for a moment before answering.
“Some people are born with magic in their blood.” He started but he was cut off by Paul’s laugh. “What? Are you saying I was?” He said with an incredulous smile.
When Wilbur didn’t say anything, the smile on his face vanished. “I,” He pointed to his chest. “Have magic?” He asked, eyes wide and jaw dropped.
Wilbur nodded. “Yep, and as I was sayin’,” He bit back, making Paul shrink away. “There are beings in this realm of pure power and darkness.” He held out his hand and a black mist started pouring from it. It reeked of death and spread throughout the room, blocking out the meek sunlight, making everything invisible except for Paul and Wilbur. Paul watched the smoke, forehead creased with worry.
“They can give ya the power to harness that magic, bring everyone to their knees, make everyone fear your name, hurt those that hurt ya.” He started smiling maniacally and balled his hand into a fist, making the mist cease pouring. “Ya just gotta open yourself to ‘em.” The smoke started slowly dissipating, gradually letting the light in again.
Wilbur noticed that Paul’s head was tilted to the side and the fear on his face was gone. Not seeing any reason to stop, he continued and started walking towards Paul. “You are here,” He slapped his free hand on the distant looking Paul. “Because one of those beings likes ya.” Wilbur chuckled while Paul remained impassive.
“I’d consider it a compliment.” Paul nodded at his words, as a content smile started to grow on his face again. Wilbur held out the apple. “Want one?” He asked, shaking the fruit tantalizingly. Without thinking, Paul reached out and grabbed the apple. He bit into it hungrily with a satisfying crunch, delicious juice pouring down his chin. It was the best apple he’d ever eaten and it was gone in a minute.
Paul found out the day after he died that he didn’t really need to sleep anymore, but he still liked doing it. There was something comforting in the security of sleep. A respite, a nice wool blanket after a long day working in the market. Not that he needed to do that anymore either. Anything he could have wanted is right at his fingertips. As he lay down in his silk sheets for the second time, he wonders if this is what royalty feels like.
He should feel content, he knows, and that entrancing, elegant music oft convinces him of that fact but it feels wrong. This wildly comfortable bed, these fancy clothes, this entire castle to explore, none of this feels right. It feels like a lie.
Back in his village, he had a friend who took up hunting for a few months. The friend didn’t enjoy doing it, hence why it was only a few months, but he was good at it, at least from what he heard. First, he’d kill a rabbit or squirrel, what have you, then, he’d leave it out in the open until something bigger came along. It’d eat the small animal, and right when its guard is lowered, he’d strike. Bill would always have this sad look in his eyes after killing.
He never took pride in hunting animals, something Paul respected greatly, so he took up a job in the market, right alongside Paul. That’s how they went from mere neighbors to friends. Sadness panged in Paul’s heart. He’ll never be able to see Bill again. Paul shifted around in his bed. Bill is gone, same as everyone else he knew.
Soldiers of a rival kingdom attacked out of nowhere, slaughtering all Paul knew and loved, burning down houses as they went along. He doesn’t know where they went after but he’s sure if he ever saw them again, he’d kill them. They took away his home, his friends, his family, his life. Fuck Clivesdale for what they did. But, alas, what could he do? He’s only a-
He shot up, resting himself on his hands. That’s right, what the magic guy said. He has magic in him. If he taps into that power, he could avenge everyone. Bill, Charlotte, Ted… Emma. He threw himself out of his bed, feet colliding with the cold wood floor and he stared at his hands. Now, how does he do that?
What did the magic guy say? Open himself up to them? He balled his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. What does that mean, anyway? Opening up. Open up to what? The only thing of note was the music constantly playing in his head. That’s it! He realized.
He started focusing on that music, hanging off of every note, listening to it like his life depended on it. New instruments joined in as he focused. Flutes, strings, drums. It made one continuous, relaxing song. Paul’s brain started feeling fuzzy, strength behind his muscles started ebbing away and he began to fall to the floor. Before he could collide, he felt arms catch him.
Paul snuggled into whosoever caught him, rubbing his face on the person’s soft tunic. A small groan of contentment escaped him as he did so. He felt the person holding his cheek gently and they slowly lowered to the ground. “Ya listenin’?” The person asked. Paul nodded with a grin.
“What is it sayin’?” They asked as they brushed a piece of Paul’s hair behind his ear. That pesky swoop. Words started slowly making their way through the music, slowly getting louder and louder. They rattled around Paul’s void of a mind, becoming the only thing he could conceive. The words started coming out of his mouth in the form of a song, voice muffled by the shoulder of the person holding him.
“Every heart falls to corruption, every world doomed to destruction, and the shadows, and the echoes are a feeble reconstruction.” The stranger ran their hands through Paul’s hair as he continued. “All you are and all you’ll be, all will soon be one with me, stay with me, soon you’ll see, bow to my philosophy.”
The stranger supplied a gray and cracked stone mask out of nowhere as Paul kept on going. “ All is dark, all is cold, give to me your heart and soul.” They placed the mask on Paul’s face. His voice should have become muffled but it instead became louder. The eyes of the mask glowed bright blue and he started standing up.
“ Those that dare to hope crawl up from the rubble, your feeble lives are not worth the struggle,” His voice grew stronger as he rose to his feet, some other voice from nowhere joining in. “I will take away your pain, I will leave you dry and drained, to resist would be insane, now we assimilate. ”
Suddenly, the mask stopped glowing and Paul grew silent, not even a hum. Wilbur watched him with bated breath. This is it, now or never. After an agonizingly long moment, Paul grabbed the mask off his face with both hands. He held it above his face and stared at it. Slowly, he tilted his head and smiled wide at it.
Wilbur stood up and placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You were right, Wilbur.” He said, still smiling. “It does make sense now.” He ran a hand delicately over the smooth yet cracked stone. “I was chosen to become His puppet long ago. My only purpose is to serve Him.” He spoke adoringly to the mask as he let it go. But it didn’t clatter to the floor. Some unseen force held it suspended in the air.
In the time Wilbur blinked, Paul was suddenly turned to him. Paul grabbed Wilbur’s head and pulled it close. The two held their foreheads together as Paul spoke, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Wilbur chuckled at his intensity, oh, he’s gonna like him. His breath brushed against Paul’s face. “No problem.” The two held their heads together for a bit longer, at least until Paul felt the call of his Lord. When he pulled away, he seemed rather reluctant.
Since then, Paul rarely had a moment to himself. Whenever Pokotho needed something, Paul was the one He called. In the moments he did have free, he spent those in Wilbur’s room.
Wilbur was placing various objects in a large cauldron as Paul sat on the patch of green earth neath the apple tree. He hummed absentmindedly as he pulled at the bark on the tree. As he watched Wilbur, his mind flashed to something he thought long forgotten. Or least hoped was long forgotten.
Paul sat under the town’s apple tree, the shade it provided cooled down his sweat stained clothes. It was a real scorcher today, he imagined Emma had to be going through it. “Hey, Paul.” Speak of the devil. Paul turned to see the farmhand was slowly making her way over. A smile tugged at his lips.
She plopped down on the ground next to him, shooting dirt up as she did so. “Today was hell.” Emma complained as she wiped her forehead. “Nora wouldn’t let me go until we cleared the whole field.”
He propped his hand up on his leg and placed his head in his hand. With a coy smirk, he said, “Wow, sounds like you should revolt. Have you tried guillotining?”
Emma laughed playfully, a sound that Paul has greatly missed. “ I was thinking I should enlist in the king’s army.”
Paul raised his eyebrows. “Wow, poor Clivesdale, they won’t stand a chance.”
Emma eyed him with a grin. “Are you making fun of me, Paul?”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh as he pulled his head out his hand. “No, the exact opposite. You’d be a great knight. Genuinely.”
Emma’s mood suddenly soured as her smile disappeared. “None so great as ‘The Amazing Jane Perkins’.” She raised her hands mockingly. Seeing her like this made Paul’s heart ache. Paul placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” He chastised her. “You are just as great as your sister, Em.”
She turned to stare at him, considering his words as he continued. “Hell, you could be even better than her. You’ve just gotta find what you’re great at.” Her face broke out in a smile. “Thanks, Paul.”
He gave a thumbs up. “No problem.” Emma continued to stare at him for a moment before she spoke again. “Paul, I love you.”
Paul’s eyes shot up in raw shock but she continued. “I think you are sweet, you’re always there for me, you’re really cute.” Paul started blushing and his brain stopped working a little. “Do you love me too?”
This was the easiest question he’d ever had in his life. “Yes.” He answered immediately. She instantly pulled in for a kiss. He reciprocated and it was one of the most amazing moments of Paul’s life.
“You good?” Wilbur’s voice interrupted Paul’s thoughts. He turned over his shoulder to see that Wilbur placed a hand there. “Yeah,” He choked out, to his own surprise. Paul raised a hand to his face and felt the blue goo seeping out his eyes and he sniffled. Wilbur pulled his hand away.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He repeated. Wilbur sighed as he sat down next to him. “What’s wrong?” He asked as he slid down the side of the tree. Paul grabbed the edge of his cloak and started playing with it.
“This tree just reminded me of something.”
“Something or someone?” Wilbur asked. Paul stared at him with wide eyes. Wilbur chuckled as he jerked his head over to where Paul was peeling bark. Paul turned his head to see he tore off a solid chunk of the tree. “You don’t do that if it ain’t somethin’ serious.”
Paul reluctantly nodded. “Someone.” He answered.
Wilbur clicked his tongue. “I get it. The road we walk is a lonely one.” He took a deep breath and looked at the wall. “We’ve all lost loved ones, Paul.” His voice sounded far away. “You’ve just gotta let it all go.”
“Or, maybe find something new?” Paul asked with a hint of optimism. Wilbur jerked his head over to him. “Would that help ya?” He asked.
Paul leaned closer to him. “Depends. Would that help you?”
Wilbur smiled as he leaned his forehead against Paul’s. “Yeah.” His breath brushed Paul’s face again, this time it made him smile.
“Then yes.” Paul raised his hands to the sides of Wilbur’s head as he kissed him. Wilbur leaned into it hard, making Paul stagger back, forcing him to prop himself up by his hands but their lips remained locked. It was one of the most amazing moments of Paul’s life.