Chapter Text
Creek watched as Chef’s henchmen fanned out, scooping up Trolls left and right, pouring them to the fanny packs they’re carrying. He watched as they scurry around like critters, screaming and trying desperately to get away from the ginormous hands coming at them. His jaws gritted tight. This was it. There’s no turning back from this now. He sealed the fate of his own kind the moment he agreed with Chef’s cruel offer, the moment he took Poppy’s cowbell and shattered their trust. But at least he got to live… right?
“What a bountiful harvest!” Chef said, her grin splitting her face. “You did well, my little helper.”
“T-thank you.” Creek said quietly from Chef’s shoulder. He cleared his throat “Well then, now that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, it’s time you do the same, yes?”
“Aah, good thing you brought that up. Here’s the thing…” Chef glanced at him, and before he could react, her spider-like fingers had wrapped around him in a vice grip “… did you actually think I’ll let you go?”
“W-what?”
“One Troll tree for an entire Bergen Town. How do you think I could feed enough Trolls to all of them every year?” Chef smirked as she shoved Creek into a hand pouch from her sleeve.
“No… no… no, no, no, no…”
“You Trolls breed like rabbit. One year’s enough to refill for the whole town. You’ve been left alone for 20 years. Twenty long years! HA! First, this year’s Trollstice! Then,” She started to cackle madly, gesturing to the carnage in front of her “This whole place will be our new harvesting ground. And you’ll be the one luring your fellow Trolls to us!”
“WHAT? NO!! THIS IS ONLY A ONE TIME DEAL!” Creek screamed at the top of his lungs, but it came out muffled through the thick pouch “HOW CAN I KEEP DECEIVING THEM??? THEY WON’T TRUST ME AND COME OUT THE NEXT TIME!! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!!!”
“Then you better come up with something else!” Chef shook the pouch violently “Unless we have more Trolls for many, many Trollstice to come, you’re next on my menu.”
Creek’s everything spun from the shake and the ultimatum. She lied to him. He thought he’d be free. He thought he’d offer up his village and that's it. He thought…
His mind begun to blur. He’s not dead. But he’s still trapped. He’s their cattle now. Like a critter. The moment he failed to lure more Trolls to them, he’s as good as dead.
The purple Troll went limp with that thought. His betrayal came back to bite him. Karma had never been so swift. His stomach registered the swinging motion as Chef and her henchmen returned to the castle, his ears picked up the distant scream as Trolls were transferred into something else, a pot probably, his skin felt the cold silence as Chef went to prepare for the feast. His mind though, was drawing a complete blank. What could he do now?
If he knew this, he would’ve…
Just maybe…
He would’ve let that Bergen King eat him.
Creek shuddered at the thought. The slimy feeling of saliva, those askew teeth grinding around him still made him want to vomit. He barely recalled his survival instinct kicking to overdrive. But, of all the things his tiny mind could remember, begging for his life, selling his own kind out had been carved into him. He's desperate, but if only he knew what Chef planned for him…
The pouch shook again, making his stomach churned. Light poured in as it opened, but then it turned upside down, and the purple Troll fell to another dreadfully familiar place: Chef’s fanny pack.
“Join me in this party, will you? After all, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Chef said gleefully before zipping the pack shut. Creek couldn’t find it in him to fight back anymore. All of them were done for…
What’s with all that noises? They certainly didn’t sound like happy cheer when Bergens feast on Trolls. More like an angry mob. Didn’t they have enough Trolls for each of them? They just chanted “Trolls! Trolls! Trolls!” a few seconds ago.
Then there’s glass breaking sound from afar. Creek heard more gasp and people talking all over each other.
Those voices… they sounded familiar… could it be…?
Suddenly he felt Chef’s giant body moved around violently, screaming something about her way to happiness. Her raging voice rumbled throughout her body, even the inside of her fanny pack felt the vibration. What’s going on out there?
Another voice rose up. Poppy? She’s here? Was she… singing? Creek reached his hair up to pull at the zipper from inside. Using every shake as momentum, he pulled with all his might. If she’s nearby, maybe she could distract this disgusting Bergen long enough for him to…
Another voice joined her, also so familiar. Whoever it belonged to harmonised well with Poppy in that muffled duet, then the chorus. Creek recognised some of those voices, but he couldn’t believe it. If they truly were the ones he thought they were, then what in the hair were they doing here, and why did they sound so happy?
More movement! Creek felt Chef stumbled backward. He felt like both he and Chef just got sent flying. Did she trip on something? No matter, it’s his chance! He mustered up the last bit of his hair strength to pull the damn thing separated him with freedom. A jolt! The fanny pack sprung wide open. But right before he could climb out, everything around him went up in flames.
Chef's on fire!
The purple Troll got lurched at the opening. But he hadn’t made it before there’s a free fall, then he got violently flung upward. This time he got a grip on the zipper to pull himself out. He’s almost there. He’s almost free! He’s…
The next thing he saw turned his inside to ice.
Chef's on something with wheels, her entire body on fire, the flame licking at him. She’s on her way down the stairs. In seconds they’d reach the bottom before the curve launched them both right back up.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”
There’s no one around who could save him. Definitely not Chef still trying to put herself out. There’s nothing left to do but scream. There’s…
Bergens!
They’re dancing? And singing? At the entrance to the castle. Right in front of them was a tiny pink figure that Creek could recognise even from kilometres away. Poppy! She’s with them? And next to her's another Troll. Cyan skin, dark blue hair. But the feature on his face…
… Branch?
All thought got cut off from him as Chef shot outside the town gate, with him still on her. The wind blew out the fire somehow, but they still got sent flying, further and further away from the town, from the other happy Bergens, other Trolls, away from their own kind…
As they slowed to a stop upon a hill, Creek found his brain start working again. He’s still alive. Poppy… and Branch… and the other Trolls… they’re all alive. What’s more, they’re with the Bergens, FRIENDLY Bergens. Creek blew a sigh of relief. All of this was just too much…
His thought got cut off as hand suddenly wrapped around him. Chef! He completely forgot she’s still here. Without any word, she brought him to her wide-open mouth.
“But wait, wait, wait!” There’s no way in hair he let himself be eaten after all he went through.
Before Chef could drop him in, the ground opened beneath them.
It's a hill monster, and they’re right on top of its mouth. Both fell into his stomach acid pit.
Oh…
He’s still going to be eaten then…
As he fell, Chef’s screaming slowly faded away, even when she’s so close, as the acid rose to meet them.
This was it, then. This was the end for him. A death fitting for a greedy Bergen and a cowardly traitor Troll, Creek thought. At least everyone else got their happy ending. The purple Troll closed his eyes as hot air blew past him, finally ready to accept his death…
WHUMP!
Ouch!
Creek’s face slammed hard onto the floor. The rest of his limbs tangled in… his quilt? Creek jumped up to familiar surroundings, one he knew too well: his room! He’s in his room, and he just fell out of bed!
Morning light streamed in with birds chirping from afar. The purple Troll looked around as if his room was a foreign place to him. He wasn’t here, and he's falling…
Creek flung open his wardrobe. The full-size mirror on the door reflected his near perfect image. Gone were the dirt, the scars, the bruises, the haunted eyes. The only imperfect things were his messy bed hair, a bewildered face, and a lot of sweat. Was it all… not real? Everything he just went through: the capture, the devouring, the locked up, the betrayal… the pain… was it all… a dream? A nightmare?
Sounds of cowbell, music and singing drifted to his ear, the lyrics all too familiar to him. But this time, it sent a chill down his spine:
“Everybody! Move your hair and feel united! Oh-Oh Ooh!”
Glancing at the calendar, Creek felt his blood turned into ice.
20TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION FREEDOM FROM THE BERGENS
His neat cursive handwriting, in purple glitter gel marker, was like a slap to his face, from reality.
“Everybody! Shake your hair and feel united! Oh-Oh Ooh!”