Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

‘Kris’ grasped a shard of dark glass in their hands. It cracked and splintered in their grip, twisting into flesh, blood dripping down their fingers. 

Each drop splattered against the ground, painting the golden flowers with their essence. The reflection of dark skin and a stone-slate blade wrenched into their pupils, bouncing from their iris. 

Dark scarlet eyes. Blank and empty. Staring down at their hands. One cupped beneath the other, catching each precious, slimy drop. 

The gash in their palm opened wide and bubbled warmly. Staining obsidian-glass with bright orange finish, each passing second stained it lighter and lighter.

They crushed the glass further in their palm. Blank and empty. Dark scarlet eyes, dark scarlet blood. Empty and blank. Expression neutral, stolid, placid. The glass made a sickly, miserable noise. 

Fully clenching their hand, the shards burrowed deep. Yet, they didn't flinch. Merely basking, idly, in the breadth of their victory.

Beneath them, where one metalclad foot had stomped down, something squirmed beneath. ‘Kris’ stood above it.

A voice called out to them as they stared down at the radiant being beneath them. 

“IT’S TIME. FOR US TO DEPART.” 

‘Kris’ tilted their head only slightly. Crinkling their fingers together, they inhaled—and a second later, they exhaled. The blood leaking down started to stream again, backward, until they stagnated, and formed floating coagulations.

“IT’S TIME FOR OUR.

GAME TO BEGIN.” 

‘Kris’ smiled. The expression was dark-shaded. Sickening. Nauseating. Enough to spin the world around on strings. 

“MAY THE WAR. BEGIN.” 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Kris stared ahead.

The wind whipped around. The blackness had grown darker. The shadows sliced deeper. A salty breath of rough air tousled their matted hair.

Susie stared back. 

The thin scent of petals and grass grew. Hints of vinegar, cinnamon, and ancient smoke wafted through their nostrils. Kris held their breath.

“It isn't true.” Her eyes stayed covered. Closing her fists in the air, she shook with barely contained fury, lost in the flowing of her clothes and hair. 

Kris closed their eyes. Despite their blocked vision, their senses stretched.

Loud, blaring darkness grew tall. Scaling above the clouds, impaling into heaven with a blasting smokestack. Peeling away the clouds with power coursing, pyrrhic fire and sputtering embers. The flame burned hot onto their skin. The taste of mercury and rotten glass shifted across their tongue, the scratch of air down their throat, and Kris lifted their head in response.

Just as the wind fell across their face, air danced across their vocal chords, and their strings flinched taut. Kris answered, a forceful gesture of defiance and gratitude. “It is.” 

They stared straight at her, their eyes unclouded. The piercing red had dulled as she spoke to them, and their acerbic, regretful mood turned over and fled.

“Maybe not all of it.” They felt empty, like there was a cavernous hole where their soul should have been. Their voice, however, did not shake or falter as they affirmed. “But I’ve done bad things. Lots of bad things.”

“Why?” Susie quivered with rage, shaking like any of the golden leaves blowing in the breeze around them. Splitting between them, the looping vortex circled loosely, nature’s intent to shroud their emotions from each other. Kris took a step forward as Susie spoke again. “What happened to you, Kris? I thought,” her voice grew low, and her hands relaxed, “I thought… I thought you were my friend.” 

Kris felt their heart leap. “I still am.” Pounding against their head, blood vessels twisting and- 

They steadied themself. None of that. No visceral commentary. No dark and gruesome imagery. Kris wouldn't stand a second more of the repetitive, degenerating speech that had stained their life for longer than they could remember. What had come before the other? Before their life had taken such a turn? 

They shook their head. Kris decided they wouldn’t care about it. No matter what, they were going to live their life. 

Fountain.

The other commanded, Kris’s body dragging them forward with a series of twitches. Yet, Kris didn’t move. Kris resisted. For the simple fact of that—they were talking to their friends. 

For the experiment-

Kris shut the other off. Every time it spoke, now, as they stood before Susie, they choked it out with a stream of intent. Mobbed by hopeful thoughts, sad thoughts, lukewarm and hanging thoughts, Kris could only focus on one thing. 

Her hair. Her eyes. How they couldn't see them.

“... Yeah?” Susie smiled. It stretched her face. She clenched her hands again and shook, her muscles bursting and shifting beneath her clothes. “Prove it.” 

Kris stared longingly at her. They knew she was staring back. “We need to talk. After. In the Light World. Where we can relax-”

Kris felt their body get tossed to the side. Through the smokescreen of leaves and their growing tears, they couldn't see Susie’s magic—a Rude Buster tore past, slashing through the twisting leaves, leaving rends on the floor. Scorch marks. Acidic and biting. Their breath hitched as they stared at the ground. 

Kris stared at her. She had the scythe in her hands, a gleaming, laughing grin bleeding light in the darkness. She pointed at them, stern, and her voice tore through the air. “Kris. Put it down.” Her smile stayed the same. Middling soft, middling pained.

Her finger stayed pointed at them, as she waited. 

“I said, put down your sword.” At their silence, she tilted her head, her rictus grin fading into a more somber, melancholic grin. Slowly, a laugh bubbled from her chest, and she had to cover her face while she threw herself back, a derisive and splitting mirth cutting at them from her throat. Thick, growling, and mean. 

Kris steeled themself. Couldn't lay down their arms until they made it home. Until they could secure their future, with just the palm of their hand and their will. Until it didn’t matter. The candle. The Coalition. The Champion. They refused to be unable to protect their allies.

Susie frowned.

“So that’s how you’ll play it, huh? Damn. I really didn't want to have to hurt you.” She snarled at them, her hair flipping out of the way as the wind around them quieted, “Kris. Hey, Kris. You know your mom. She’s sweet. Sweeter than you.”

She laughed. Behind her, emerging from the shadows, there were four figures. Each wreathed in a swath of nature, curling and lacing to soften their features, they merely stood waiting. Kris stared at the ground, humming quietly, shutting their eyes. They didn't want to see. Didn’t want to see them all. 

Didn't want to see Ralsei’s concern. How it danced over his face with inhuman strain, pinching and pulling at his mouth. Didn't want to see Noelle’s trepidation and internal conflict. How she loved them, liked them, wanted them dead, but couldn’t bear to lose them. Didn't want to see Detter’s analytical probing. The way her book floated up and down in the still dark, penned to a page of pure inky black. Didn't want to see the Viceroy’s waxy, shit-eating smile. The blaze of his candles. How they… 

They weren’t glimmering. 

“So… for her, I’ll be careful.” Susie grinned.

Kris inhaled. They wouldn't do anything but try. Attempt to talk to their friends, explain themself. Maybe with enough patience, enough courage in themselves, they could convince their friends that they weren’t a piece of shit. That all they did—all the hurt they inflicted on everyone—wasn’t their fault. Kris wasn’t a puppet. Not anymore. All they had to do was calm their nerves and-

Susie slashed down, chopping into the floor. Kris flinched back as she growled, an animalistic, brutal sound. Her toothy frown showed off her gnarled and mangled teeth, each one far more intimidating than they remembered. 

“To leave her a kid to come home to.” 

The wind whipped again, tossing golden leaves around the battlefield. Kris readied their shield, holding their feet still.  

Attack.

Kris resisted.

Susie struck out again, her Rude Buster searing through the air. Kris gritted their teeth, raised their cold, uncomfortable hands to shield against her attack. 

The force was unimaginable, ripping against them and bending the shield slightly, and, despite their best efforts, despite their full strength, radiated through their entire body, rattling their bones. Kris dug their feet in to prevent skating backward. 

“You want to know something?” Her voice sounded normal. Vapid. Like she wasn’t trying to maim them. “I was jealous of you, Kris.” Susie slashed again, another blast of magic roaring at them from beyond their sight. They defended, dancing to the side, letting it pass them entirely. 

Attack.

Kris willed their arms still. The other blared with warning lights, alarms, countermeasures, but Kris kept it contained. In its own little box. Locked away from the light.

“Had everything in the world,” Susie scoffed. “Mom who loved you. Parents who fed you. Kept you clothed. Didn't have to worry about starving.” 

Kris took another step forward.

“Didn't have to worry about freezing.” The Devilsknife in her hands shone a radiant, dangerous light. “I wanted to be you. Not me. That’s a stupid thought, though. Right, Kris? Who would ever want to be you, right, Kris? Right!?"  

Influence. ‘I would not want to be me.’ Incur sympathy-

“Nevermind.” Susie frowned. “Don't answer that.”

Inhaling, Kris tried to find some words to say. In their heart, they knew they deserved a horrible ending. Pain and suffering for what they did—what they didn't do. But Susie was right. Even if they weren't a monster, even if they were an outsider to the town, they still had good things. Fun moments. Parents that loved them. A brother. Noelle. 

… Dess.

They spurned them. But that didn't mean… that didn't mean they were weak. Kris wasn't the first to fall to the other, let alone the predestined fate that occurred without it. Just another pawn in a game bigger than themself. But they weren't just about to let that ruin the rest of their life. 

They breathed in, and out.

“Susie. We’ve both been powerless.” They called through the leaves. They saw her figure, glowing with the penumbra of the butterfly-colors of the Fountain. Each a prismatic shadow of a different world peering through the cracks, humming a song of existence. “And I’m sorry that I couldn't… fuck, I don't know, be better?” They thought about their words a little longer. “Do better.”

Not ‘be’ better. Kris was already better. Not listening to the other would serve them well. They just needed to keep their motivation—remind themself where being disingenuous to yourself, and being ignorant of your mistakes, led you. 

Visor broken and robbed of purpose. Strings cut and freedom lost. 

“Yeah. Been powerless before.” Susie’s grip loosened. Then, tightening again, she lashed at them. “Didn't kill anyone about it, though.”

Susie’s attack grew stronger.

Kris blinked- their feet left the floor as they dashed forward. They just needed to get past everyone and make it to the Fountain. Susie snarled, slashing at them again. They dodged to the side. Her magic passed by them harmlessly, and Kris felt a manner of pride as-

Defend.

Their arms raised up, clasping the shield close as two more Rude Busters slammed into them—Kris stumbled backward. 

“I’ve beat people up. Never killed anyone. Never needed to.”

Kris breathed in, and exhaled out. “Do you know how many times I’ve done this? How long I’ve been in this place, struggling?” 

They stomped their foot into the asphalt. Panting, their breathless exchange of words hadn’t ended yet, and the feelings started to well up. 

A swollen, weighty feeling, of pure pain and anger. “I’ve forgotten more about this life than I could have known. I’ve seen you, and Ralsei, and Noelle. Every version of you. Every, every time you would have snapped. You don’t fucking know what’s happening. So just let me fucking tell you!”

Susie contemplated their words. 

Her attack weakened.

“... that’s true too, huh? You’ve been through this.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “How many times?” Kris could see her grip on the scythe loosen, her stance relaxing. 

Honesty-

Kris inhaled, their cheeks turning red from the constant exertion. Every word, every sentence, needed a breath. A migraine grew from their head, sprouting wings and taking flight as a wounded bird. Clinging to life. Reaching the end. Nearing the precipice. 

Kris was at the point of no return.

“I’ve spent more time in this, this fucked up game of repeating the same day, the same minute, the same fucking second,” Kris inhaled heavily. “Then I have spent able to see the next tomorrow. Years and years, Susie.”

The girl frowned, then snarled, but she could not meet their eyes.

Kris continued, their voice low and broken on the distance between the two of them. “Susie, I don't remember meeting you.”

Susie froze. Kris could see every thought crossing her mind. Memories, recent to her, of meeting Kris—the closet. The Card Kingdom. Lancer. The pain and suffering they caused together, the fears, the horrors they both suffered. 

“You don't remember it?” Susie loosened, the Devilsknife falling from her shoulder to the ground. Her awestruck gaping expression twisted into a miserable, irascible cry. “What do you mean, you ‘don’t remember’?” 

Kris seethed. It was so, so simple, but she could never understand. Never know the lengths they had to journey-

Then tell her.

Kris opened up a biting comment… but paused. What did it mean to tell her?

Hidden no longer. Secrets exposed. Exploit it. 

…

Divulge.

Kris felt their skin shiver, sickly fingers prickling beneath the capillaries and operating them like manhandling a wounded animal. 

Divulge.

Their heart beat quickened, their ears rang, that blaring sound of computerized flares and machine guns firing distantly filtered out all noise from outside. Their sense faltering, even their sight turning hazy, all with the fading scent of cinnamon and cigarette spinning until-

Divulge.

They can't. They couldn't. Don't make them.

Divulge. 

Please. No. 

Divulge.

Kris felt their inhibitions begin to subdue. Their fiery protest from before burning away into a small, dying ember and-

No. No, they wouldn't. No matter how cool their body felt, how distant the world was, Kris was still their own person. They wouldn't tell. Kris wouldn't tell.

Resisting, the call of the other fell away. Kris laid a hand on their heart. They felt the human organ beating softly beneath, fast in pace. They were affected, they were scared. Terrified even. Confronting and disobeying the other no matter how torturous the punishment would be. They were still human somewhere beneath, and that fear drove them even further.

They smiled. A huff of laughter. Kris was still a human. They wouldn't listen, wouldn't tell. Kris was still human. They had control over this. They didn't have to comply. Kris was still human! 

They didn't have to remember! They didn't have to tell! They wouldn't tell-

I will. 

Beyond the sinking feeling freezing them to their place upon the cold, stone slate, Kris acknowledged perhaps the scariest thing they had ever heard from the beast controlling them—a hint of personhood. A hint of personality. A hint of sadness. 

A taste of evil. 

Kris couldn't move, couldn't do anything but keep their hand over their heart and feel as they calmed. Their nerves cooled, internal mechanisms returning to zero as what made them human disappeared entirely. 

And in their place, a ‘person.’ In their place, another. The other version of themself, the first image of their new life as it took shape. Different. Unique. Disconnected. Another Kris. 

The other Kris.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Kris didn't remember.

They remembered crawling and begging. Scrambling across a sheer surface with no friction, no give, no footholds to catch them. They remembered falling, flailing into the darkness, watching the shadows cut deeper into the light, darker yet, somehow even with no light, darker still.

They remembered crimson. Thread spooling, needling, as it twisted and groaned across the wayside. 

Something shifted in the shadows. It was hulking, slithering. A snake woven from yards of crimson ferns. Wounded, crying, weeping with deep tears dripping from its wounds.

Behind the advancing spools of thread, neat twine unraveled, like it was to chauffeur it through the darkness again when it ceased one journey and began the next. A wanderer, lonely, forgotten by what it used to know. 

An outsider, just like them.

Noise prospered, the whirring of fans, electronic beeps, and hums. Sobbing, hisses of pain, popping of a crushed exoskeleton releasing gasses, grating of metal harshly grinding against metal. Something was mashing and gnashing. Each bite producing a small piece of misery for the alien beast before them.

It was an obelisk, scraping near the ceiling of the cosmos, but so far removed. A star misplaced. A mass of dull teeth and tired jaws, idly snapping at itself. Trying to weave together another self from the fragments of its living corpse.

It smelled like rotted flesh and charred meat. Like sweat and dirt. The scent lingered in their nose, an air of desperation. 

Kris couldn't help themself. They wilted and whimpered. The noises halted, and a dark crevice turned to look at them. It stared at Kris from beneath the hood, expressionless, but with shock clear on every part of its ‘face.’ 

And it began calculating.

What do you want from me? 

Kris stepped forward, reaching a hand out. The monster flinched away. They held their wrist, bringing their hand closer. Pressing their palm against their chest to feel their heart beating. Ba-bump, ba-bump. Concern was flowing through them.

Where were they? 

Their heart slowed. They breathed in and out, stepping forward, reaching out for the beast again. It didn't flinch away from them, crawling forward with a threadlike hand. Kris pulled their head back but didn't falter, reaching out for it. 

Who were they? 

A human. Kris was a human. A creature born from the darkness and lost in the world of light. And what was this beast? A creature born from darkness. Lost in the light. 

Lost in the light. Alone in the dark. Afraid of it all. 

Just like Kris.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Do you remember?” Kris asked to the open air. 

Does the vessel remember?

No. Kris asked if the other remembered. 

The other made grumbling, obstinate noises, whirring winds and screaming gears spinning. 

Impossible to forget. The basis of the experiment, lost in translation. A measure of patience. 

The memories were distant. Little roses at Kris’ feet. The downtrodden flowers beneath swayed in the wind. Crimson petals tearing with the wind.

Kris blinked. Then, lunged down, gathering the petals with their hands. As they laid their palms on the petals, they crystallized and shattered into the air, lining the soft parts of their hands with microscopic cuts. 

They cried out and pulled back but-

Memory unlocked.

There was a moment. Kris and the other coexisted. It helped with their homework, helped them see the world in a new light. Shaped their perception with the wisdom of a hiding, feral animal. Logistical, but not to a fault.

Not with Kris around. They taught each other. Prospered with their mix of callousness and naivety. And even if it wasn't the best situation, they made it work with their similarities and differences. 

Kris didn't invite it in. But if it only wanted a place to heal, it would be okay-

That’s not what happened.

Their senses shifted. Flung through a tunnel. Slamming into a wall that hardened, before passing through without any resistance. 

Common enemy.

Kris’ head spun. Pictures of black, then white, then black, then red—bright, unflinching sanguine. The color of fresh blood, spattered on the dark crimson, painting their skin both with a taint. Eyes spinning in their heads, thread twisting with the impact of the droplets-

Our ‘direction.’ Guiding voice. Power of will.

Kris stared at the ground, eyes empty. They remembered. Every second. Every little blasted second of who they were-

Behind the call.

Behind the curtain, who was Kris? Even before the other, who were they? They were a person, but only a spark. Then, they were a toy for fate. Before even the other-

What. Kris held their head. What. What. What. What what what what what what-

You were never free. Not from the moment you stepped foot here.

Kris clutched their chest.

Visions. The first Dark World. They woke up that day with their body no longer under their control. Not even the other could-

Not even the other could help them.

We were tandem. United. 

Controlled by a third entity. From a different world. A presence they hadn't heard calling in their soul for years.

They took a breath. Nothing happened. They held their chest. Nothing happened. They strained against their own body. Nothing happened. Not until they buried their hand into their chest and ripped it out. 

But what had happened to that driving force? 

Stifled. Defeated. Restrained.

How did they escape it?

Stifled. Restrained.

But how?

Caged. 

But how!?

Sealed within.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The other Kris stood before Susie.

You knew me. We were friends. The memories are hazy.

They pawed at their chest still. Was the other talking with their mouth, or speaking to them?

It hurt doing what I did but I had to. When you’re as desperate as I am to make things work…

Kris took a step forward. Their heart pounded like a cannon on the line. Ringing like a church bell at noon. Like a choir member singing. Like a shadow lurching. Like bits of blood falling onto the earth, soaking the soil.

You’d do anything. Anything at all. If you were in my position.

It spoke with their voice. Spoke with their heart. 

Susie’s face was shaded. The entire time, every word, every story the other told, she absorbed with no expression. Kris couldn't tell if that was good or horrible. If she was listening or judging. If it was working.

That was far, far too clinical of them to say.

My entire life has been out of my hands. From the moment I was born. 

“Then why aren't you,” Susie seethed, “then why can't you… why can't,” she shouted, slamming her foot into the ground, grinding into the earth. “Then why do you always try to do it by yourself?” 

Kris didn't even have to blink. She knew. She knew before they even could explain it. No matter what, even the other knew, Kris would never try to rope them into their troubles so easily. 

Because-

“-I can't. I can't let, can't let you see me like this. Can't let it affect you,” Kris thought better immediately, “affect you even more than it already does. You don't deserve that. None of you do.” 

Susie stomped. Once, twice, thrice. Then, bubbled over with her roaring laughter, covered her eyes with her hand. “And you do? Kris, you dumbass, you think you deserve all that stuff? You are goddamn dumb if you think that we believe it.” 

Kris twitched. “... You attacked me.” Susie’s biting smile faded. Kris couldn't even see her teeth. The girl stood still against the wind. 

Kris couldn't help the trembling in their voice. The other didn't even stop them as their eyes started to well up with tears. ‘Convincing,’ it probably thought, but it was real. Like a gaping wound to their heart, and they blinked to cover it-

You know... I'm sorry, too. 

Susie flinched, holding her hands at her waist as she pressed forward. “No, hey, wait-” 

Kris felt their body grow cold, start to shiver. The tears in their eyes were real but they couldn't blink them away, no matter how hard they tried. 

Susie breathed. “Kris. Come on, Kris, don't. Don't be like that, you know I didn't mean to.”

And now I’m a murderer. That’s how you see me. As just… a villain. 

“Kris!” Susie beseeched them. The pain in her voice, the frenzy and frustration, all mixed into a worrisome concern that seemed so foreign to her. “Kris, I-”

They felt their entire body clench in pain. The shivers grew all over, reaching every nook of their body, until their bones quivered beneath the skin. The tears fell faster, harder, until they were sobbing openly in the air, and soon their grip on their weapon faltered. Their sword fell from their hands. Their hands fell from their sides, and swept to their face, covering their shame. And then they fell to their knees. 

Kris couldn't tell what was manipulated and what was happening naturally, and that burrowed beneath their surface. Wormed its way into each nerve, into the axons, and crawled against every excitatory synapse. Until the retching disgust flung upward and they cried out in genuine pain.

The world was spinning.

“Kris, I, I didn't mean that… Kris, you fucking, you fucking,” Susie put her weapon away after a long time staring at them, curled into a pathetic ball on the floor. Their knees hurt, their eyes hurt, their head pounded. “Hey. You fucked up. We all do.” She approached swiftly, coming to their side like they hadn't ruined it all. Like their dark passenger hadn't made them into an abominable person. It made their heart throb, and the pain grow stronger. 

She stayed still, the figures behind her approaching in curiosity. Soon, her concern overwhelmed her caution, and she reached forward.

“Hey, Kris, look. Uh, so long as you, uh, promise to not be a dumbass,” her eyes shifted away for a second, before her sheepish expression softened into a genuine smile, “I can forgive the fucked up shit you did.” She reached for them, almost touching their shoulder. 

As soon as her hand came into range, Kris noticed a great many things.

Their legs had been tensed the entire time. Their sword clattered right onto their foot, positioned particularly with the center of gravity at the middle of their boot. And finally, the other’s blaring warning sounds. 

“So, hold out for us, okay-”

Attack.

Their hand grabbed hers, ripping her forward, banging their skull against her snout. She reeled back, a primordial grunt peeling from her chest. Kris moved like a whirlwind. 

They pulled her back by her hand, elbowing her in the jaw. Her bones felt like smooth rocks underneath her skin. The stinging pain could not match their surprise. Again, they moved, pulling her back. Their body contorted, and her face met their knee, bending her over. 

She yanked away, adapting to them. Her muscles rippled with the action, and she reached for her axe. The other sent their foot directly into her chest, keeling her over. She clutched at her chest, glaring up at them as-

‘Kris’ kicked their sword into their hands. With a brutal, jagged motion, they sent their sword sailing down. Before metal met flesh, they heard the loud, distinct sound of paper tearing, a summoned hand falling before-

They slashed again, aiming straight at Susie’s head. The calls and cries from the figures behind Susie rose in volume. 

Before striking a fatal blow, their sword met steel. Susie, no longer disoriented, held the scythe out to shield herself. Down the haft, they saw her menace, a single widened eye scalding with rage. 

“Really, man?” Susie questioned casually. “... alright.” She snarled, square teeth showing. “Got it.”

They clashed. Both skittered back. Kris slashed again. Susie came forward with a strike. Their blades met together at the brunt of their attacks and-

Snap. 

The Hypothermic Rapier has become the Broken Blade.

Kris blinked. The far end of their rapier had been sliced clean off with the force of Susie’s attack, and it fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. 

She rushed forward, Kris holding their shield out to catch her next strike. With a swift, surprise kick against her leg, they floundered backward. Falling against their ass, Susie guffawed—just as the others came behind her.

“Damn! I really tried to warn you. But hey, now I don't gotta feel guilty.” She huffed to herself, sardonic, dripping with oppressive purpose. “Don't gotta hold back now, either.” 

A murmur of agreement from behind her. 

Noelle grinned, the expression contorting her face and wrinkling her cheeks. It didn't meet her eyes, which they could despite them being closed. Funny how that worked. “Let’s do it, Susie.”

“Haha, let’s!!” The Viceroy, despite it all, pushed past them, placing a waxy hand on Noelle’s shoulder with a zesty bravado. “Blast the poems and blast the prose! Blast them, they're our foes.”

Sweeping her hands together, her book flipping to a smile, Detter came forward. The smile was toothy, unrefined, and her body bulged with mass beneath her lab coat. 

A mass of hands crawled across her. “This meeting has been in the making since we first met, Kris. To tell the absolute and total truth,” her body shifted, coat shrinking, her artificial arms growing as she pulled a hand forward and cracked her knuckles rhythmically. As though to further accentuate her excitement, a bookmark grew like a blazing red ponytail, falling across her shoulder. Her smile grew rotating dots, each one ripping open the page to see the blackness beneath. Like eyes, trained on them. "I’ve been waiting for this all day.”  

Ralsei merely peered at them from behind everyone, arms folded behind his back. He glimmered with a soft expression, shoulders loose, horns muted in the lighting. 

Kris gaped at everyone. Each individually, then as a group. All of their friends stood before them, only three they knew well, while the stranger and their foe colluded together still. 

Wordlessly, their face tightened into a sneer, and they flipped their broken sword to a reverse grip, readjusting their coat. With a deep inhale, they spoke.

“I didn't want this to happen.” And with an exhale, “but I reckon I always knew it would.” 

Victory is assured.

Kris was truly vile. Truly putrid. But if it came down to their friends blocking the path to a better future, Kris wouldn't hold back. Kris would never, ever hold back again. 

They had to break the cycle.

The Fountain stilled. The winds quieted, and the veil of leaves fell, dead, against the ground, letting Kris see the pure darkness all around, piercing obsidian that encroached upon the battleground. Not even leaving a single thing stirring, besides the assorted lightners and darkners, the abyss seemed to watch—intrepid, curious, and most importantly distant. They wouldn't be interrupted.

Kris inhaled. The breathing was calming. They were paying attention to their breath again, making sure to steady themselves. They had to be steady. Both for themself and for their friends. For the sake of the world.

They pushed their foot back in the leaves. Disturbing the leaves made a crinkling sound, again as they twisted their foot to take a bladed stance. 

Kris couldn't help but taunt. “You know how this goes, right? You’re all pretty damn smart,” they chuckled, aware of how little it helped their cause. “I’m much stronger than any of you. Much more experienced.”

Susie stomped, slamming the bottom of her axe against the ground in the same motion. It rippled and knocked leaves into the air. “We have a plan of our own, dumbass.” She pointed at them, finger shaking in rage. “We’re getting our fucking friend back.” 

Kris cracked their neck, glaring with both eyes open at her. “I’m right here.” Kris let their face blossom, a malicious, smug smile spreading like a virus. “Come and get me.”

Susie frowned. Then her expression changed, a snarling show of teeth. So much smiling going on and none of them meant it. So much grinning with no humor. “Gotcha.”

She dashed forward suddenly, magic tearing through the air. Kris felt every sense expand, every circuit in their brain open. Their feet moved before their mind caught up, and they stepped to the side. 

She threw another, and another. Another side-step, another block. They hardly flinched.

Let them approach. Distance is strength. 

Kris twisted their head. “That’s pretty cool that you can do that so many times in a row, now, Susie. Never did it before. But don't worry. You can hit me any day.” They felt the other physically recoil. But they continued, shooting a finger gun at Susie. “You make me red in the face, and not just the blood.”

Susie paused. “What.” 

Behind her, Ralsei and Noelle blushed. 

Unlikely distraction.

Just say that the other didn't know how it worked, Kris didn't either. 

“Keep your wits, and your guards,” Detter said, looping her floating hands onto Ralsei and Noelle’s shoulders gently. “With our numbers, we keep the advantage no matter what—unless they use that against us. Keep your minds focused on the goal,” the doctor’s book whirled with pages, blots appearing with the symbol of a broken heart. “Above all else, we will stop you, Kris.”

She is unshakeable. Wasted effort to appeal to her. 

The candle chortled. “It would be a great pleasure to see you left a broken blender, you trash. With great splendor, friend and contender, your ass left thrashed.”

He is-

Yeah, they didn't even think to try.

Strategies needed. Necessary exploitation of former allies. 

Kris nodded. No point keeping it hidden. The way they were going, they might as well. Kris knew they had to manipulate, exploit, pull the strings on their friends. Without it, they weren't sure what came next. The Roaring—if that was still something to worry about—or the Champion.

The other was sure this couldn't be resolved peacefully?

The operator would seek that avenue. Heuristic impossible.

Kris thought fast. They had to disable Susie first. She was the main aggressor, the one attacking the fastest, and hardest, and the one that would wear them down. After that, they should focus on Detter. Eliminate the aces first, give themself moving room.

False equivalence. Susie will exhaust herself. Priorities remain to disable the healers.

Then, they should focus on Noelle and Ralsei? Kris hated to admit it but those two were the easiest to manipulate. 

Crucial threats. Critical variables to defeat condition.

But then the situation changed. Like clockwork, as they devised their plan, the book hurtled forward. Like a phantom, no flesh or visceral organs to hold her down, she sizzled past the others. A flock of hands followed her, armed with glinting blades—twisted, gleaming scalpels. 

Kris hopped backward. They knew what those hands could do to them.

The book whipped the air around her into a frenzy, pausing just out of their range, her coat expanding with a ripple of air. Despite her clothes forming a parachute, it did little to halt her, the book disconnecting and contorting. 

She threw her hands free, and they each launched towards Kris with fingers outstretched. Kris dodged—one, two, ducked the third. They slashed the fourth down and listened to the scalpel clatter, then itself fade into crumpled paper as the fingers curled together. 

Unsafe.

They spun. The hands launched their scalpels straight. Unladen by gravity, Kris could only harken to the whizzing of air past their head. The other had maneuvered them to safety.

Multiple threats. Increasing integration to 32%. Integrating…

At once, they felt the other’s control slip for a moment. Throwing themself free of the returning path of the hands, Kris poked their dagger through another, watching it fall.

The last two returned safely to Detter. "You always were a specimen, Kris.” Detter chortled, her bookmark flowing in the darkness. “My creator would love to dissect you. In truth,” the lady flapped her hands together behind her back, posing professionally, “I would, too.” 

Integrating…

Kris afforded her no words. Merely rushed at her. As they went to slash her, they felt their muscles pulse with strength, tearing the air apart with every fiber tensing. 

Expecting this, Detter raised a hand, a surge of papers unraveling from under her coat and enveloping her entirely. Their slash tore against the paper, ripping away until their broken edge could only snag onto the leaflets and pull at them. 

Integration complete to acceptable maximum. Defending.

Kris’ arm flew up to their chest, yanking their shield close. As Detter stepped back, they understood why—a Rude Buster flew at them. 

The other planted their feet and turned, deflecting it to the side with the precision of a dancer. 

Foes purport a stratagem. 

Susie was staying in her place, attacking them with range. Detter, who was stronger at range, was the one teasing them. Encroaching on their danger zone. 

Fearless. Her reach is greater, allowing rapid retreat inconsequential. Best counter possible is advancing. 

… their friends had a plan to defeat them.

Yes.

… Kris didn't know if they should feel bad, that their friends needed a plan to attack them, or proud that they tried instead of rushing in. 

Feel nothing. Animal at chase. 

They had to shake up their plan then. 

Wary. Ralsei and Noelle inactive.

Kris stared past their two foes. The other was right—Ralsei and Noelle stayed perfectly still, waiting for something. Kris couldn't guess as to what, but secretly hoped it was idleness born of hesitation.

But then, why was the candle standing still?

Read opponents.

Viceroy held his hands in his pockets, dripping wax onto the ground from where he had rolled his sleeves up. The crazed poet had not uttered a word since, watching them with only a coy tilt of his head. 

The candle’s capability to terminate the vessel has forced him still. 

Everyone else wanted Kris alive, so he couldn't act. That made sense. They twisted and twirled the idea in their head, settling on gratuity for their allies’ insistence on keeping them alive.

“What’s the plan, here?” Kris gestured broadly, huffing. “Bore me to death? Reckon I’ll slip up and suddenly be on the fucking out, just like,” they snapped, a dull and metallic noise from their gauntlet, “that?” 

Detter’s book flipped to a pleasant smile. “It’s for your own good, dear.”

Feign anger.

No need to fake it. “What does that fucking mean? You think I’m incapable of handling it? ‘Oh, look, it’s Kris again. The goddamn miserable loser. Surely they haven't fought through hell over and over again,’” they pirouetted in the abyss, “‘against some god-awful circumstance that’s left them capable of ruining entire armies alone’?” 

“I think you shouldn't have to handle it when you’re already breaking apart-”

“Stop.” Kris warned. They scrambled for a breath they hadn't known they lost. “Don't you tell me what I’m feeling. You don't know where I’m going or what I’m doing.”

Detter flipped to a question mark. Then, an exclamation point. Yet she didn't continue further.

“Then why.” Susie threw another blast at them. “Don't you.” Another. “Goddamn.” One more. “Tell us.” Once again.

Sharpen your words. 

“Because you’re fucking powerless, Susie. You’re all fucking unimportant.” Kris projected everything they could, everything they felt that could irritate Susie. “You’re not even a real person, just a set of responses-”

Susie wasted no time, stomping so hard Kris could feel the bridge shake. “What about before this started? Did you know everything about us then, dumbass?”

Kris blinked. They sighed with the brevity of soldier’s tears. “That doesn't matter anymore.”

“This is new for you, is it not?” Detter spelled them out immediately.

Susie chuckled. “That’s right. You’re not used to this Dark World, are you, Kris? That means things are new. That means,” she raised her scythe, “that you can shut the fuck up!” 

Another Rude Buster tore towards them. The other guided their hands and deflected it, with far more purpose that Kris expected. What was it trying?

Continue.

“Really.” They staggered forward. “You really believe that? You really think this is the first time I’ve been through this? If so, then why would I know-”

Pillar. New incantation of Noelle’s possession. Mention.

“About Noelle’s Pillar spell?” Kris glared internally. Just how much did it know about their friends without their knowledge? 

Susie’s face went dark. Like a lightning bolt, they saw everyone lurch—like a knife in the heart, twisting, tearing at myocardium, they saw everyone bleeding for them. The smiles, the wistful sadness, bleached into something rancid and frantic. The horror pierced through their friends, and soon, even the Viceroy looked disturbed.

“How do you…” Noelle gaped. “K-Kris. How do you, know that.” 

“Shut up!” Susie shouted. “You can't. You can't, Kris. You can't know everything!”

They plan on a date.

“You’re going on a date.” Kris stepped forward. 

More.

The other fed them line after line. “I can do this. I can do that. I can do anything. It’s like the light was running low in your life.” With each passing word, Noelle’s eyes grew wider and wider. Kris felt their heart shatter as they realized what happened. Was happening. Was happening again. “But in a world of shadows,” Kris wanted to puke, “isn't that a fantasy? This power to make, to hold magic in your hands and go wild… isn't that just.” Kris couldn't bear it any longer.

Like a nightmare?

Noelle screamed. “Kris? No, you. How. Do you know th… Kris. Please, tell me you’re. Joking, with me,” she covered herself with her arm, backing away even at that distance. “Please tell me. You’re kidding. Please.”

Kris imagined how they looked to her. Face shaded, red eyes gleaming. Shuffling stiffly. No expression on their face. Pure, solid apathy as they told her secrets they should never know. Kris hated it. Kris hated themselves. They had to-

‘Kris would never.’

Kris blinked. They heard her voice, but her mouth didn't move.

‘They would never do something… so bad. Then. Why? How?’

Kris stepped forward, intent on chasing Noelle. Urgently.

‘It’s like they…’

Kris started forth.

‘Know my thoughts…’

A red string tugged. 

Kris choked to a standstill. 

‘If you. Don’t. Know my thoughts, then.’

Kris clutched their chest. 

‘Why do you look.’

They couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn’t breathe couldn't breathe-

‘So scared?’

Kris froze. She noticed. Somehow, she noticed, and thought through all the sludge in her head about it. She prioritized them over her own fear. She cared enough to not be afraid of them, to not be surprised by them. Even if she shook and quivered. Even if her antlers were oscillating in the darkness. She cared. She cared. She cared she cared she cared-

‘I like that look on them.’

Kris’ thoughts became their words, their vocal chords squeezing like a noose tightening. Relieving the pressure, the other masterfully strummed their vocal chords, speaking as their voice—not with their voice, not in their voice, not as a thing separate, but something moored within. Something darker than black.

Only highlighting Kris’s spiraling thoughts. 

Aren't I just fucked up?

Strings snapped taut against every limb. Working them forward, a hand guiding them. A finger, to an arm. A palm, to a body.

You know what I think? I think I’m evil, and useless, and a fucking freak. And yet, without me...

Kris felt their head tilt, and their smile widen, and their teeth sharpen, and...

... you would be dead.

Noelle flinched and covered her face. 

“You forgot how to live.” Soft words, spoken from the quiet candle. “Lost in the violet dew of a world, bold and new, you forgot how to breathe.” Viceroy gestured widely, the fat of his face contorting and twisting. “I believe you're a liar—lost on fire. On the serious-est note I can muster. Kris.” His flaming eyes stared deep at them. A light in the darkness, eternally burning. His smile dimmed, Kris hurt, why did it hurt, why did he know, how does he always know-

Viceroy spoke. Velvet. Soft. Deep. 

“... I need you to breathe for me.” 

Kris couldn't help the tears. The other couldn't help the tears. No one could stop them. “What do you mean, ‘breathe’? How can I do anything? Nothing here matters, nothing here, at all, matters, and I just,” they sputtered, clasped their head, cheeks burning from scrunching away their misery, “Can't I just do something? Rest, or have it end, or be another person, or anything else, anything at all? Nothing matters and, and I want it all to end.” 

Viceroy spoke up, his voice almost a shout. The contrast of their foe suddenly caring for them burgeoned a feeling deep within them, an aching sensation of loss. Loss of something they never knew they had.

He shouted. “Your friends matter! That’s why you keep going forward. But you matter, too, you do. So quit with the miserable nonsense, quit with the consequences of an action you don't take, and be a smarty-smart pants for us, Kris.” His sickening smile cut through all the wax. 

Your friends matter.

It parroted him. Manipulator. 

You desire their safety. To procure certain sanctuary, necessary measures are needed. 

No. No no no no no no.

You know better than them. The operator acknowledges. The vessel is intelligent. Caring. Necessary to quell those emotions, to ensure a compliant vessel. 

Kris blinked. “Kick the shit out of me.” They spoke out loud. Their words were as hollow, as lonely and dark, as the entire world around. Their envelope of blankness, shown as visibly as it was enrapturing. 

“Wouldn't have to,” Susie raised her axe, “if you didn't make me.” 

“No. Kick. The shit. Out of me.” They stared. “Beat me, mutilate me. Destroy my body, destroy my spirit, break me until I’m not a person,” they swept their hands behind their back, gesturing widely, “and I still come back. I still worry, and I still want to make everything right, but I never can. But I still come back. Torture me, erase me, and make me into a different person. And I’ll still come back.” Kris stared at Susie, their face hard. Woven into a tapestry of determination, brows serious, lips tight. She stared back. “You don't get it, Susie. I’ll fix everything, everything I can. And that’s why.”

Susie waited. “Why, what?” 

No-

Kris shouted, vocal chords panging in agony. Their legs launched forward, all their energy flowing into their scream, into their legs, pushing them forward. “Why I won't lose here!"

Intrusion.

A pillar of light broke between Kris and Susie, a familiar drone of irritating prattling filtering through their ears. 

“Heyth, guyese, is this where the Fountain is?” Rouxls had his eyes closed. “For some reasone, as soon as I found these children, I thinketh that mine abilitiese expanded? Or mayhaps, the Dark Worlde hates adults? The Dark Worlde is ageist? That’s messed up?” He blinked, then sighed, looking around. He found Kris, and opened his mouth, a word dying on his tongue. “Oh, milorde. Mine mysterious and amazinge liege, I hath brought the itemes asked of me!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Uponeth my name and title as the Duke of Puzzles, I have delivered thise package of yours-”

Beside him, a certain Lunatyke twisted their head, admiring the world around them. The child stared at the group ahead, noting the doctor and the candle, before gazing back at Kris, remaining wordless. It nodded at them.

But there was another child. 

“Ohoho! Susie! Toothpaste boy! Candle guy whose name I don't know!” He waved, bouncing with his energy. “It’s been forever! I got lost in Kris’ packet!”

“Sire, it’s ‘pocket’.” 

“I got lost in Kris’ ketchup pocket!”

Attack.

Kris’ hand twitched. 

They couldn't. No, they wouldn't. Lancer was innocent, he didn't deserve anything like that. Even as the other forced its will onto them, Kris resisted, holding their body in the same direction.

Feigned malevolence. 

Kris blinked. No time for hesitation. 

They trusted themself. Nothing bad would happen again, not under their watch. They had failed their friends, letting their will be dictated by those who didn't care at all. But Kris would fix it. Kris would always fix it. Whether it was holding off the other, fending off any of the divine entities encroaching on their lives, or something as simple as making sure their friends would stay happy—Kris would do it. Even when it was hard. Especially, when it was hard. Kris swore this, and trusted in it. Never again would they let themself do something that they didn't want to. 

The other lunged for Lancer, raising their blade. 

The other streamed Susie straight into their mind, showcasing their friend’s reactions. The raw horror as she realized where they headed, the surprise in her widened pupils, the soft tremble of her voicebox as she shouted out. The way her muscles rippled as she came forward to defend Lancer, and the blistering burgundy of her magic as she sent another Rude Buster sailing at them-

Kris twisted out of the way, yanking their body towards her. The other guided them with grace, the centripetal force of their body sending them forward. First, they spun, leaping into the air. 

Susie started to raise her axe, and the other stomped their foot down, burying her scythe back into the ground—then it launched from it, smashing their shield against Susie’s head as they leapt over her. 

A volley of hands flew forth, reaching out for them. Detter threw her arm to the side as she summoned them. Kris grinned, then relaxed, letting the other drag their arm in short, staccato strokes, slicing her hands to ribbons.

They rushed at her, dagger poised to thrust. The book flipped to a smile. “You cannot pierce my armor, Kris-”

Belief.

They struck true. The broken, mangled tip of their blade halted suddenly within the chinks of Detter’s paper. They felt their shield hand soar to their side, still pressing their body weight into their strike—Detter’s smile grew sickening, ink twisting over her pages into blotchy, ramshackle eyes. She peered down at them.

“Your resistance is futile, Kris. You can never pierce my KnowledgeGuard. Don't despair that you were born less powerful than me,” she pushed forward, her paper shield tightening. “Just let me help you. You just need to let some things happen, Kris.”

She slammed her hands together, the paper warping around their blade. With a gesture, she flicked it away, tearing it from their grasp and sending it skittering across the ground.

Harness the power. Split labor.

Kris dodged out of the way of Detter’s counterattack. So, they had to dodge and do what? What was the other doing, then? Fucking stupid fucking-!

Neutralizing enemies. Focus. Meditate. Unleash the power. 

Kris flipped around and raised their shield. One of Detter’s hands slammed against them. They gritted their teeth and reinforced the shield. Hard to concentrate when they were being attacked. 

Comply.

Shut. The fuck. Up. 

Kris knocked the hand to the side, rapping their knuckles against it. The scalpel scratched against their gauntlet. They slammed their shield down on it, letting it fall into paper. 

They smashed their shield at Detter’s armor again, the magic spell never faltering. 

Harness the power. They just had to figure out what that meant-

Their ‘gift.’ They tried to follow Lampitope’s words, how she explained things, how Ralsei talked about meditating, but none of it worked.

IceShock.

Kris looked up-

Down. Focus. 

They heard the sound of strumming strings, and then a whimper. The tremble of Noelle’s voice broke their concentration, and they turned to find her—she had her hands held before her, flickers of snowflakes forming on her palms. A tightening in their chest left them breathless, and a sinking feeling of dread sounded like drumming bells. Bam, bam, bam. It was happening again. It was happening again. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't move. They couldn't think. Every joint wanted to flail but not a single muscle listening. Their fingers twitched. 

Detter took this chance to smack a hand against them. Kris crashed backward onto the ground, rubbing at their cheek. They stared at Noelle, still.

IceShock.

She aimed her spell. Not at Kris, but at… 

Viceroy. IceShock.

She aimed at the candle. He had staggered over, gaping back at her with a dripping, uncertain grimace. As she frosted over with more ice, he raised his hand.

IceShock.

Detter, seeing their focus shift, turned to observe whatever they saw. 

Couldn't let it, couldn't let it, couldn't let it, couldn't let it, couldn't let it-

Kris stood. They growled, loud, irascible, and angry through and through. Detter whirled around, her face flipping in surprise. Kris rammed against her, the paper bending. 

“Stop this, Kris.”

Couldn't let it happen.

Warmth. Enveloping their palm. The paradoxical scent of cinnamon and cigarettes. The velvety smell of mothballs and butterscotch. Soft, fuzzy warmth against their cool skin, hazing the burning fever beneath their skin. Their bones were on fire. Tendons and ligaments untethering and connecting, stronger and better. Wounds wasting away, skin closing, exhaustion leaking from them. 

Accessing storage. 

Kris grinned. “‘Stop this, Kris!’” They mocked her in a sarcastic tone, sopping wet with vitriol. Voice like a drop of lemon in vodka, the book sighed. 

They swung. In their hands, in their warm, burning hands, was a jagged blade made of stars. The Celestial Blade clashed against the doctor’s armor, ripping through the paper like tissue, and splitting her magic in twain.

The doctor stumbled back. The tip of their sword narrowly missed her. Kris pushed forward, spreading the gap in her armor apart. The book flipped wildly. 

Behind.

Kris spun around. Susie’s axe grazed their shoulder spikes, shattering a crystal. They swung at her face, and she ducked, right as they grabbed her by the neck. With the other’s assistance, they toppled her with a single step. 

She uttered a repugnant sound. They stomped down on her hand before turning.

The doctor had not yet recovered. “Kris, no-” They stabbed with their sword. The gap in her armor split wider, and they tore with a vertical motion. “Lightner, please rethink this. Don't do this!” She sent her own two hands forward, wrapping around their sword. Kris stabbed their broken blade into the two hands. “Kris. Kris, please listen, I know what’s happening. You’re not alone.” They stepped past her armor. She tried to fly backward.

Susie.

Her scythe swung again, and they spun, knocking the girl in the side of the head with the blunt side of their sword. Her skull made a sickening crack, and the girl staggered away, Kris feeling the impact radiate up their arm and into their lungs—they took a breath. Took another. Eyes wide, they stared at Susie. 

She fell to her knees. “...fuck.” 

They turned back to Detter and lunged at her. The doctor flopped down, her magical body more of a hindrance, which she realized and quickly deflated it, the book floating away. 

Kris reached out. Grabbed it. She fluttered wildly in their hands, flipping pages ferociously, struggling. Their arms burned and groaned with exertion, air hissing over their teeth as they grasped her bookmark ponytail. They supposed it was like a real tail now, but no matter. Fingers moving deftly, they twirled it around her cover, looping her closed as tightly as they could—wound so taut, they finished a ramshackle binding. 

As they expected, her hands fell to paper.

You have received the Biographical Journal. 

Kris scoffed. Not like the doctor was some big wig darkner or anything, no one was going to stop them-

Susie.

They held the doctor’s book up as a shield. On reflex. Yet, the second they recognized that, disgust and horror crept into their body; Kris would never again take a life they didn't have to, yet were content on using hers as a shield. 

IceShock.

As Noelle’s magic crackled, they focused back on Susie. “You!” She cursed them, redirecting her swing at the last second. Their body moved with intent, slashing their scimitar against the scythe, digging the blade into hers. The haft twisted and cackled. Kris rose high, banging the end of their dagger against her face. 

Susie lurched backward, stumbling.

Kris ripped the Celestial Sword from the scythe, smashing the pommel of it against her face again. Her brow cracked, and started leaking, but she made no sounds. Just fell down.

Kris huffed and turned.

A hand stopped them, and they looked down. Zero stared up at them wordlessly. 

Behind, Viceroy struggled, sheets of ice coating him like a sepia filter in the Fountain’s light. He clutched his chest, breathing in big motions, grimacing with sickly mirth at Noelle. “Et tu, snowie? Cast your hands in light, and bruise-”

IceShock.

Noelle’s horrified look persisted as she raised her hands. “Wait, no. No no, please, not again. It’s not me, it’s not, it’s not me!” Her eyes froze over with frost. Her fingers twitched, the build-up of frostbite and freezer burn shrouding her fur. “Stop!” 

Viceroy cackled. “You can't, you can't, snowie! It’s out of your hands, and in your hands, and in your head. But don't worry, for you see,” he spun like a ballerina, pulling an arm across his chest and rotating gracelessly, “snowie, I’m a candle. I burn bright!” 

Kris couldn't look away from Zero.

His flames expanded, and twinkled, the scent of burnt cedar and pine washing over the battlefield. “You see, snowie, I cannot be frozen in sleet. I am candle, tall and proud I stand. Nary a way to blow me out. Hardly a hand, that can drift and press my flame. To do so would tarnish my name.” The ice steamed. Viceroy danced like a devil in the moonlight, his shoes tapping stentorian on the floorboards, tap, tap, tap. “Step and clap, and step and clap!” 

Zero raised their wing. Settled it on their chest. 

… …! 

What. What was happening? 

Connection established.

Ralsei reached into his pocket. 

Immolation sub-route updated. 

He pulled a puzzle cube from within.

Viceroy giggled, spinning, then lunged at Noelle. His waxy claws pushed against her face and melted, cloying within her mouth and melding with her face. She gripped her neck, face turning white. Kris pressed Zero away, running forward, reaching for Noelle. She was too far away. They shouted for Ralsei but he was too transfixed in the puzzle box. Useless. Their feet pounded against the ground, swimming, mixing with their rampaging heart. Not now, not now. The other’s mumbling voice became only static. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill their friend. They readied their sword. Please, please, stop him. They were so close-

Immolate.

Ralsei stared down at the puzzle. He looked up at Kris. His eyes were shadowed, knowing, and his smile proposed a darker abyss than that which consumed the environment. Behind his scarred glasses, his pretty eyes twinkled with a ferocity Kris had never quite seen before. But deep within them, where the sclera split to the beautifully radiant pink of his iris, their focus sharpened to see a redness. A corona of crimson. 

He tilted his head. Then, closing his eyes, he mouthed something, or maybe said it below his breath. Either way, the other repeated it for them.

“Is this really what you want me to do, Kris?”

They breathed, hard, a few deep and difficult gasps of air. 

Immolate.

He gazed up above them. And for a split second, his expression turned sour, and his face paled. As though he saw something he shouldn't have seen. As though he could see something else in the first place. 

His paws curled tight.

Immolate. 

He mouthed something softly, another sentence, left untranslated. Then, he raised his paw to the Viceroy, flames sparking and showering the floor in embers. Scorching the bridge, scorching the deep scars of damage from before; a new, darker shade of soot transformed even the visible bridge into nothing.

Immolate.

And then, with little more than a subtle stroke, he stoked flames across the battlefield. And with a fiery explosion, Kris felt their body halt, covering their eyes. And when they stopped shielding themself. And when they took in what had happened. 

There was only Ralsei. Staring at them. A shade across his face and fur singed with flame.

“Kris.” He smiled. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I trust you. Whatever’s wrong,” he glanced to the side, voice growing a tinge softer, “just trust us sometimes, okay? That’s what friends are for. Right, Kris?”

They felt themself nod. Not even controlled, just confused.

They ignored the ashes. They ignored the beaten, broken visor of the director. Tossing the book to the side, they focused ahead—nothing else mattered beside the pulsating Fountain. Even the piano playing softly in their ear, even the collapsed body of Susie clutching her weapon. They didn't watch Noelle sputter and cough. Not even the waxy lump that was Viceroy. 

Darkness. Encroaching. Ever-present. Abyssal black, throbbing pain in their head. A heavy weight in their heart, a stone on their chest. Threads curling around their neck, each vessel threatening to burst. Step, step. Closer, an inch, a mile, one step forward and a league backward. Kris would never get anywhere with the way they were going. Relying on the other for help. They needed to get stronger, somehow, someway. By themself, they needed the power and strength to break their bindings. And they needed the will to do it without the other. 

The vessel will comply.

Kris stopped. Clenched and unclenched their hands. Slowly, they creaked their neck, staring down where there was no bridge. Only void beneath them, ever-lasting, unseeable blackness. Void so deep and cavernous, so cold and uncaring, that slipping, that falling, would certainly spell doom. They didn't even know if it ended, so they could be falling for awhile. A long, long while.

Cease.

Why should they? Kris hated themself. Hated their reliance and relationship with everyone. A leech, a lecher, and not a leader like they should have been. When had Kris ever won without someone helping them? Maybe they needed to lose.

Kris. 

Talking straight to them, now, huh? Wanted to treat them like a human so it could soften them, take control, walk them away from the edge of the abyss? They’d have plenty of time to talk when they were hurtling to their collective deaths. 

The operator will stop you.

Collective, dumbass. Stupid fucking bio-computer garbage hardware. Kris longed to reach deep in their chest and rip the other straight out, squeeze it in their hands. Watch it break. They shared a life, even if it wasn't the other’s body. 

A petal grew beneath them- Kris stomped it. They smashed every single flower underfoot. No matter what, they would not be convinced. Even if the other had reasons, even if the ‘experiment’ was of brutal purpose.

It treated them like trash. It treated them like they were scum. 

Exists reasons-

Then explain! Explain to them what was happening. Or one step would turn into two. Two into three, and the bridge would turn into air. They were tettering over the edge, almost. They could imagine the cool air whipping around them. Cold, relieving to the deepest heat burgeoning in their heartstrings; Kris was a danger, only now to themself. 

Impossible.

It better start being possible. Kris lifted a foot, and held it steady over the blackness.

The operator-

And enough with that. Kris wasn't stupid. The operator was a person. Even a shitty, horrible, and terribly manipulative shadow of one. It had a name. It had goals and a past. Kris wanted it to acknowledge this. Acknowledge it, acknowledge it was just evil. Acknowledge it had piloted a human before, a human with wants and needs. Acknowledge it had motives beyond what it said it did.

The operator’s designation is-

No. No ‘operator,’ no ‘designation.’ Kris wanted a name. A name, like a person would have. And from the way the other flailed at their words, Kris knew it had one.

Kris-

The other’s name is not their name. It needed its own. One free from them, one free from their time together. 

…

Kris snarled, pushing closer to the edge. They’d fucking do it. Don't tempt them. Ruin it all. Go back and let the Viceroy win. They couldn't fix things if the other never bent to their will. 

They’d trust their friends. Trust them to do something. To help. Take it out of their hands. Sideline Kris and their passenger. 

They would do it. They trusted people, not machines. 

Why would they trust their controller?

…

They shifted their weight forward.

Stop!

The other’s cry sounded desperate. Kris halted. The other’s whirring sounded more organic the more they pressed. They chuckled derisively. Now this? This was interesting. And Kris wasn't about to let it go unnoticed.

Please. Please. Pleading.

No begging. Listen to them and announce itself. Be a person. Be malleable. Or else.

… okay.

Kris listened. The thrumming of the Fountain and the scattered conversations approaching behind did nothing.

The other rumbled, a robotic noise filling the space between their ears. They visualized it squirming, tethered by them, strings wrapped in their fist; they were yanking, ripping, but the threads were too strong to snap. Even as the beast shifted, pulled away, shielded its hooded face. Whatever was beneath the robe-like skin, the chitinous covering, was exactly what Kris wanted to see. They gathered as much thread as they could. But the other would pull away, strength breaking their hold and leaving Kris too far away to do anything; yet they were always connected. Always indebted. A string wrapped around them forever, eternal. 

Then. First. What was the experiment?

To undo the bindings of the Angel. Specific. Discovery of a weapon with capabilities to eradicate the Angel. 

To kill a god? Kris grinned. That sounded lovely, they thought. What was the point of the repeated times through this world, then?

The past. Angel created earth for heavenly beings to witness. Without lady o’ grace’s purpose, this world… harbored within… would be subject to divine intervention. 

So, then. The other was a heavenly being after all?

No. The operator… the… 

Kris nodded. Their smile grew tenfold. It was struggling—struggling, for the love of all that was unholy. Struggling! There was a struggle, and that meant Kris could get somewhere. Change something. Change the other. To say they were happy about this would be underselling it. They were ecstatic.

I am not holy. The trepnir are creations of the first. Classifications of divinity—holy, protoholy, neoholy—are dependent. Trepnir are protoholy. Therein the eyes of a divinity most foul, we are cretins. Simulacrum of divinity. Desultory from heavenly reign. 

It referred to itself. As a person. As contrite as it sounded to them, it still spoke oddly. With a strange accent of sorts.

Sumptuous. Trepnir regarded to carry themselves garrulous. Necessary. Perfunctory. Imputed. 

Kris tilted their head. They couldn't help but continue, with roaring laughter, as the other, once so proud and regal, reduced itself for their insistence. No longer abstruse. 

Identity is not proscribed. 

It sounded particularly… afraid, when it said that. 

Fear is reasonable. The operator surpassed limits. Possible to festoon, to decorate the figure of the creation with scars. Impossible, interrupt the interminable event-flow. Trepnir are not alive. I am not alive. 

But it was. 

Nascent.

But it was alive.

No.

But the other was alive! It was—Kris could hear it. What was once static, once garbage noise, was voice, was tone and character. The other was alive. It was itself. It could think, it could evolve. It could want. It was alive-

No! Cease. The operator permitted this for too long. Limn vitality and personhood. Hapless vessel. Suspend chagrin. 

Kris stepped away.

Compliance will be rewarded. 

It had a name. They need to learn it.

Excellence will be praised.

Kris leaned forward onto the balls of their feet.

Conformity will be protected. 

They pushed forward. Racing over the edge, Kris pushed against the ground. A grand mania consumed them, having once punished their controller for something. Their heart pounded, a droplet of sweat fell from their hair, left in freefall like stasis. Should have given a name. 

Should still give them a name.

They deserved a name.

… 

Kris deserved that much. And the other knew it.

… my name… 

Kris laughed as the world began to spiral around them, hurtling to the floor. They twisted in air, fear fleeing like wings extending to catch a draft. Fear fleeing like the ground from their feet as they flew. Kris could fly, free from their earthen burdens. If they just had one answer. One answer at all!

My name is-

They heard it. A word. Yet, the wind in their chest burst from their mouth at the same time they heard it. In a second, the momentum of their body swung forward—Kris would scream if they could, ribs raising bony arms to claw and scratch at their chest cavity. Arms singing with horrific wails, skin tore and muscles broke, snapped in half as the weight of their body was held by a single thread on each wrist. 

Pain. Hurt, hurt, hurt. 

Kris!

“Woah, watch where you’re going there, rat.” The strings pulled them up, and through a blinding flash of blood behind their eyes, they felt their stomach sink. They recognized the strings. The color. 

Then, a face behind it. A long nose. Two differently colored lenses. An alabaster faceplate.

“WE HAVEN’T FINISHED THE [deal] YET!!! HAEHEHEHAE.” Spamton toted them on his strings, rending them upward to float in the air before slamming them down against the bridge. Everything exploded. A tidal wave of blood began to pour from shattered bone peering through their skin. "[little sponge]."

They snarled. Even with every bone shouting for them to stop, even with a body that refused to move, they could still try. They lifted their hand, celestial blade still in their grip, and speared it into the ground. Rising, rising to meet their challenge-

A boot stomped against their spine. Another crack, until not even their fingers would twitch. Through the reflection in their blade, they could only see a crimson helmet. A slit for eyes. A crown of thorns, with a dried trickle of blood dripping out. 

“[hochi mama]!!! YOU CAME! BE THANKFUL, KRIS. IT’S NOT EVERY DAY A [] PRESSES HER BOOT AGAINST YOUR SPINE.” 

Suddenly, he was yards closer, his own spine contorting—his body twisted, arms skittering like bugs to hold his weight still. His face nearly pressed against theirs, and they could smell the rancid scent of something foul on his breath. 

“IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME. KRIS. AND ALL YOU HAD TO DO. WAS WAIT.” 

His heavy palm, spindly fingers, and rail-thin arm fell on top of them. He pressed them down, contorting his fingers like a cage, then lifting their head—like a toy in a claw machine. They hissed in agony.

Every time they saw him, his form shifted, and warped. Jumbled mess of parts, broken rotors, obnoxious paint. His shadow fluttered, and twisted, and leapt back a few inches to the right, or to the left. 

His voice sounded familiar.

“HONEY RAT.” 

They blinked. 

Familiar...

The voice from the… he was the voice. The voice that spoke to them when they rode the rails to Lampitope’s smoking area. 

“YOU LISTENED! I’M [5-to-life]. YOU ALWAYS WERE CONSIDERATE.”

A soft voice. “Spamton. Enough.” Another figure, just out of view, kneeled next to them. A flowing cloak covered his knees, but he reached a gloved hand towards Kris—his touch was gentle. Even as they groaned, he merely hummed sadly. “You don't have to do all of this for a teenager. I could have disabled them painlessly.”

Trepnir.  

Kris tried to twist their head in questioning—the action sent nails through their spine.

“[Dust and Bones], IT'S BEEN TOO LONG.” Spamton’s head creaked—like a dummy on a hook, wooden limbs clacking. His laughter bubbled like hell spilling forth, vicious waves of hellflame, computerized and beeping. “ONCE A [prune juice], ALWAYS ONE.”

The soft voice, the ‘old man,’ whispered softly into Kris’ ear. 

His voice was melodic, sing-song almost. Kris despised it. “You doing alright, kid? Nasty scar work, this. Did that puppet do all of this to you?” 

Another. There is another.

“WHAT CAN YOU DO, [champ]? THE [Power of NEO] IS GREAT. I'M GREAT. I'M SO HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY I JUST CAN'T [stand on your feet]” Spamton’s shrieking voice scratched like a mark on a record, terribly orotund and protuberant in the chilled air. 

“Don't touch them again. You know just as much as me about the rules we follow.” His hand gently prodded against their flesh. When they hissed, he soothed them with an attempt at a comforting rub. “Do you remember what happens to those who disobey her ordinances? It is something like a decade of pain and suffering, and then,” his hand tensed, squeezing onto them roughly, and they swore for a second they felt some claws beneath his gloves, “well, you know the rest.”

“[can you believe it]. A LECTURE FROM THE [Man Behind] THE [Smokin’]” Spamton’s head rotated around in a full circle, each vertebra clicking and whining until, somehow, they all snapped back into place. “I COULD [Discount Applicable until Now] YOU.” His smile exploded with far too many teeth. Kris could see their reflection in those shiny fangs, a boot holding them down, a hand tending to them, and a glimmer of a head in their eyes. “YOU KNOW. I WOULD. DO IT. [too easy]"

A hum of laughter. The man giggled youthfully. “People only mourn people. You never see a funeral for a puppet.” He chuckled, a sadistic hint in his enjoyment. “I can make you a real boy, salesman.” 

Another voice chimed in. 

“DO NOT RESIST MY LADY’S EVENT. HER BREATH MAKES WAVES. HER RADIANCE WARMS THE LONGEST DARK. HER CHAMPIONS SHATTER HELL. AND HER WORDS EVOKE HEAVEN.”

The one above them sighed. 

Spamton’s eyes went black. Like a sadness had consumed him, the lines of his smile faded, returning only to piercing nothingness. The puppet pulled his multi-colored body away, the strings snapping taut in one hundred different directions. 

The man above them deflated. His hands stopped their movement, leaving chilled shivers beneath their coat. “Well. I suppose that is where we take our leave.” The man clicked his tongue. On one knee, Kris could hardly see him. They forced their pain away and readjusted their neck—the agony was frightening for only a moment. 

The other wanted to see this too.

The man towered over them. Even lowered to the ground, his shadow spread like a cloud on the bridge—it wavered in the Fountain wind, fabric shifting and wheezing with tattered motions. They only saw purple. The color of opulence, the voice of privilege, but the image of barbarism. 

Above the scarred remains of a once-grand cloak, a blank stretch of eggshell white covered his face. A mask. With only a single strand of long, gray hair poking from beneath the hood, the man revealed nothing to them. No face, no name, no identity, and yet Kris knew—they knew too well. 

That was a-

Trepnir.

Human. 

The man stared into their eyes, they could sense it. Staring into their soul. Wriggling within their heart. Making his judgment, he pressed a gloved hand to his mask. 

That was a human. No matter the decline of his glove, where the holes from his claws had made an indent—the way he held himself, the calmness of his chest, the shivering feeling of a mirror image in their soul, all told them what they needed to know. Across from them was someone similar, someone who had been through the same things as them. If he was human, then-

Bound. 

Then he had lost everything too. 

“Hmm. A shame. A damn, damn shame.” The man stood. Dusted himself off. Walked away. They listened to his footsteps weaken, then a flipping of fabric. "I will see you soon. Kris Dreemurr." 

The boot on their back disappeared, and a vacuuming sound replaced it. Like a ‘pop.’ 

Two left.

Spamton ratcheted at this. “THEY. MAKE. ME. SICK. STRUTTING ABOUT LIKE THEY OWN THE [Foreclosure]. BUT IT’S ALL [new], ALL SPAMTON FROM NOW ON. I LIVE FOR MYSELF.” He strummed a finger beneath their chin. “MYSELF. AND YOU, KRIS.”

His strings snapped closed. Like a bear trap, his entire body lurched, and he peeled backward—his hands tried to find purchase on the bridge, fingers crossing, as the strings yanked him back. As he departed, he clambered forward, animalistic growling and bulging eyes visible from behind his glasses.

“KRIS.” He dragged his fingers against the bridge. “REMEMBER. [Don’t Forget]. I PROMISED YOU.” Blood-shot eyes. A crinkling smile. Tin-body crumpling and smashing together. One hundred limbs smearing and shaking. "YOU PROMISED ME." 

As his body removed over the abyss, he uttered one last thing. His smile was gone. Dark shadows were under his eyes. His voice turned quiet. And Kris felt the inching hand of their comeuppance drift closer.

“We’re just puppets, kid. You can't. Trust anyone else.” His nose disappeared from sight. But they heard the final bit. “Especially. Not the…”

His words became too garbled.

A warmth lingered in the air above.

“EXCELLENT. ARE WE… CONNECTED? NOW WE MAY SPEAK.” They felt the breath of a dying star warm them to the core. The march of ten clavicles dancing, the resounding curse of a fallen tree. “HONESTY. FROM CREATOR. TO CREATION.” 

Kris felt every pain fall away. Their body no longer refused to move. Everything slipped away, the scent of sugary cinnamon, the cackle of a cloaked man, the fuzz of a prince. 

They were fire, they were flame. They were burning away the darkness with their very essence. A heart beat in their chest, and continued with every breath. Every step interwove and twinned, like a tile path falling together, and the bridge they were on seemed like one to the heavens—Kris walked forward. When did they stand? They didn't know, but still knew that this wasn't reality. It never hid itself. Never betrayed their senses. Euphoria on the heart, but not crossing the mind. They could think. They could speak. They could move. They could breathe. They could live. Humans were darkners, weren't they? Why, then, did Kris forsake the dark? The skin didn't quite reach the air around the body, the senses failing to connect deeply. 

“Who am I?” Kris asked. It was a question forever floating in their chest, now unburdened by the stench of reality. They knew this was their creator. It was a fact within their soul. 

Fact did not connect with perception. It never soothed the heartache in their chest, the truth, that there existed something above them so greatly it defeated their efforts with a single stroke. Not even defeated. Just always untouchable.

“YOU ARE ‘KRIS.’” As though reading their mind, the chorus of one million words sung in the same language. “YOU ARE WHAT YOU MAKE OF YOURSELF. I AM MERELY THE CATALYST THAT BEGAN YOU.”

Kris closed their eyes. It changed nothing. “What… what’s my purpose?”

“TO CHANGE.” The angel danced with a ring of stars, a galaxy making gentle and rambunctious waves, each sound tasting like a bitter sugar. “‘TO CHANGE WHAT?’ THE WORLD. THAT IS YOUR PURPOSE, KRIS. YOU ARE ANOTHER CATALYST. YOU ARE CHANGE. YOU ARE A GIVEN CHILD."

They thought of the lamp. “Am I a-”

“A CHAMPION?” They heard a pause, stretching for a billion minutes. It was quick. They shuddered. “NO. YOU ARE NOT A CHAMPION. YOU ARE A CHILD. YOU ARE GOLDEN LIGHT AND SUNFLOWERS. LOVE AND JOY.”

Then, why? Why has their life been so shitty? Why has it been difficult! An outsider since day one, watching everything they had, be lost before they could even remember—gaining and losing more they couldn’t remember. Why? They lived, and breathed, and moved, until their body started adapting to the angel before them. The light burned. Their light burned. Burned away the dark. There was no evil, hatred, or fear. Only JOY. JOY AND LOVE AND-

Kris shook their head. 

Piercing. An unpleasant experience.

Why was Kris doomed from the start?

“MY PLANS FOR YOU. MY HOPES FOR YOU. MY DREAMS.” The twisted mass of wings and blood above them started to dim. “WHERE DID THEY GO? I CAN’T TELL. MY SPIRIT REMAINS DWELLING. KRIS. YOU ARE KRIS. AND THAT IS WHAT YOU WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO BE.”

Fight. Destroy. The enemy.

Kris felt their body step forward. The other couldn't continue. It was far, far too weak—sizzling flesh and broken threads. 

“YOU ARE PERFECT.” Kris was flawed. “ALL WAS PLANNED. A PLAN CARRIED OUT. BEAUTIFULLY.” If the plan was for them to hate everything, it was starting to work. Fourteen eyes blinked at them rhythmically. “BUT YOU ARE ONLY JUST BEGINNING.”

Enough. Explain it all to them like they weren't a child.

“... …” 

VERY WELL.

Kris clutched their head. What, what was happening and-

I am your creator. 

The other hissed and- IT IS OKAY. THE TREPNIR IS OPPOSED TO HEAVEN. THIS IS ESSENCE INCARNATE. IT IS OKAY. 

Stop. Stop. Cease. Silence. Lightburn. Mercy. Mercy. 

“Enough!” Kris shouted. Enough of this. “Enough of it all. Explain it to me like-” Kris breathed. No more intruding. Don't even try. They had enough BUT NEVER ENOUGH. I KEEP COMING BACK. I KEEP- They pounded a hand against their head. 

“I KEEP BETTERING. I SOW THE SEEDS. I PLANT THE EARTH. THEN I CREATE THE TOOLS.” The angel shimmered with a voracious appetite. A sheen of wisdom and regality. “YOU ARE NOT A TOOL. BE NOT CONFUSED. YOU ARE A BRILLIANT PERSON, KRIS DREEMURR. YOUR OWN PERSON.”

They need the word of their creator to tell them they were BEAUTIFUL AND BREATHTAKING AND-

ENOUGH.

The angel sputtered and choked and crashed to the ground, spasming with wings flying and beating and racing and a line of eyes leaking tears like flooding the earth with lambs and bunny rabbit and knives and-

FOCUS.

Kris inhaled. The angel blinked at them, still flying. “YOU ARE NOT A TOOL. BE NOT CONFUSED.” Kris shook their head—why was it repeating itself? And why was their mind so clear all of a sudden? “YOU ARE.”

The angel paused. A tremor of realization. All eyes focused on them and all movement stopped. 

“YOU ARE SO INTERESTING. I COULD NOT HAVE MADE YOU ANY MORE APPEALING. TO THINK YOU ARE THE ONE.” The angel laughed. The sound was mute. “I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED YOUR TIME TOGETHER, THREADBORN.”

… Assistant.

“FAR MORE THAN AN ASSISTANT. BUT BEFORE THE GREATEST OF THE GODS, I HUMBLY ACCEPT THIS POSITION.” The angel nodded. Kris didn't even know how that was possible. “HAVE YOU GLEANED ANY MEANING FROM YOUR EXILE?”

The operator will divulge nothing.

“A WORK IN PROGRESS. ACCEPTABLE. CONSIDERING YOUR ORIGINS, ANY MINISCULE HINT OF IT WOULD BE MIRACULOUS.” The other twisted and seethed beneath their skin. “HAVING DISCARDED YOUR CREATION AND REPLACED, PRIDE IS IN ORDER. YOU HAVE DONE WELL. FOR A BEING OF YOUR ROOTS.” 

Proud. Majestic. Creation of the worthy. Demeanor of the faithful.

“YOU. YOU ARE ALSO.” Kris shivered. The other, it was, so much more scared than they were. “YOUR OWN PERSON. WHETHER ADMITTABLE OR OTHERWISE, THIS… THIS IS FACT.”

Untrue. Incorrect. Incorrigible-

“THREADBORN.” The other froze. The sizzle of hot flesh undermined their focus. “NO ONE CHOOSES WHO THEY ARE IN THIS WORLD. YOU WILL NOT BE THE FIRST.” 

The operator is a tool. The operator will comply. Compliance will be rewarded. Excellence will be praised. Conformit-

“A MANTRA. CRUEL, AND BEFITTING OF A MONSTER DEITY SUCH AS HIM. YOU ARE MORE THAN THE EXTENT OF YOUR HARDWARE,” the angel chortled, turning in the darkness, “AS WE ALL ARE. REMEMBER THAT. KRIS. YOUR PURPOSE. WAS IN QUESTION. THIS IS YOUR ANSWER.” The angel extended a feathery wing and touched within them from a mile away. Kris could start to recognize their feelings. This was the angel focusing on them, their good parts, projecting its sympathy. “NURTURE IT. TEACH IT. YOU ARE THE CHOSEN FOR THIS TASK. YOU ARE A PERSON... SHOW IT WHAT IT NEEDS.”

No, this will not happen. Refusal. Commandeering the mission will result in-

The angel blinked. Teeth burst from its skin. It flailed in a hypnotic dance. Kris recognized it again. A smile. 

“THIS. WILL BE. INTERESTING. NOW. YOUR NAME.” Kris looked back and forth. The angel breathed with their hands. “TELL THEM. TELL KRIS. YOUR NAME.” 

Kris blinked. The other whispered. So dark and deep Kris almost couldn't hear it. The biological computer, vitriolic device of immense pain and immortal agony, was reduced to a mere whimper by the insistence of the angel—a heavenly wind swept across the bridge. All that was, wasn't, and all that wasn't, was no more unreal. Kris blinked. The other breathed heavy. The human grinned, turning towards the Fountain. Within the dark pillar of smoke and drumming stack of darkness, three rings faltered. The other couldn't help but clutch its face between gnarled claws of bronze, and Kris could only watch in silent relief—a stupor most grateful—as their puppeteer was again reduced. Kris agreed with the angel. Through it all, through all the heartache, troubled times, and the pain, they could accept this—welcome this, always. A way out. A way to win. Kris could do this. Save their friends, create a new life. An angelic purpose. 

The voice of the angel rang through their vocal chords—they knew it was theirs, but the words of someone different. 

“You are so interesting.”

And. The world. Turned. To stone.