Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’re not on a path on the woods. In fact, you’re probably somewhere completely else. Maybe your bed. On the couch, work, school, a desk.

Essentially you are anywhere but a path in the woods. And taking a hard look at you, you aren’t supposed to be here at all. How did you get here? What are you doing?

…

Fair enough. Just promise not to mess this up for me. Not that you will you seem more of a-

I-             Never mind.

Do you remember? The world before? You might. You might not. You must’ve come with me, there’s no other reason for you to be here.

Ahem. Now I must continue with my work.

“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a prince.”

“You’re here to slay him. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.”

Martin groaned and held his head. Cracking his eyes open he took in his surroundings. He was in fact, on a path in the woods. He took a couple steps forward before processing the Voice’s words.

“Wait hold on, the end of the world? What are you talking about?” Martin looked around trying to spot the place the Voice was coming from.

The Voice huffed with an arrogance.

“I’m talking about the end of everything as we know it. No more birds, no more trees, and, perhaps most problematically of all, no more people. You have to put an end to him.”

Martin scoffed. What a dick.

“You’re forgetting he’s like locked up in a basement? How can a prince in a locked basement end the world?”

“Don’t linger on the specifics,” said the Voice “You have a job to do here. Just get in there and do what needs to be done. We’re all counting on you!” The Voice sounded all smiley and confident. Like a car salesman trying to sell you a terrible deal.

Martin squinted at branches and bushes. Where the hell is this guy?

“I’m not anywhere Martin.”

Martin jumped back and scanned his surroundings.

“You are so dramatic, it’s not like that. Think of me like your Narrator. Someone who carries the story along, or in your case, convinces you to do the right thing.”

He nodded along with the Narrator. Martin began walking along the path.

“I hope you know I’m still not behind the whole killing the prince thing.”

The Narrator sighed, “I don’t know why you have such an issue with this. Are you a monarchist?”

“W-what are you serious right now?” Martin kicked a small rock at a tree.

“Is slaying a prince that much worse than slaying a fisherman or a seamstress? If anything, slaying a prince is much better than slaying a seamstress. Seamstresses contribute something of value to society at least.”

The Narrator went silent. Probably expecting a response to that wonderful comparison.

“Killing people in general is bad.” Martin said firmly. “If you want me to kill this guy then I’m going to need a reason.”

Martin could hear the eye roll from him.

“So you’re telling me that ‘He’s going to kill the entire world and human civilization as we know it’ isn’t a valid reason?”

“Without any evidence, yeah!” Martin scoffed. “Look, I’ll go to the cabin and I’ll talk to her, and-“ his voice gets higher, “and if he’s as bad as you say he is then maybe I’ll slay him. But I’m not committing to anything until I’ve had the chance to meet him face to face.”

The Narrator sighs defeatedly. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see what happens. But a word of warning-“ the Narrator continues, “if you go in prepared to hear him out, he could very easily trap you in his web of lies. And the more you listen to his honeyed words, the harder it’ll be to pull yourself out.”

The Narrator pauses.

“Then each and every one of us is doomed.”

He huffs, upset.

“So sure, go talk to him. See how that turns out for all of us.”

Martin looks up. The path before him stretches in a winding twisting route, ending at the top of a hill, with a cabin.

So the Narrator was telling the truth about that. Martin’s thoughts are interrupted by the Narrator.

“You make your way up the short path to the cabin. You’ll find the Prince within.”

“We’re not going through with this, right?”

Martin jumps at the second voice. It sounds…

It sounds like him.

“What the fuck.”  Martin murmurs as he looks ahead at the cabin. A light flickers.

“He’s a Prince! We’re supposed to save Princes, not slay them.”

Now the Narrator speaks, “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Martin shakes his head and just walks forward towards the cabin. Might as well get inside, he never liked the dark anyway, and if the Prince isn’t a monstrous beast that’s going to destroy the world, he might be good company until he can get back home.

Martin creaks open the door, and the Narrator begins.

“The interior of the cabin is almost entirely bare. The air is stale and musty and the floor and walls are painted in a fine layer of dust. The only furniture of note is a plain wooden table. Perched on that table is a pristine blade.”

Martin stares. And stares. He feels sick.

“The blade is your implement. You’ll need it if you want to do this right.”

“It can’t hurt to take it, right?” His voice whispers to him. “If he’s dangerous, we use it, if he’s not then no harm done.” Martin nods and takes the blade.

“You take the blade from the table. It’d be rather difficult to slay the Prince and save the world without it.”

Martin swallows as his throat goes dry. The blade is heavy in his hand. It’s well balanced as far as he can tell, which isn’t very far, but it feels nauseatingly comfortable in his palm.

      He gently pushes the basement door open. And he descends.

Why are you here? In the dark. Martin is afraid of the dark. But you’re not. Why are you comfortable, sitting there, watching? Don’t you want to help? To prevent the end of the world and guide Martin with me? He’s too dumb to do this without guidance, but you’ve been no help whatsoever! You just are here and you stare and you watch and you drink it in with hungry eyes. It’s infuriating.

The Narrator looks into you. He does not see.

      The view changes.

      “The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a staircase faintly illuminated by an unseen light in the room below. This is an oppressive place.”

      Martin looks around with wide eyes. The staircase is musty, the ceiling, stairs, and walls are all made of wood. It creaks under each of his heavy footsteps, sealing his fate.

      “The air feels heavy and damp, a hint of rot filtering from the ancient wood. If the prince really lives here, slaying him might be doing him a favor!” The Narrator ends with a lilting happy tone.

      Martin gasps at the comment and quickly covers his mouth to stop the sound. It’s too late.

      “His voice carries up the stairs.”

      Martin can hear the Prince clearing his throat before speaking, “Who’s there?”

      His Consciousness? He doesn’t know, but it speaks up, “He sounds… dangerous… It’s almost as if he’s the one in charge down here…”

      Martin really hates that voice. His hands shake and the knife glints in the minimal lamp light provided in the staircase.

      “Don’t let it fool you. It’s all a part of the manipulation.” The Narrator advises.

      Martin huffs. Might as well answer him, he already knows he’s here there’s no use in pretending.

      “Yes, that’s a good idea, make yourself approachable. Non-threatening!”  

      Calling this voice his Conscious seemed wrong. Martin still has his own thoughts separate from this voice, maybe it is something else? A part of him awakened or something like that. Now that he thinks about it. If he’s trying to slay/save a prince, what does that make him?

      A Hero.

      More like a villain, He thinks to himself. But that makes him feel sick all over again. He can circle back to this later. Right now he has a Prince to save/slay.

      “Hi?” he says. He tries to make his voice soft. A voice that he’s used before, trying to persuade someone to eat or sleep.

      “Ugh,” the Prince groans, “Don’t be a stranger. It’s been so long since I’ve had any visitors, come on down.”

      Martin mentally shrugs and continues down the relatively short staircase to the basement. Each step punctuated by a creak in the awkward silence.

      “You walk down the stairs and lock eyes with the Prince. There’s a heavy chain around his wrist, binding him to the far wall of the basement.” The Narrator speaks factually.

      “He’s so coldly beautiful… Is he really a threat to the world?” wonders the Voice of the Hero aloud.

      “Focus on the task at hand,” the Narrator speaks.

      Martin looks around the room. The floor is cobble, a mix of stone and packed dirt forming a floor he supposes. The walls appeared to be packed clay as was the wall the Prince was chained to. Unfortunately, the chain seemed to be mounted to a cinder block. That would make his job infinitely harder if that was the case.

      “And there you are,” the Prince muses, “Are you here to kill me or something?”

A slight smile flicks across the Prince’s face and Martin’s heart flutters

There’s no use in lying, Martin decides. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“How about you drop the knife and the two of us and just talk?”

There's a pull in Martin’s gut and his grip loosens.

“Look how reasonable he’s being! We should just drop the blade and talk things out.” The Voice of the Hero speaks excitedly.

“Don’t you dare.” Growls the Narrator.

Honestly, Martin might drop the knife just to spite the Narrator, he was being a right prick not explaining anything and just hoping Martin followed his orders like a dog.

“It’s fine!” The Hero reasons, “We can decide what we want to do after we talk to him. Maybe he really is a monster. But killing someone in cold blood isn’t very becoming of us.”

Martin lets the knife fall.

      The Narrator sighs exasperated, “The blade tumbles out of your trembling hands and drops to the floor with an unceremonious clang.”

      The noise rings in Martin’s ears as his eyes lock with the Prince’s.

      He looks at Martin with brown eyes that seem to see right through him.

      “Thank you.” He says in monotone.

      Martin swears that if the Prince’s life wasn’t at risk it would be accompanied with an eye-roll.

      Martin approaches the man carefully. Once a good meter away, he sits on the floor next to the Prince. The Narrator growls in frustration.

      “Against your better judgement,” he grits out, “you step forward to speak with the Prince face-to-face. Unarmed.”

      The Hero speaks reassuringly, “We’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know what you are hoping to accomplish here, but I can assure you there’s no reasoning with him.” Sigh. “Just make sure you don’t forget about the blade on the floor. You’re going to need it.”

      The Prince’s eyes flick away, “So here we are.”

      “Here we are.” Martin repeats.

The Prince looks nervous. “This is an awkward start to a relationship.” He chuckles.

Martin looks at the Prince. He’s skinny. Not as skinny as one might imagine considering he’s been locked away in this basement for god knows how long.

He’s definitely not strong enough to break out of his restraints though.

“I’m here because you’re supposed to end the world.” Martin speaks softly.

The Narrator guffaws “What are you doing? Don’t just tell him that!”

Martin ignores him.

“Is that why they threw me down here?” He ponders tapping his wrist. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone, I like the world! I think…” he trails off and stares into the wall again.

He shakes his head. “I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. I’ve been down here a long time.”

Martin nods thoughtfully. But, if he’s been down here so long that he’s forgotten what the world is like… How has he been eating? Or sleeping? And why is his hair still nice, there’s no tangles as far as Martin can see.

As if on cue The Voice of the Hero speaks up, “Just how long has he been down here?”

“Besides!” Says the Prince, “If I’m supposed to be capable of ending the world, then who did I wind up here? Chained to a wall? Have they even told you why I’m allegedly so… dangerous?”

Martin shakes his head, “I was hoping you would be able to clear that part up for me.”

The Prince hums and fiddles with the chain around his wrist. “Ending the world seems like an awful lot for just one person to do. I mean,” he laughs, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Martin stifles a gasp as the Prince looks at him once more. Every time their eyes meet Martin feels like he should believe every word he says. He’s completely convinced of everything the Prince says, would do anything for him just to look at him again.

But when the Prince breaks his gaze the spell is broken and Martin is left wondering what made him think any of that.

“I believe him.” Says the Voice of the Hero.

The Narrator scoffs, “He doesn’t have to know how to destroy the world to be capable of doing it.”

The Prince sits up, “At the end of the day,” he speaks confidently, “Whatever the two of us have going on down here is about trust.”

He continues, picking at rust that has accumulated on one of the chains. “Whoever sent you to ‘slay’ me claimed I was a threat to the world, but they didn’t tell you why.”

Martin nods with the Prince. It doesn’t make sense, that’s exactly why he’s here now, asking the Prince for himself. Getting answers for himself.

“That doesn’t sound right to me, and I don’t think it sounds right to you either. Otherwise we’d be killing each other instead of talking.”

Martin pauses.

Killing each other?

“He has a point,” The Hero says, “There’s a reason I’ve been telling you to question this situation. And there’s a reason you listened.

Martin is still hung up on the killing part when the Prince speaks again.

“So I could tell you that I’d lead a quiet life in the woods or that I’d open an orphanage or that I’d do any other number of ‘good’ things that I’m sure you want to hear.”

The Prince shakes his head, “But, you don’t know me. What can my words possibly be worth in a situation like this?”

“Well he’s right about one thing,” the Narrator says sarcastically, “His word isn’t worth anything.”

“Like I said, it’s all about blind trust.”

The Prince scans Martin up and down.

“But you aren’t blind Martin. So do you trust me- The Prisoner, The Victim, The Prince clearly incapable of ending the world- or do you trust whoever put you up to this?”

“I didn’t tell you my name.” Martin said, with wide eyes.

The Prince hummed, “Didn’t you?”

Martin shakes his head no.

The Prince shrugs and the chains jingle.

“He can’t be trusted.” The Narrator exclaims, “See! How did he know your name?”

“Is that our name?” The Hero muses.

“O-okay.” Martin stammers, “We’ve talked enough.”

“Oh? Have you decided what you’re going to do with me?”

The room is the same. Behind him are the stairs. Behind the Prince, a small window. To his right is the staircase that leads back to the main cabin area.

The Narrator’s voice is deep and foreboding, “You know why you’re here.”

Martin shuffles back and stands. He clenches his jaw and steadies his nerves. He swings at the Prince with the blade.

“Doubt, unfortunately, clouds your thoughts as you attempt to run him through.”

Martin falls through with this swing, a stumble, an opening.

“That’s all the Prince needs, a moment of distraction and hesitation to sidestep your thrust and deliver a catastrophic blow to your jaw.”

Martin’s vision goes white, there’s blood, his teeth hurt and he coughs. Cracking his eyes open he notices the white amongst the red on the cobble floor. He groans.

The Prince stands over Martin, jaw set, stance determined.

“It feels like you’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. You can feel bone grinding on bone where your jaw has been fractured.”

You really just gotta rub it in, don’t you? Thought Martin. He feels nauseous.

“Holy SHIT that hurt! ” Thank you, Hero! We definitely did not know that!

“Even though the Prince looked weak, that hit was enough to put you on equal footing.”

“Equal!?” Martin thinks incredulously.

But he doesn’t have time to continue that argument as the prince lunges.

“Your blade slashes through the air again and again, and his fist connects with your body as many times or more, each impact as heavy as that first bone-crushing hit” The narrator says in a smug tone. 

“God how are you so strong!? ” Martin grunts as he lunges for another hit.

“I try to stay fit.” The Prince says dryly.

Martin’s head throbs. His legs hurt, his arm hurts. It’s hard for him to breathe.
      “We can still turn this around.” Says the Hero hopefully.

Martin gasps as he kicks him hard in the chest and the air, what little of it, in his lung rushes out.

“It’s us or her. We’ve got this.” The Hero cheers.

The Narrator continues, ignoring the Hero and Martin. “You and the Prince stare at each other, both gasping for breath, equally exhausted. You probably won’t make it out of here alive, but you can at least make sure he won’t make it out of here, either.”

The Hero makes a strangled noise, “Excuse me?”

“Do you think I wanted this to happen? I have a duty to state the facts of this situation and honestly, it is a miracle anyone is still standing right now.” He rants angrily, “This would’ve been so much easier if you had just listened to me from the beginning.”

Martin gasps and kneels, trying to get his balance. His body throbs. Like an open wound that won’t close.

“You’re seriously telling me you can’t feel all those ruptured organs bouncing around in there?”

Oh.

“If your friend here doesn’t kill you, then the internal bleeding is certain to finish the job.”

Martin takes a deep breath, wincing at the pain. He steels his nerves.

“The two of you clash for the final time.”

Martin slices into the Prince’s arm.

“You feel your ribs break as he delivers a heavy blow.”

He wheezes as the kick lands and his vision whites.

“-But you push through”

Martin stands. He feels the finality in his bones. This is his last chance.

“The pain is white hot and you can barely see the Prince. But you lunge.”

Martin feels his body fall.

“The blade is true. It sinks deep into the Prince’s heart.”

The Prince stares at the hilt that is buried in his chest.

“O-oh…” He wheezes and drops to his knees.

He falls. Martin stares. The Prince stares back.

“This was fun-“ The Prince coughs and blood seeps out of the corner of his lips.

Softly, with more care than Martin had ever heard from the Narrator, he speaks.

“The Prince gasps. His voice becomes stifled and raspy as his lungs fill with blood.

“You put up more of a fight than I thought you would.” He coughs. “But I have to wonder…”

The Prince’s eyes focus on Martin’s.

“Do you really think this is the end?”

“But you don’t have time to worry over such things.” The Narrator says with finality, “Because everything goes dark, and you die.”

Chapter Text

      The world Martin knows is replaced by darkness and his mind fades out of existence. The Narrator is silent. The world is silent. There are no trees or birds. Not even the rustle of branches in the wind. Just you. In the emptiness.

      “Who are you?” says a familiar voice in the empty. His voice is swallowed by the void. He sounds so small compared to the world before.

      His eyes open and he stares at you puzzled.

      “I don’t remember bringing you here.” The Narrator, yes that was (is?) his name you now remember.

      The Narrator watches your form with hungry eyes. They watch from all angles.

      You feel nothing. There’s an emptiness, a void where fear takes it hold. It’s grasping for some form of a hand hold.

      The Narrator mumbles nonsense as he assumedly circles your form. His voice flits from one side of you to the other,  “...yes, yes I feared as such.”

Martin Blackwood wakes on a path in the woods with a severe case of deja vu. His head throbs painfully and his ribs ache.

“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Prince. You’re here to slay him. If you don't, it'll be the end of the world.”

The Narrator embraces the silence and breathes in the wind flowing through the trees.

Martin stands and spins, trying to get a sense of self.

“I am getting a terrible sense of déjà vu.” Martin says quietly, mostly to himself if he’s honest.

The Narrator scoffs, “A terrible sense of déjà vu? No, you don’t have that. This is the first time either of us have been here.”

“If He doesn’t remember what happened, maybe it’s best to keep it that way.” The Voice of the Hero muses.

Martin takes a step forward and it hits him. The Prince, the trickery, his incredible strength for his size, his death.

So that’s why his ribs hurt! They’d been shattered to pieces!

“You know I can hear you right?” The Narrator says incredulously, “It’s going to be a lot harder than you think to keep secrets from me.”

There’s a frustrated groan, and a new voice, “That’s fine. It doesn’t matter if He can hear us. The only thing that matters is marching up to that cabin and winning.”

“That’s the spirit!” The Narrator speaks with a giddiness, “There’s no point in squabbing when the real threat is just up that hill.”

Martin follows the path, albeit slowly, considering the “déjà vu” feeling is more. Like it feels real, actually he’s pretty sure that this entire conversation has happened before. He questions the Narrator’s motives, the Narrator is vague and frustrated, they continue like that until he dies.

The Narrator sighs in that way that he does when Martin goes against what he thinks Martin should do.

“It hasn’t. Or if it has, I certainly haven’t been a part of it. Like I said, we’ve just met for the first time, you and I.”

Martin sighs, there really is no use in trying to convince a man who is so painfully in his own world.

He continues to the cabin.

“A warning, before you go any further…” The Narrator says for the second time, “He will lie, he will cheat, and he will do anything in his power to stop you from slaying him. Don’t believe a word he says.”

Martin scoffs. He had told the truth last time, it had just ended in both of them trying to kill one another.

“’Lying’ and ‘cheating’ doesn’t sound like him at all. Not that it matters, it’s not like he can lie or cheat in the middle of a fight.” The voice says stubbornly.

“Are you sure about that?” the Hero questions.

Martin can feel the Stubborn’s glare and has to stifle a giggle as the Narrator begins his spooky warnings once more.

“The point of my warning wasn’t to start an argument over which circumstances the Prince is capable of lying in. It was to give you some broadly applicable advice.” He speaks tiredly, for someone who apparently “just met them” he sounds pretty over Martin and Co. already. “The Prince will do and say whatever he thinks it will take to get him out of there. So don’t trust him. Ever. Are we clear?”

The Voice of the Stubborn groans dramatically, “Crystal. Let’s get on with it already.”

Martin waits for a witty remark from someone, but silence is all that follows, and so he makes his way up the twisting path to the cabin.

For the second time, he creaks open the door to the cabin. The cabin is smaller? Or maybe Martin got bigger since last time? No no, he’s sure that the interior of the cabin is small, abnormally so.

The Narrator clears his throat, “The cabin is tighter than its exterior would suggest.” So, Martin was right- “Its stone walls press in on you, as if trying to forcefully direct you towards your destination. The only furniture of note is a black-iron altar with a pristine blade perched on its edge.”

No, he's definitely been here before. It was a bigger cabin, and the “pristine” blade had been on a rickety wooden table, but the air was the same. The pull to the basement carried the same dread as before, except this time all his fears were confirmed.

The Prince would kill him if he got in the way of his freedom.

“See! Even the cabin has the right idea. Let’s get moving.” The Voice of the Stubborn had a jeer to it that was plain unsettling. The joy he carried at the idea of killing another person was sickening.

The Narrator continues ignoring the voice, “The blade is your implement. You’ll need it if you want to do this right.”

Martin scans the room one last time before approaching the knife.

There’s a mirror on the far side of the wall. Martin turns and peers at it. There’s a thick layer of grime covering his reflection.

“Hey, you didn’t say anything about the mirror on the wall.”

The Narrator pauses, “That’s-“ “That’s because there isn’t a mirror. There’s the altar, the blade sitting on the altar, and the door to the basement. There’s nothing else in here.”

The Hero gawks, “There’s definitely a mirror.”

“There isn’t” The Narrator says assuredly.

The Stubborn whines, “You already wasted so much time in the woods! Who even cares if there’s a mirror!?”

Martin approaches the mirror.

“I don’t care about the mirror. I care about whether or not I’m being lied to.”

“As do I.” The Hero agrees.

“I’m not lying to you, use your eyes-“ The Narrator says exasperated, “there is no mirror. Why would I lie about something so meaningless? What good would a mirror even do? Let you waste time preening yourself instead of doing what needs to be done?”

Martin ignores the man and approaches the mirror.

The Narrator sighs, “You walk up to the wall next to the basement door. It’s a wall. There isn’t much to see here.”

“This really isn’t funny” The Hero sounds sick.

Martin reaches forward to clean the mirror, to see his reflection. Gods when was the last time he saw himself-

The mirror disappears. Like a mirage-

“You reach forward and rub your hand against the cabin wall. I hope you know how ridiculous you look right now.”

“But- it was there a second ago!” The Hero protests.

“And now it’s gone,” The Stubborn drawls in a bored tone, “So all of us can stop arguing about it and get to fightin’.”

Martin blinks. His hand rests against the cool stone of the cabin wall. He shakes himself out of his stupor, the Stubborn is right. It doesn’t matter and if last time is anything to go by, he’s going to need that blade.

“You take the blade from the altar. It would be difficult to slay the Prince and save the world without a weapon.” The Narrator narrates.

“It was difficult with the weapon last time .” Martin mutters, absently rubbing his sore ribs.

Martin sighs, steps forward and pushes open the double doors to the cabin basement.

It was a single door last time.

“Get over yourself.” The narrator scoffs. “I know that you can convince him, you know you can. He just needs a nudge in the right direction.”

There's a beat of silence where you can assume he expects a response.

“Honestly, there’s enough of you to peer pressure the man. I can’t really believe that you would rather see the world destroyed than give him the push he needs.”

The space shifts.

“Someone said I’m ‘chilling’.” The Narrator muses, “I wouldn’t describe myself as such, especially because I’m being so kind to you.”

A pause.

“You’re a cruel creature.”

“Let Martin repeat this cycle. I want you to watch. ”

     Martin winces as his eyes adjust to the dark. He takes a step forward and braces himself against the wall. The stairs are terribly uneven, covered in lots of small stones that make it hard to get the element of surprise.

      The Narrator begins, “The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a rough stone staircase, its walls pressing at your sides and tightening as you descend.”

      Martin sucks in a deep breath. The space is truly suffocating, and he knows that he is not the smallest person, but it would be small for the Prince.

      “The air seeping from below is heavy and oppressive, with an almost sulfuric odor to it. If the Prince lives here, slaying him would probably be doing him a favor.” The Narrator finishes his description.

      Martin takes another step, and his fierce voice carries up the stairs, “Is that another challenger?” The Prince chuckles, “Finally. It's been ages since I’ve had a good fight.” The Prince sounds almost feral, a growl lacing his words like a big cat ready to pounce.

      The Hero makes a surprised noise, “This isn’t what he sounded like last time. His voice is a little deeper, almost threatening.”

      Martin hums in agreement.

      “Sounds like my kind of Prince.” The Voice of the Stubborn adds, unhelpfully.

      “As much as I love the enthusiasm, just make sure you don’t let your bloodlust get to your head. You need to stay focused and keep your wits about you. Remember you’re here to slay the Prince, not have a good fight.” The Narrator reminds, helpfully.

      Martin grips the blade tightly. He won’t let his guard down this time.

      He descends the dark staircase and emerges in a cave. It’s narrow and on the far side is the Prince. He stands with his hands on his hips and a fierce look in his eye. A chain binds his wrist to the wall.

      The narration continues. “As you descend the final step, the form of the Prince comes into view, a large shackle leading from his wrist to the basement wall.”

      The Hero whimpers, “It looks like he could rip those chains out of the wall without a second thought.”

      The Prince takes a step forward, chains jingling, “Oh.”

      “It’s you again.”

      Martin gives him an awkward smile and shrugs.

      “I’ve been hoping you’d find your way back here. Good to see that death doesn’t stick for either of us.” He chuckles. It’s terrifying. “And you brought your little knife, too. Yes.” He hums, “I'm going to have fun breaking you into little pieces”

      Martin gulps. The Prince is way different from the last time they met. For one, the horns. Horns coming right out of his forehead. And the spade shaped tail. Oh and the hooves are probably important to mention.”

      He takes a step forward. “I’m not saying I’m not here to fight, but I think the two of us have a lot to unpack first. Like how we’re both still alive.”

      The Prince giggles. Giggles. “What is there to unpack? I was dead and now I’m not and same goes for you. There. Unpacking done.”

      Martin sighs. He was not going to get through to him.

“Don’t you get it-“ The Prince says excitedly, “we’ve been given free reign to wail on each other forever.”

      “Couldn’t have said it better myself!” The Stubborn enthusiastically agrees.

      “All right. Fine. I believe you.” The Narrator sounds defeated almost. Like he’s disappointed.

      “What?” Says The Hero.

      “What you said earlier, in the woods. I believe you. You’ve already met the Prince, and the Prince has already met you. But that’s all the more reason to take this seriously.” He takes a breath, “You don’t know whatever brought the two of you back to life isn’t a fluke. And beyond that, do you know who doesn’t remember anything that happened last time? Me. I. Don’t. Remember.” The Narrator takes a heaving breath and angrily chuffs.

      “Are… Are you okay?” The Hero asks, quietly.

      “Of course I’m not okay! As far as we’re all concerned, the fate of my world is still very much on the line. Not all of us have the luxury of jumping over to a parallel universe the second we die.”

      The Prince cocks his head and squints his eyes. Then he closes them.

      They’re green.

      “Um, Prince? We’re your eyes always green?” Martin says timidly.

      “They are now.” Says the Prince matching Martin’s stare in a bored tone.
      Martin starts backing up quietly, if he can get a head start, maybe he can just leave the Prince in here and not get killed again.

      “Oh, you’ve got another thing coming if you think that you can just turn around and leave.” The Prince growls.

      Martin lunges for the beginning of the staircase, but the Prince pulls. Hisses in pain then-

      SNAP!

      “Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-“ Whispers Martin.

      “He’s loose. You have to make a decision , and you have to make it fast.”

      He stands panting, wrist limp with the iron clasp still attached. Martin stares at the Prince’s form. There are scars from the last battle, but they are faint.

      With a quick glance to the staircase, Martin decides he cannot make it through there a second time. They almost look like they’ve gotten smaller since he went down them.

      The Prince lunges for Martin.

      “As the Prince barrels towards you, you do your best to maneuver between the tight walls of the basement.” The Narrator, narrates.

      “You do your best to outplay him, slashing out and leaving red (green..?) cuts in the tattered remains of his white dress (A wedding dress maybe?) but you have little room to maneuver. For each glancing blow you manage to land, he slams you against the wall in retaliation, each impact threatening to be the last.” The Narrator says. He’s speaking quickly and nervously.

      Martin looks. Really looks at the Prince. Between each heavy blow he delivers, Martin slashes. The slashes-

      Oh god.

      In place of each slash, opens an eye.

      An actual, gaping, focusing, living, neon green, fucking eye.

      The Stubborn sighs in frustration, “This weak little dance isn’t working. Just toughen up and overpower him!”

      Martin gasps for breath as he’s slammed into another wall.

      “He’s throwing us around like a ragdoll. I think ‘overpowering’ him is a little out of the question.” Says the Hero.

      Martin is slammed into the same wall for about the fifth time. “Did you think you could stop me with a few cuts?” The Prince pushes Martin into the wall harder. Martin can hear something crack. “All this dancing around is doing nothing but making me stronger. I own this place. And I own you.” The Prince’s breath is hot on Martin’s face as he gasps for one full breath to regain his, albeit limited, strength.

      “It’s useless. The Prince’s arm shoots forward, his palm wrapping around your head, fingers gripping your skull.” The Narrator continues his duty solemnly.

      What the Narrator had forgotten to mention however was the eyes. There were so many. All staring. There’s one on The Prince’s palm and Martin can feel the eye moving, trying to get a view.

      “How disappointing.” The Prince mutters.

      Martin is sick. The pressure increases around his skull and he knows this is the end.

      He’s still got the blade.

      Weakly, Martin raises the blade. There’s an eye on the palm wrapped around his skull. There’s also an eye on the Prince’s forearm.

      The Narrator gathers himself, “He, squeezes- ugh squeezes, the pressure unbearable as his fingers dig into your scalp.” Martin is dizzy, but all eyes are on him. “The last thing-“ Martin swings.

      The Prince’s eyes all focus on his hand which is still holding the blade that is currently embedded in one of the Prince’s many many eyes. Tears well in his real eyes. And there’s a moment, where Martin swears that the Prince’s eyes are brown.

      “None of your attempts to prevent him from squeezing however. The last thing you hear is the unsettling crack of your skull and the sickening churn of what was your grey matter.”

      “Everything goes dark, and you die.”

Chapter Text

      Ah. That’s why you watch.

      You’re a researcher, I understand, yes.

      Did I employ you? I certainly don’t remember doing so but you seem to have taken to that role.

      You did as I asked. You let him die. I’ll have to say, I did not expect that.

      The Narrator begins, “You’re on a path in the woods-“

“If you weren’t so damned afraid of what he’d do to you, we wouldn’t have died back there!” Yells The Stubborn angrily.

The Hunted speaks, “Fear is good. Fear keeps us alive. We died because we didn’t have enough of it.”

“So what? You’d have us cower in a corner?” The Stubborn asks incredulously.

“No-“ The Hunted gets quiet, “But that place suits him better than it suits us. He’s big, we can’t hope to find holes and openings down there. We need more room if we’re going to survive.”

Martin cracks open an eye.

It’s dark. Super dark. And his head aches. He’s not on a path in the woods, like the Narrator seems to think, he’s in a tunnel, or a cave- it doesn’t matter it’s underground and the only way is forward.

“Are you suggesting luring him into the woods? Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be? If you lose sight of him, if he manages to slip away, that’s it.  Game over. For everyone. Yourself included.” The Narrator contests.

“Are you not going to challenge us on the whole” he pauses as if to act something out, “looping thing? Have you known since the beginning? Or at least the beginning we remember?” The Hero says.

“I’m sorry to disappoint what I’m sure must feel like a grand revelation, but that’s not what’s going on here. We’ve never met.” The Narrator says, taking his position.

“Then what is going on?” The Hunted says timidly.

The Narrator scoffs, “What’s going on’ is that you’d only be saying things you’ve been saying if you’d already been here, and if you’d already seen things you weren’t supposed to have seen.”

The Hunted hums, “It doesn’t matter. We could go in circles forever.  I don’t like staying still for too long.  Let’s get to the cabin. See this through.”

      The Narrator goes to speak but is cut off by the Hunted once again, “We may have the same destination, but we’re not the same. You are still an other, and I don’t trust you.”

      The eye roll from the Narrator is audible, “Well fortunately, you have an entire trip through the woods to reconsider that.”

      “There’s nothing to reconsider. We’re all for violence here!” The Voice of the Stubborn is excited for this again.

      Martin is tired. His head hurts, his ribs hurt more, his legs hurt, his eyes hurt, everything fucking hurts.

      “Are we? I haven’t signed off on anything yet.” The Hero says confused.

      Bless his heart, thinks Martin.

      “Violence is the answer here, but-“ The Narrator starts to reason with the Voices but Martin couldn’t care less.

      He’s so tired.

      He begins to crawl through the tunnel cave thing to the cabin. Eventually, the cave opens, and the cabin is revealed. It sits in the middle of a crater, there’s loads of debris and spiky rock formations around the edges. It looks like an arena.

      The voices bicker again. Something about how we’ve been here before. The Narrator says something condescending. All things Martin’s heard.

      “-something to chase.” The Voice of the Hunted says.

      Martin is pulled back to reality with this. Thankfully, whatever the Hunted had said, it had corralled the others into silence.

      He makes his way to the cabin.

      Martin pushes open the door and whimpers at the sight.

      “The interior of the cabin is suffocatingly tight, more of a glorified tunnel than a building. Its stone walls squeeze against your sides, leaving you no choice but to press forward. The only furniture of note is an iron altar, jutting out from the wall, a pristine blade perched on its edge.”

      The Narrator clears his throat.

      “You’ll need it if you want to do this right.”

      The Hunted sounds meek, “See?” It whispers, “We have even less space than before. We need space or he’ll kill us, and the only space is out there.”

      Martin stares ahead.

      Before him is the Mirror. He’d seen it in the last cabin as well, but this time, it’s blocking his way to the Prince.

      “Take the blade.” Pressures the Stubborn.

      Martin grabs the blade.

      “You’re right, the Prince would be difficult to slay without a weapon. You pick up the blade and clutch it tightly.” Says the Narrator.

      “Good. We need every part of us to survive, and that steel claw is as good as any.” The Hunted now sounds confident in our chances.

      Martin approaches the mirror. Hesitating.

      “You step forward and approach the door to the basement, hesitating before you open it. As if you don’t see it. You do see it right?” The Narrator questions.

      Martin says nothing. He sees no door, but in the layer of dust on the mirror there’s something written out.

      It’s in the top corner. From Martin’s angle he can only make out one letter. “E”, It’s written in neat cursive, and with a utensil thin enough that Martin barely can make out that first letter. Martin stands on his tippy toes to try and get a better look but a wave of dizziness hits him. He falls into the mirror-

      “Jeez what’s wrong with you- Ugh, you fall forward and brace yourself on the door that leads down to the basement.”

      The Mirror is gone. Martin is honestly too tired to care at the point though. He already knows that the Narrator is going to deny any existence of the Mirror regardless.

      “The door starts to creak open under your weight and you tumble through with a loud thunk.” The Narrator continues.

      Martin gasps as he falls through. Before him is a giant chasm. He frantically grabs at the rock as he slides. He barely catches himself on the edge. He pants and wheezes, as he pulls himself back up. There’s maybe a foot, more like 8 inches (Maybe less but overestimating makes him feel better).

      “There’s foot holds in the cliff face going down. You can make it to the bottom, but it will require careful effort.” Warns the Narrator.

       Martin sobs, “Fuck.”

“Oh come on we’ll just brave the d-“ the Hero goes silent as Martin peers over the edge. “or maybe we go back? That might be safer for everyone. Just keep him locked down there! Then he can’t destroy the world.”

      The Stubborn sounds shocked, “Are you kidding me right now? We’re going to just give up because he’s created a small little obstacle for us?”

      Martin looks over the edge again and feels sick.

      “The air hissing up from below is warm and wet, like the breath of an enemy locked in close-quarters. If the prince lives here, slaying him is probably doing him a favor.”

      “Well it’s not doing us any favors just sitting here.” The Stubborn huffs.

      Martin tries to feel behind him for the tunnel he had crawled in through but his fingers can’t find it. The edge is far too small for him to turn around and look to see if it was even possible to crawl back through.

      “Narrator, what’s behind me?” Martin asks, out of breath.

      “I can’t see that”

      “What?!” Says Martin. His voice echoes down the chasm.

      The Narrator sighs, “I can see what you can see. Imagine I’m looking through your eyes, I’m essentially trapped looking through your perspective. And trust me, if I could, I would not be.”

      Martin gulps and nods. “Guess there’s no way but down.” He inches his foot towards the edge and a couple rocks fall.

      They do not hit the ground for several minutes.

      “Fuck, fuck, fuck I can’t do this I’m going to get trapped.”

      The Stubborn gasps excitedly, “Ooooo now that would be a twist! The Prince captures us in a net, or chasm, and we have to fight him off from our precarious ledge.”

      “That does not sound like a good time to me.” Martin says. He’s surprised he’s still breathing being so close to the edge.

      Another rock falls as Martin shimmies onto the small foot and hand holds he’s managed to find. He doesn’t hear it hit the bottom.

      “His voice, bold and impatient, echoes from the chamber below.” The Narrator speaks.

      There’s a feral-ness in his voice, “Do you have more fight in you than last time? That was such a disappointing show. I know you can do better than that.” There’s a noise, like an arrow cutting through the air.

      A rock hits Martin’s left foot.

      The rock.

      The Hunted whispers, “Goad him, rile him up. If he’s angry, he’ll make mistakes.”

      Martin steps down to another rock. And a pebble falls. And a pebble comes whistling up, this time hitting his right hand.

      He really shouldn’t rile him up, Martin’s not useless in a fight but he can’t ruin his chances of not dying by getting him in a bad mood.

      “You’ve nowhere to go but down. You start the difficult journey, gripping the stone, lowering yourself foot by grueling foot. But soon, there is solid ground beneath your feet.” Says the Narrator.

      “Remember every crack and crevice. We’ll need to be faster than him.” The Hunted advises.

      Martin steps down from the cliff face and breathes. His limbs are shaking, and he feels weaker than ever before. Maybe he should just give up, because there is no way he is making it back up that wall.

      “You turn to face what lies at the end of the narrow tunnel. The Prince, imposing and tightly muscled, grins back at you from the darkness. The tunnel is lightly illuminated by the glow of eyes.”

      Martin gasps as he sees the Prince.

The Eyes Open.

      Martin knew that there were things that he was never going to understand. Aside from the obvious mysteries of the universe he also knew that some simple things were just out of his mind's realm of understanding. 

Because of this, he was often described as an “easy child”. He stayed out of trouble and kept his nose out of things it didn’t belong in. 

Because of this, he was often not described as “brave”.

However he could’ve never predicted the scene in front of him. He wonders, in the back of his mind, the part that is calm and not overrun with panic, how a person becomes this way. How a person can be so hungry for bloodshed. 

The Prince shifts and Martin can hear the familiar CLINK of chains. 

“Don’t get close, he’ll kill us, chains or no. Ask your questions, if you must, then run.” Whispers the Voice of the Hunted. 

Martin stifles a noise of fear and the eyes turn.

The Prince is covered head to toe in glowing green eyes. The irises are a fluorescent green, the sclera what Martin can only assume is black. The eyes on the Prince’s face illuminate a bloodthirsty grin. Martin scans the body of the Prince, intrigued, but also terrified. This is not a person. 

“I don’t like the sound of this plan.” Hero mentions sheepishly. 

The Hunted mutters, “It’s the only way we live.”

The Prince shuffles and jangles the chains once more. “Well? What are you waiting for? If we’re gonna do this right, you can’t be scared. You need to want this as much as I do.”

Martin scoffs and tightens his grip on the blade. He would never want to kill someone. But…

“He isn't someone. I mean look at him! He’s a monster.” the Narrator groans as once again his efforts to get this prince slain are ignored.

The Prince growls, “Go on! Don’t keep me waiting.”

It’s a threat. Martin knows this. 

Martin also knows that it’s not smart to try and win this in such a cramped space.

“Why don’t you want to be free? Why do you insist on fighting me down here in the dark?!” Martin protests, trying desperately to avoid the same fate as last time. 

“This again!?” Cries the Prince, “What does ‘free’ even mean? ‘Here’ and ‘there’, none of that matters! I’m always in a body. I’m always in one place.” The Prince huffs, “Why are you acting like you know me better than I know myself?”

Martin is silent. He stares  at the Prince and the Eyes stare back. 

“I had what I wanted, I had something perfect and it ended. And now that it’s gone you just keep- agh! Dangling.” Clank. “It.” Jingle.“ In.” Clink. “Front. Of.” Creeeeakkkkkkk- “ Me.” Rubble falls. 

He needs to run. 

“It's more than teasing. It’s cruel and cowardly and selfish.”

Martin takes a step backward. But the eyes see. 

The Prince growls, “I know what I want. And I’m sick of waiting.”

“He rushes forward bloody, desire in his eyes, ignoring the way the chain slaps into the back of his legs.” The Narrator speaks calmly. 

“ Run.”

Martin turns on his heels sharply, and without hesitation. Adrenaline courses through his veins. He can hear the Narrator saying this exact thing in his annoyingly monotone voice, but it’s tuned out by the pounding of his heart beat. 

He can hear the chuffs of the Prince behind him as he reaches the ledge once again and begins his climb. 

“As you near the top, hand desperately clawing at jagged stone,” they’re bleeding, “you glance back.”

Martin makes eye contact with the main (?) eyes of the Prince. There’s nothing left. Just hunger. Just a monster. 

“The Prince does not entertain the idea of the handholds, instead digging his claws into the stone in rapid pursuit.”

“Anywhere you go I will follow.” The Prince screams. 

Martin mutters, “I’m counting on it.”

“Good.” The Hunted agrees. 

The Narrator clears his throat, “ You reach the ledge and hoist yourself up onto the ledge, the cabin door is finally within sight.”

“What is all of this for? What’s the point? You and I are always going to end in violence, so why bother to run? I know What I Am. Why can’t you be the same?”

“I refuse to become a monster.” Martin yells. He shimmies over to the cabin door. 2 feet away. 

“Little bird, little bird! Where do you think you’re going?” The Prince sings. 

“We’re almost there.” Hero says. Encouragement. 

1 foot away. 

“And we’re taking the fight with us.” Says the Stubborn

Martin collapses through the cabin door and rolls onto soft warm grass.

“You glance back as the Prince, singular in his desire to destroy you, explodes through the doorway. You are walking a dangerous path. If you waver once, it’s all over, so get it right.” The Narrator threatens.

Martin stands on shaky legs. Everything is sore and hurts. 

The Prince stands almost as tall as the cabin, with a wide stance and a hungry expression, “There’s nothing left to slow me down. Do you think this is better for you? Do you think that this space gives you an edge? Then show me! Show me that you’ve been worth all the room you’ve taken up in my head!”

“Do it!” The Stubborn pushes.

“Stay true. Be where he is not. Let your body move you.” The Hunted comforts. 

Martin gets in a runners position and tightens his grip on the trusty blade. It gleams in the sunlight eager to fulfill its purpose.  

He leaps through the grass towards the princess keeping low. 

The Prince chuckles, “Charging me head-on? Brave. And Foolish.”

Martin has never been described as a brave man. 

“The Prince braces for impact.” 

“You’re both wrong, left NOW! ” The Hunted yells.

As the Prince strikes Martin lunges left, he overextends and the Prince’s balance shifts.

“Strike!”  The Hunted whispers.

Martin throws his arms out slicing cleanly through the Prince’s upper thigh. It oozes as the Prince turns to swing once more. 

The Hunted shouts again, “Right!”

Martin follows the Hunted’s directions and dodges right, but it’s not as clean. 

The Narrator speaks up, “You move out of the way, but not quick enough. You can feel a bruise blooming where his elbow crashed into your flesh.”

“You’re fine. Ignore it. You got another hit on his arm, a bruise is nothing.” The Stubborn says. 

The Hero mutters excitedly, “We’re actually going to pull this off aren’t we?”

“You just might. Don’t let it get to your head. Not until it’s over.” The Narrator says, always so confident in Martin’s abilities. 

“This makes me whole. The emptiness is filled by battle, by your blood and the beatings we give each other! This is what I needed! Finally!” The Prince exclaims with an elated look in his many eyes. \

“The two of you engage in a devastating flurry of blows, each of you wounding each other again and again.” The monotone statement isn’t heard by Martin as his head is nearly taken off by a swipe of the Prince’s claws. 

The Narrator is not speaking to Martin. 

“He’s stronger, but you’re faster, and the deeper the both of you fall into your lethal dance, the more your edge shines over his. He’s slowing down. Blood pouring from wounds, splattering at his feet, leaving him weak and unsteady.”

“More! Keep going, we can't stop now.” The Stubborn encourages. 

“We can’t stop now.” Martin slashes the Prince once more. 

Martin steps out of reach and sees an opening. His arms are wide. He’s waiting. 

“We can’t stop now.” He repeats tears in his eyes. The Prince looks at Martin. 

“We can’t stop now.” Martin agrees. He plunges the blade deep into the Prince’s chest. 

The Prince lets him. 

Martin pushes the knife as deep as it can go and the Prince begins to fall, arms wide trapping Martin to the ground in his impenetrable arms. 

He hits his head hard. 

“Nothing.” the Stubborn refuses, “these blows are nothing to us.”

The Prince Stares down. 

Martin stares back. 

Blood bubbles in the back of the Prince’s throat and he coughs. He stands up.

Martin’s alive. 

The Prince gasps for breath as blood fills his lungs and he coughs. “You got me.” He wheezes out. Panic fills the Prince’s eyes, “Something feels wrong something-” 

Hundreds of hands reach out from the now dark sky and grab the Prince, pulling him into the comforting folds of darkness. 

Martin follows, the dark is all encompassing and the Prince is gone. But something else sits in its place. 

“He’s gone.” The Hero says confused, “Where did he go? Should we try and find him?”

Martin steps closer to the mirror and it feels so right.

“It’s that mirror again, why is it here? Why now!?” 

Martin takes another step towards the mirror and feels it’s pull.

“I’m begging you please don’t do this.” The Hero pleads.

Martin feels nothing. “The mirror never scared you before.”

“It’s different now it feels…. I don’t know! Final?” The Hero gulps, “Please. That thing reeks of death.”

Martin feels nothing. He takes the final few steps and comes face to face with the mirror. 

He looks up. 

The Voices are gone. It’s time to See you. 

Martin looks at the hazy image in front of him. Sky grey eyes staring back into him and Seeing all that he is. 

The Mirror is gone. You He is in a place that is empty. It is quiet here. 

He goes to the cabin. It’s all Martin knows. 

The Prince is there. The dark reveals closed eyes. Hands grab the Prince and hold his deceased body in an almost comforting manner. 

Martin Approaches.

Chapter Text

“Something finds me in the Somewhere Else and brings me the gift of a fragile vessel.” the voice that Martin knows as the Prince speaks. The words billow through the dark and wrap around Martin’s body. 

The hands holding the body of the Prince move like water, swift and seeking, filling all empty places next to the Prince’s side. 

“A- a fragile vessel? I’m sorry I’m just a bit confused I-”

The Prince cuts Martin off, “Yes, nerves and fibers to feel the Worlds beyond. Perspectives to make my own. This one sees a spark lost in time and he would stop at nothing to reclaim it. He will make for a burning heart.”

Martin tilts his head questioning.

“Do not mourn him, he has finally remembered what he thought he’d lost.”

The mouth of the Vessel does not move when the Prince speaks. 

“But-” Martin points accusingly, “why would I even mourn him? Or you I suppose- it doesn’t matter- why would I? It’s not like I know you- or do I? You feel familiar.” Martin does not run out of breath. He does not need it here. 

The Prince inhales deeply, “You are… familiar. I feel sadness. Longing, and hope as I witness you.”

Martin hums at this. It does seem like a reasonable answer. He has similar feelings regarding the matter. 

“What do we do now?” Martin spins looking into the darkness, into the eyes of the Prince and looking for his exit into the world of familiarity. 

“Nothing.” Speaks the Prince, “I know of worlds beyond us, and that we are meant to reach them.”

The hands pull away from the Vessels eyes and Martin is greeted with the face of the blood-thirsty Prince he is all too knowing of. 

He stares as the Prince’s eyes Look at Martin. “There is no exit.” The Vessel whispers as the eyes comb over every inch of Martin. 

“But-” the hands clasp over the Vessel’s eyes once more, “this vessel is a creature of perception. He can make you forget, if only you believe him to be able to do so.”

Martin nods. 

“Bring me more perspectives, so that I may be whole, and perhaps then we will know our freedom.” The Prince sees Martin. 

He’d never been seen. Not in any way that he remembers. There’s a itchiness, like he could scratch and scratch and scratch and it’d never go away because the eyes are Staring and they won’t stop. 

He wants them to stop. 

“I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to be here. I want to leave. I want to go home and see my mother and my dog and-”

Oh god he can’t remember. He doesn’t remember any of this. His mother? He can’t name one thing about his mother. A dog? For gods sake, he doesn’t think he’s ever liked dogs. 

“You prefer cats.” The Prince speaks. 

“Fuck you.” Martin spits back, “Get out of my fucking head.”

The Prince goes silent. 

Martin glares, “How much will I forget.”

The Prince coughs. Like he’s human, “Everything. Until we meet again.”

Martin sits in the Quiet. 

“He asks that you remember him.” The Prince tilts his head. “You won’t.”

Everything goes dark, and you die. 

Oh fuck no that’s wrong-

Everything goes dark, and Martin dies. 

*There’s the sound of aggressive scribbling*

Everything goes dark, and he dies. 

Yes- yes that sounds much more correct. 

What the hell are you doing here. The story is over. 

Yeah it’s over. Martin dies, the Prince dies, everyone fucking dies because ONE PERSON can’t follow instructions. 

*Loud sigh and a scuffle. Several books fall.*

Fucking go. Watcher. Go somewhere else. 

*Loud clang. Metal*

I do not play with my food Watcher. I thought you were of the same nature.

Clearly, you are not.