Chapter Text
Mark is on edge. He feels like he’s either hanging off the edge of a precipice by one weakening hand or tipping over his toes, unbalanced and staring into the abyss. Mark can’t see anything, but he feels the abyss stare back into him, penetrating into his darkest thoughts.
Feeling like a first person player in a horror game, Mark is constantly glancing over his shoulder, covered in cold sweat. Somebody – something, is watching him, analyzing him, sizing him up, and simply waiting. Mark isn’t the most patient type, but this monster within him is playing a game, a dangerous game. Mark is new to this game, and he doesn’t like not knowing anything. The monster has played this game too many times.
Mark decides that he’s tired. He doesn’t like this game. He slowly crawls his way up the stairs and has to concentrate on just lifting each foot to make it to his bed. Finally reaching his destination, Mark flops onto the mattress, staring up at the white ceiling, thinking.
He realizes that he’s been laying there and doing nothing but thinking for too long when his eyes begin to sting from lack of moisture. Mark blinks once. A faint shadow appears on the blank white. In slight horror, Mark blinks again. As the shadow becomes more distinct with each blink, so does Mark’s terror. As Mark subconsciously sits up onto his elbows, a face emerges from the colors and darkness swirling above him.
The first thing Mark sees are its eyes. His eyes. They’re black with a fiery ring of red. Simultaneously, Mark sees the blood-red flush of dyed hair sitting on the monster’s head above it’s diabolical eyes. Mark’s eyes flick down and up, taking in the details of his personal demon.
Mark sees it – him – the Devil - for who it is. The skin is too pale and not tan enough, the hair is too dark and too red, and the eyes are too wrong. However, despite his thoughts screaming in denial against the truth that the darkness is showing him, he sees that the monster in the abyss is simply himself.
But when the shadows smile, he sees that that might not be the case. Mark lifts a shaky hand to his mouth. That’s not his smile. The beast is a reflection, but it is not the same as he is. The illusion is made of smoke and mirrors that are not in his own thoughts. Or are they? The monster’s mouth moves as it whispers dark thoughts into Mark’s mind. Are these really my thoughts? Or am I simply telling you what you already know and think?
Mark’s entire body jolts alive in a rush of adrenaline and fear. He’s in his bed still, but the shadows are gone. He blinks…nothing happens.
Realizing it was all in his head filled – with smoke and mirrors – Mark flops back onto his pillow and reviews his nightmare – of truth. He jerks a hand up to his head; those aren’t his thoughts – but they are close enough. With a quite cry of alarm, Mark pulls his knees into his chest, squeezes his head in so that he’s reduced to a ball of denial, and interlocks his fingers over his nape. Mark closes his eyes.
In his mind, Mark can feel the darkness reaching out, coiling around him, staining every thought. He tries to put up a fight and to resist the monster consuming his soul and slowly becoming him. Or is he become the monster?
No, Mark decides, I am not what this thing wants me to be. I am Markiplier, and I am human.
The beast simply laughs.
When Mark opens his eyes at last, he’s restrained against a chair with darkness surrounding him. Suddenly, a rectangle of light sparks to life before his eyes. His counterpart’s face pops up, adjusting the camera angle. In the background, Mark can hear someone struggling – like they’re gagged. Ah, there we go, Mark’s screen-doppelganger finishes with a smile, all up and recording. You okay there, Jackaboy?
Mark can’t even scream. When the other Mark moves away from the camera, a tied-up, gagged, crying Jack comes into view. His face is tear-stained and blotched with red. His clothes are torn and soiled, and there are visible bruises on his face. His arms and legs are scratched with some places bleeding.
Aw, you look a little banged-up. Should I kiss it all better? The other Mark mocks and taunts Jack. You wish that your Mark were here to heal you with a kiss, don’t you? Well that’s too bad, the Mark on screen holds up a knife and runs a finger along the side of the blade before turning to face Jack, because all you’re going to get is me.
When the demon slices through Jack while Jack screams and cries, Mark tries to turn away, but something holds him there, forcing him to watch the torture.
Then, the monster sets the knife down. It – he – whatever the darkness is, leans down face-to-face with Jack. It smiles with a dark glint in its eyes. Slowly, its lips descend down onto Jack’s, kissing him. As the seconds tick and the minutes pass by into what feels like hours, the monster does as he pleases.
Mark wishes he could scream.
He knows what the monster is trying to do. He knows he can’t give up, but every time a rush of inspiration to fight back floods through him, his eyes go back to Jack’s trembling figure, and he just can’t. All the fight seeps out and is replaced by a cold, empty stillness.
His eyes are closing, and Mark can’t stop them. Even when he sees nothing but darkness, in his mind he still sees the echo of Jack’s broken body, knowing that he was the one who did it to him.
When his eyes open, he’s on the cliff, wind blowing his hair fiercely and threatening to push him off. He’s leaning forward, and his center of weight seems to be pulling him forward, drawing him closer to the darkness. As he looks down, the shadows are crawling, throbbing, waiting for him.
Mark stares into the abyss, and the darkness looks back, waiting. Finally, Mark blinks.
The abyss smiles.
[dark starts to talk]