A/N: Alright, who is ready for 2020 to be over? THIS GIRL!!! Honestly, I don't even know what happened in this chapter, is it good? no, is it bad? no, do I know anything? also no.... All I know is that while I was writing this chapter, I got the news that a very dear relative of mine has brain cancer (very aggressive) and I'm not well. It's tough, I don't want to whine to ya all so I won't, I just hope for a miracle at this point... Shout-outs for the ko-fis in the next chapter, commissions are also open. I hope each and every single one of you, are safe and healthy my loves <3 Cheers!
Death is neither an endless, ebony, silent void nor the luxurious fields under a cerulean sky where calmness is all that a soul knows. Death is not fiery pits or bubbling cauldrons with little red men with horns nor wandering souls traveling within the river Lethe.
Death for you, was the burning touch of coldness within the tight confines of your mind as it ordered your body to completely shut down.
You knew things were not going to end well for you from the moment the monsters had first appeared when you were little; when the shadows danced under the door to your room or static poisoned the air of your back yard, pulling your attention towards the darkness of the forest beyond the safety of your house. Nothing is consoling to that knowledge of course, not when you know that walking among the monsters always, always, ends badly for the human. Alas, hope is an irreversible poison to the mind, nesting itself deep within our hearts and whispering, along with the monstrous voices, that there is still a chance; you can still get out of here if you try.
The last thing you would ever see was Clockwork's boot coming down on your face before the world turned black and cold. If only for a second, if only for a moment, you fooled yourself into thinking that was what death was like; endless darkness floating all around you, where you would be alone to sleep off the rest of eternity.
Alas, nothing in your life was ever that easy and it was upon the passing of that moment, that true death was thrust upon you.
Cold. It was so unimaginably cold. The liquid you were submerged within felt thick and pleasantly frosty to your burning wounds, the flesh hanging open and the blood mixing with the acid. For a moment, your brain was relieved; it was calm, quiet and so numbingly refreshing in there, there was not a single thing you had to worry about anymore, no one to torment you, no struggles, no wrong moves. Alas, the cold grew and grew and grew, and suddenly, it was no longer comforting; it was burning, savagely making your nerves twitch and recoil, only to fail and the liquid to spread, eating away at your flesh until there was nothing more but the excruciating liquid cold fire.
Lungs contracting, you tried to scream. Your body folded in half in a desperate attempt to hold yourself, to console you through the pain and suffering; only for it to fail as a blinding light enveloped your tiny figure and death suddenly was as white as the freshly fallen snow, reeking of burnt flesh, tasting like metal, feeling like oil slipping through your fingertips, sounding like the static of an old TV in a long-forgotten house where nobody lived in anymore.
It ate away at your flesh, burning your skin right off the bone and you were too preoccupied with screaming to form any coherent thought. There was only feeling, sensations raking through your innocent body, the pain of extreme magnitude, screams for a salvation that would never come, and Clockwork's smug smile as she pushed you into nothingness. It was unfair. Why do bad things happen to good people? What kind of savage God punishes the innocent and lets the guilty roam free to do the Devil's bidding? There is something to be said about tests of character and a whole other ground for pure, full-out sadism. And here you are, amidst the cold fire to burn for all eternity, until there is nothing left of your soul until there is nothing left of you. All because you wanted to survive.
Static.
There is static in the air, hanging all around you in a way that drew your attention a mere inch away from the fire. At first, it was barely audible, nothing but a shadow in the back of your mind, but as the torturous minutes passed by, slipping off your mutilated flesh, it only grew stronger, as if whatever that was, it was coming closer and closer to you. It grew from a whisper to a voice and from a voice to a scream, dictating you into action you knew not how to do anymore; reaching deep into the light of death, it shook your consciousness by ordering it to come forth and react. As if it was a defibrillator, shocking you with bursts of electricity that commanded your damaged muscles to react.
Hazy, deafening static that strangely made sense and translated into words.
Tendrils of darkness infiltrated the white and suddenly, the mark on your burned wrist came to life.
Next thing you knew, your head was breaking the surface of the acid, mouth falling open to inhale a deep breath of air as the world seized and fell into place.
The maddening fire still burnt away at your skin; numbness and pain battled one another savagely, while the sweet drug of air filled your lungs enough to catapult your body forward. Blinking, you could not make anything other than basic shapes and colors through the haziness of your eyes, barely seeing your hands as they latched onto the edge of the tank, clawing at it and the ground in a desperate attempt to hoist yourself out of it. There was no strength inside you to scream anymore; the unimaginable pain was knocking at your insides savagely, keeping the oxygen just enough to have you breathing; you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream but you were incapable of doing anything like that.
The only thing you could do was crawl your way out of the tank and onto the unforgiving ground.
Ignoring the way your nails were left embedded on the floor or the way your skin was peeling off and falling around you.
Seeing yourself through a long, black tunnel, as if you were pushed back to watch like a spectator as your body crawled on the floor and towards the source of the deafening static. Through the haziness, if you blinked too many times, you could barely make out the slender figure of the black-suited man standing a few meters away, eclipsing the small space with his sheer height and emanating cacophonous choruses of static, making your brain crumble even more; from the faint movement behind him, you guessed his tendrils were waving at the non-existent air as his featureless face watched your every move, pathetically crying and crawling as if you were nothing but vermin. The Slender Man was standing amidst the darkness of the night and the warehouse, a monstrous nightmare ready to devour the world whole; he blended almost entirely with his surroundings, and were it not for the static, you'd fail to know he was watching you.
No... speaking to you.
If you had any skin left, it would certainly crawl at the volume of his words.
'M.......M-ma......Ma-ster....'
As if a switch is turned within you, the moment your voice reaches your ears, something breaks, and your thoughts come flooding through you. Sorrow, pain, sadness, and oh, so much anger crash upon you like the merciless storm-waves of a hurricane. Without controlling it, you scream; a roaring screech of anguish tears through you, taking with it the remaining of your strength, making you kneel before the Black King and matching his ear-splitting static.
'Look what they've done to me, Master! Look what they've done!'
Tears run down your (e/c) eyes to drip on the floor and your teeth clench with one another with such sheer power, it is a miracle they don't break. A concoction of emotions marches through inside of you, overflowing and demanding a release you weren't sure you could give right at this moment; the image of the brunette was dancing within the close confines of your mind and despite the immense pain you were in, you wanted to kill her. Savagely slaughter her for everything she's put you through, the pain, the suffering, the mutilation, the burning. Punish her for betraying your Master and for taking from you everything that made you... you, leaving you a raw, exposed nerve.
Only that now, there was nothing left to hold you back from lashing right back at her.
'M-Master...!' you plead, touching the ends of his black dress shoes with your trembling fingers, face right against the floor and never daring to look upon the Black King 'Give m-me your strength Master and I-I'll kill them all! All those who defied you! I'll make them ALL PAY!
Abruptly, the static stops. Low, hushed murmurs of voices linger in the air, whispering in languages you had never heard before. Slowly, gently, something cold and slippery coils around both of your palms, resting there as gingerly, as the touch of the morning mist upon the skin on a cold morning. It gives you the strength to go on, but never, e v e r, look upon him.
'I pledge myself completely to you my Master.' You choke out 'I'll kill them all for you!'
In a split second, the cold appendages clamp down on your hands and red-hot pain erupts through them, like a burning iron cutting through your flesh. Static and cracking sounds erupt, melting through whatever's left of your brain. Mouth falling open to scream, you instead vomit straight on the floor, and even through the murkiness of your eyes, the metallic aftertaste and odor of rust that assaults you are enough for you to know its blood; another violent convulsion rakes through you, and next thing you know, you are seizuring right there on the cold floor. Hands release from the Black King's grip and tighten instinctively against your chest as you writhe on the floor and your consciousness slips.
Vaguely you watch the warehouse, unable to control your body and bracing for the worst-case scenario; at least what part of your consciousness was still there.
Blinking, you find yourself inside what you vaguely recognize as an abandoned mine; there is light coming from somewhere behind you, but your convulsions are too strong to enable you to turn and see.
Another cracking sound and you are amidst a room in an abandoned building, face down on the marble floor to stain it with blood as you continue to bleed through every single orifice you have.
Blinking and you are inside a charred, dark forest; the smell of rot and charcoal burning through you like a brand.
The cracking and the static escalate in a deafening crescendo and you feel your brain explode as your eyes close.
Only to blink again and find yourself standing among the tall, haunting trees of the Slender Woods.
Light filters through the rich foliage, reflecting on the white snow covering the ground in such a comforting way that can only mean it's the light of sunrise. The chilling coldness of the weather envelops your burnt body in a whole different way the coldness of death did; it soothes away the excruciating pain of your burns and provides crystal clear oxygen for your lungs as you regulate your breathing back into some sense of normality. It is hard to swallow and there is no feeling left where your flesh is touching the ground and you don't know whether you have burnt straight through your nerves or the adrenaline is flooding your brain to numb everything; there's still blood dripping down your chin and nose and the ringing in your ears doesn't seem to stop. You are alone; Master is nowhere to be seen and the burning on your hands has substantially withdrawn, leaving behind your skin to throb and your mind empty like the dead.
Walk.
The order reverberates through your mind and cuts through the numbness, urging your body forward upon the snow. Destination is unknown; all you know is that you have to walk and there is nothing you can do about it; wobbly feet come in contact with the snow, body shaking violently, and threatening to throw you down at any given moment. Yet your eyes are nailed on the blurry horizon and what remains of your nerves is puppeteering your limbs to move forward.
The forest is empty and silent as ever; despite the bountiful light -something your brain registered as strange even despite your condition-, there is no one around.
For a split second, your thoughts swirl around to form faces; familiar faces of comrades you had spent time around yet were bleary and unclear through the suffering and burning and bleeding. As if you're trying to look at them through the murky stale waters of a puddle; still, they produce emotions you are struggling to identify within you; there is no coherence, no words to describe anything, only raw emotions running around and responding to the whispers and madness slowly poisoning you.
Ticking.
There is a ticking sound echoing through the whispers, hitting against the walls and producing images of a bright orange glow and a clock stuck against flesh. One produces unfathomable need and the other unfathomable rage. Making the voices scream and coo in unison, arising troubling and contradicting emotions, ringing in your ears and whispering things urgently; yet you walk, walk and walk, never paying attention to where you are going, never registering the muttered whispers or your surroundings. Pain is nothing. Madness is nothing. Anger is His and so is everything else. You are His. A servant. Nothing.
All that matters is to walk to reach....what? You don't know. It doesn't matter. All that matters is obeying the Black King.
Traitors.
There are traitors amidst the Black King's territory.
Must be exterminated.
Must be slaughtered.
Alas, you must keep walking.
Walk.
Find them.
Walk.
Kill them.
Walk.
Surrender.
Obey.
Serve.
Obey.
Walk.
At a certain point, your vision catches an unidentified wooden building in the distance; it is not familiar, no emotions are attached to it nor the Master's signature reeks off its presence. Yet you instinctively know that your walking is about to come to an end and as you near it, you barely notice two figures standing before it; one is clad in abyssal black -a stark contrast with the light and the whiteness of the snow- and the other is a mixture of vivid orange and the fiery redness of fire.
They notice you approaching and navy-blue sparks in your vision, as soon as the hissing sounds of a tiger pierce through the silence.
'Who are you?' demands an emotionless, icy cold, male voice.
Murmurs spark in your ears in response and you do not seize your walking.
Another warning hiss.
'Anastacia.' The voice orders and there is silence for a split moment before '_____?'
Something snaps within you at the sound of your name. The whispers disappear and your vision clears just enough to watch as Eyeless Jack and Halloween study you carefully, keeping a safe distance and watching like predators that had their territory viciously breached. Yet you cannot help but feel relief wash over you at the sight of the eyeless male.
You are saved.
Nobodymustknownobodymustknownobodymustknownobodymustknownobodymustknow.
Last thing you see, is Eyeless Jack darting towards you before you collapse to the ground.