Chapter Text
•★•••★•
The battle in the Spire was intense and humiliating, to say the least.
His other-half, once his own perfect Truthless Recluse, had awakened. And with the awakened form, he had used it to his own advantage and practically overpowered his 'oh-so-beautiful' black and blue deceit with his white and golden compassion. And no matter the fierce battle that occurred in his own home, despite being a Beast whose powers should be feared, he lost.
It was so humiliating. Embarrassing. Ridiculous, even!
At that moment, Candy Apple and Black Sapphire summoned a portal and physically urged their master to fall back. To retreat. To run away from his finalized defeat.
Shadow Milk, caught up in his exhaustion and anger, had raised his staff in weak retaliation and launched a spell at the awakened Pure Vanilla who was still adjusting to his new form. It was a random spell, that got rebounded by Pure Vanilla's own quick counterspell, and immediately all he saw was a bright white light enveloping his senses.
His ears rang loudly to the unwelcome light, hurting his eyes and mind badly.
He feels as if his ears bled out jam. The agony to hear the earsplitting sound was torture.
The last thing he heard was a faint cry of his own name, a scream and a fearful shout, as he faded into nothingness.
•★•••★•
He was there, in his own Spire.
And then he wasn't, thanks to that stupid Ancient for whatever spell he ended up casting on him.
Shadow Milk felt like he was floating in water, his surroundings thick and dense of air. His limbs felt wobbly and numbed, unmovable, as his mind struggled to keep him active.
'Is this death?' He thinks to no one in particular. He feels tired. So tired.
Death... didn't feel so scary now. Maybe people overexaggerate the feeling since they never felt it themselves. Or perhaps something else, like realizing you can't die knowing (subconsciously) what you done for yourself in the real world.
His mind slowly loses its pace, succumbing to the cold air that waits for his floating body to feed itself into the void.
'This is death,' he thinks faintly before he blanks out completely.
From afar, a very faint yet distinct call reaches for him. The golden eye appears and opens its eyelid, desperately scanning the darkness for any sign of his other half.
The golden eye, with hope and fear, prays that the Beast of Deceit had not faded to death just yet.
He can be saved.
He has to.
•★•••★•
Shadow Milk woke up with a start, gasping for one chunk of air. He hacks a cough in turn, apparently inhaling too strong for the throat. His eyes opened with fervor, and even that was a mistake because he was greeted with the sun's bright rays meeting the insides of his pupils.
He screams. "What in Witches hell—"
And then he noticed something wrong. Something very wrong.
First off, he sits in an unfamiliar bed with a small blanket covering his legs. His body held more weight, his skin meeting loose clothing instead of his usual black jester jumpsuit with exaggerated frills to the collar. He feels too exposed, his neck bare to the cool air emitting from the room.
Secondly, the room itself.
And boy, the room was the ugliest Shadow Milk has ever seen in his entire life as the Beast of Deceit. He stares, disturbed and disgusted, at the dirty beige wall with obvious cracks and ripped wallpaper torn in the room's corners. The floors looked recently cleaned, but wherever he's at, the dust would pile up steady and quick.
He sneezes.
Oh and third of all. He's wearing a dress. A damn dress.
And ohhhh no, it's not one of those frilly or plump or slim dresses you'd see Cookies wear in formal occasions. No. It's way worse. He's wearing a damn ragged one. Old and improper, dirty and torn, and he's wearing such abomination.
Him, the Beast of Deceit, wearing rags? Unheard of!
He threw off the small blanket, grossed out, and jumped out of bed. He landed on his two feet, and that's when he noticed the most astonishing thing yet.
He has feet.
He looked at his hands.
He has fingers!
Shadow Milk stares in a mix of awe and horror. He looks at himself, slowly taking in his new form. His skin is still blue, but now his arms and legs felt more... longer and heavy. He clasps his hands opening and closing, and he notes how it reminds him of a sea octopus because of its flexibility.
"... I have human traits," he discerns easily with a mutter. He feels his face, multiple times. It's not circular anymore. It's a whole different shape. And if he's correct, his head: it has a solid structure inside.
Bone. He has a human skull.
His mind frazzled, confused and angry and horrified.
Not only he has human traits, he's a human.
"What in Witches hell is going on?! Why am I a human?! What sort of trickery did that stupid gnat place on me?!" Shadow Milk tries to move, but he forgets he can't float; he fell onto the wooden floors with a loud THUD! and he winces in pain.
"Gah!"
"Girls, stop making so much noise up there!" A skittish female voice yelled up from somewhere, causing Shadow Milk to freeze up. He doesn't know who that was, but that tone suggests it’s an annoyed adult woman.
"It's not me, Mother!" Another female voice screams back, this one much closer to Shadow Milk's room. "It must be ■■■■ dropping her ugly makeup set!”
“It’s not me, either!” Another voice screams in retaliation.
There’s so much screaming, and Shadow Milk hadn’t even been here for 2 minutes! He groans loudly in his poor excuse of a room he’s in. “Would you guys shut up or something?! It’s too early for this shit!”
And apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
Silence ran through the house, and before Shadow Milk could be thankful for the gnats put in their place for their unnecessary loud voices, the adult woman’s voice could be heard.
“Excuse me?”
Her tone is deadly.
Shadow Milk rolls his eyes even though no one was in the room. Up until he hears heels stomping up and up and up...
He’d scoff at her intimidation, he really would, but for some stupid reason his body shudders. His heart hammers against his... his ribcage. He forgot for a second that he’s human with flesh and bones.
The steps grow louder and louder, warning him that the lady of the moment is near. Her boots must be heavy; he can hear it clamp on the wooden floors.
‘What is she going to do, hit me with a broom? To a Beast? Hah!’ He dared to think this with a sneer. If she did, he’ll just blast her with a spell!
No one would dare lay a finger on him.
That was until that adult woman, with whatever impeccable strength she had, kicked open the door with a loud SLAM! She looked pissed off. If her tone suggests deadly, her face emits deadlier.
Behind her followed two more faces with bemused grins. They looked younger, and honestly, ugly.
(Well. They just have decent faces. He wouldn’t know, as a former Cookie.)
“With what authority,” the stepmother growls lowly. “—in this house of mine, do you have to speak to me in such audacious manner, Cinderella?!”
Shadow Milk’s eyes had never been wider as he finds himself on the ground, stunned and open-mouthed at this... revelation.
“... Excuse me?”
•★•••★•