Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A gray door that shouldn’t exist opens unto a barren landscape soaked in screams. The eyes that are the sky turn their everwatching gaze upon the new thing that has arrived to their world of terror.

The door creaks open as the air itself hums in anticipation of those who exit. The Two Beings, hand in hand, step out unto the lifeless domain before them. 

A creature made of darkness shaped into feathers with two pure white pupils for eyes, and beside it a princess… a creature immediately shaped by the perception of That Which Beholds Her. 

This being fascinates the Eye greatly, a tool to be shaped for Fear to be Afraid. It must know more, it needs to know, it needs to archive. 

The Quiet Thing feels the wave of fear wash over them, a presence inhuman forces its way into its empty mind and tries to find Fear… it finds Nothing.

 They hold the Princesses hand tighter, as they exhale away the tension and turn to look her in the eye. It sees her struggle against the overwhelming gaze of Fear. 

“Are you okay?” it asks her, placing a gentle hand on their face and stabilizing her with its very presence. 

“S-something… something is watching us. This place reeks of death and I'm- I'm afraid we’d have to give up our mortality already just to survive here.” she sputters out, losing herself in its touch for a moment of relief before she feels reality itself tear her away from their grasp.

She has but a moment to cry out and imprint the face of fear into the Quiets memory, before she is torn from his arms and whisked away by the wind to places unknown.

The Quiet stands there in shock as the Eyes retreat their more focused gaze and go back to watching the world scream. 

The Quiets fist clenches around the blade in their other hand, they promise to themself that they will find her, they promise that this world will no better keep her from him than the Construct and its Echoes. 

And so, the Quiet began its march through the wasteland. Towards the only landmark in sight, an archive that became a tower, the Panopticon.

Chapter Text

A shadow of feathers and darkness walks through the blasted hellscape that felt like an End. Occasionally he saw the faint silhouettes of people who were crying, specters haunting their own gravesites forever mourning the lives they didn’t live.

He kept walking, paying no mind to the suffering around him and focusing on his target. That tower that watched the world, visible clearly despite the monumental distance between him and it.

He marched ever forward with a determination that would make the Stubborn proud. This place was filled with a quiet terror that would not get him, he had nothing to mourn, his beloved is better than this place and so is he. 

Eventually he passed from this domain and into another, the entire world seemed to shift as he passed from beyond the grip of an End and into a vibrant forest of trees that screamed like a song.

The land was lush with plants so green as to make them toxic. Faces of more victims were fused with them and while some seemed happy others seemed to be locked in permanent agony.

The quiet hero was gripped not by terror but disgust as he watched bones be drunk from delirious humans by mosquitoes as large as dogs.

He simply carved a path through the forest of agony. The Pristine Blade was easily effective at eviscerating the insects and bringing a quick merciful death to those suffering as he made his way through.

Then after what felt like months, he finally reached the end of the domain and passed into another.

The next land was ruled by a darkness full of monsters, all fell easily to his blade, and none were quite as dark as the Nothing he was born from. 

The next land was a deep pit full of worms that were once people, each digging downwards into a gaping maw at the bottom. Every one that reached the bottom was swallowed and spat out by the monstrous mouth. 

He simply avoided going anywhere near the pits by using his many wings to fly over the buried beasts. 

Eventually he lands in another land passing through the strange transitory state he uses to mark the thin barrier between lands.

This place appears to be another one themed around death, and as oddly appropriate as it has been for him so far he has found absolutely nothing useful here.

At the very least he’s pretty sure he’s closer to that tower now. The distance doesn’t appear to have changed from where he’s standing but it definitely doesn’t look like it's getting further away at least.

Suddenly his ears prick up as a door to the left of him clicks open. A yellow door with many spiral patterns hidden and clear in what might be wood.

The door creaks open and before him stands a tall, crooked woman, a smile pleasant yet with the distinct danger to it he couldn’t mistake. Her hair was poofy with a million curls and her hands had too many bones to be human.

He narrowed his eyes as she stepped forward from the door and greeted him with a voice as honey coated but false. Whatever she was, she certainly used to be human. 

“Why hello there tall, dark and handsome. I’m Helen and you look lost.” she says, humming a distorted tune. “You look tired too; this place doesn’t let you rest but I know somewhere you can~”

“What are you?” Hero questions the strange woman whose very state of reality is twisting into a spiral

“Just a passing friend here to help someone in need!” She answers with a playful pat on his shoulder, guiding his view towards the hallway visible through the open door. “Through there I promise an answer to your every question and a safe place to rest your weary feathery head.”

Hero shudders under her unnatural grip, his instincts tell him that he’s in danger, but this woman hasn’t done anything beyond look weird to prove she’s a threat. And considering his own appearance he realizes he’s not really in any position to judge on that alone.

He decides to follow her guidance and walk through that spiral door that didn’t exist a minute ago. Placing his trust in her boney hands for a moment.

Chapter Text

He finds himself in the walls of a strange hotel, he sees guests running around seemingly searching in various states of distress. At least they seem more physically okay than some of the people he’s come across so far. Mostly by comparison at least, he does spot some nasty bruises and some bleeding. 

“Now your room is 2423, just down that hall. You’ll find it a relaxing stay, trust me, I'm your friend after all.” she says as she gently directs him off down the twisting hallways. “Once you’ve finished your rest, I’ll be sure to tell you exactly where your Princess is~”

He just stands there for a moment staring blankly at the endless rooms of the hotel, his head tilts in an owl-like fashion before deciding to simply see where this goes, she promises answers after all and she’s at least been honest about giving a place to rest for now.

He heads down the hallway, taking a glance at the doors with near nonsensical numbers. The remnants of his personality that once formed the Skeptic notes how little sense the layout makes.

He passes by some people multiple times. Each time they seem equally distressed, searching desperately for something they just can’t seem to find.

“...oh. I see what's happening.” He sighs with immense disappointment in himself for not figuring it out sooner, he doesn’t know how long he’s been in here for but days mean nothing in the maw of forever after all.

Suddenly he feels a soft thump against his large frame, he looks down at a confused and dazed woman who just collided with him and was shaking off the disorientation.

“Hello.” He finally says, “it’s uh… nice to meet you?”

She looks around once more searching for whatever she was looking for then looks back to him. An emotion the bird man can’t quite recognize comes across her face.

“A weird lady promised me a room to stay in.” He continues awkwardly filling the silence as it is now the woman’s turn to stare blankly “Anyway, are you good? You look frazzled. I’m not too scary am i? One of the times i was with my princess I kinda saw how I look so i get it if you-” 

“No no. It's fine. You're fine. Which is weird right? Um… I'm sorry. I’m Hazel. You’re not that scary I think, I’ve… I've been too afraid for too long and I don't know why? How did I get here?” she rambles a bit as she tries to comfort her strange new friend.

It's odd how calming his presence is. Like the world is no longer spinning, in fact it's stood so still she’s been given a chance to breathe and think again.

Then she notices how much her arms are bruised, almost bleeding. As she looks at them and wonders how they got like that, the giant bird creature reaches forward to her.

She flinches as he reaches down and simply tears a strip of fabric off her sleeve and wraps it gently around her wounds. What little blood there was is lessened by the cloth. 

“Um... I'm looking for my son. Have you seen him?” she finally sputters out

“I don’t think so.” His head tilts in an owl-like fashion, the silence is deafening as he thinks “but we can look for him together, if it helps.” 

She’s almost shocked by how genuinely he offers, the last time she asked someone she couldn’t help but question it… but she feels like she can trust him. 

“Thank you. Um. the receptionist said she last saw him… this way?” She points in a direction leading the birdman by the hand as she’s equally taking in the weird layout herself for the first time since she’s got here. 

Wasn’t that place just a dead end? How many of these doors are damaged enough to leave splinters… how many splinters does she have?

These questions run through her mind and grip her with a kind of fear too regular to exist in this madhouse. Nothing makes sense but with her very large ally she’s no longer as scared as she would be.

–

The Archivist, hand in hand with his boyfriend Martin Blackwood, wandered through the ruins of what used to be the world. On a journey through a hundred flavors of fear on their path to the Institute. 

This used to be a regular reality, somewhere on the way between Scotland and London when those were concepts that existed more as fact than suggestion.

Fueled by a crushing guilt and overwhelmingly god-like power, they had been smiting Avatars into oblivion with the wretched gaze of the watcher. Hoping that in some way these deaths would make the ruined world a better place.

They had been traveling for what felt like days, stopping occasionally to take a statement on the domains they passed through. Much to some of Martin's continued chagrin at having to stay any amount of time longer in the torture realms.

This was all his fault, sure there were a billion nuances that brought him here but none of those facts changed the harsh truth that he brought this world into being.

The Archivist let out a short, tired sigh as he finished his latest statement. The familiar click of the tape recorder turning off punctuated the deafening silence before Martin returned.

The Archivist holds Martin's hands tightly as they cross over into the next domain, the feeling of his fingers intertwined with his gives the former human a strength and stability otherwise lacking within himself.

There is some small talk, a short joke here, a romantic flirt there. Some small relief from all the fear and terror.

–

Helen felt strange after she let this freak inside, she was a distortion, a hotel, a hallway and so much more within her domain. She was forever tasting the fear and swallowing her guests whole in her insanity.

Yet for some reason this Bird Thing wasn’t digesting right, and somehow that same problem just spread to another friend of hers. They were still in there of course. She could feel them wriggling inside her halls but the fear that usually wafted off them like a well-cooked meal had gone cold.

Well, the Bird did feel fear on some level… just nothing worth tasting, hell she was near certain he wasn’t afraid at all if it weren’t for the faintest of faint taste of him. Whatever he was, he wasn't as appetizing as she hoped

Then something strange happened. She saw the bird bump into another guest and suddenly they lost flavor? Like the first woman he bumped into but now… the effect is compounding… like he’s subtly emitting a radius that stops their spiraling minds. 

Oh, that won’t do that won’t do at all. How rude of him! He needs to be dealt with quickly before he can gather practically all her meals and make them no longer worth eating!

How does this even happen, what in every god's name has she let inside her hotel.

Chapter Text

By the time he had found what looked like the front desk, he had accidentally gathered a crowd of at least five people who desperately decided they no longer needed what they were searching for and ultimately just wanted to be somewhere else.

They all stayed close, though some stayed closer than others, hiding beneath his wings like a shield from the disconcerting architecture. He didn’t know how to feel about all the people he was now determined to protect from the woman who had apparently been tormenting them all.

Speaking of Helen, she seemed to just appear out of the floor in a cloud of spiral patterns that hurt to look at. She smiled pleasantly at him and spoke.

“Hey there buddy, did you end up finding your room? I’m sorry this place is a mess, I could've been such a better guide.” She says, feigning remorse as she sizes up the shadowy bird and his gaggle of morsels.

He steps forward, his large frame protecting most if all the people behind him as he points his Blade towards her threateningly.

“Now, let's not get hasty! I still haven’t told you where your Princess is yet!” she bargains immediately, her neck twisting at an unnatural angle as she seems to grow… taller, becoming even less human than she first appeared.

The quiet hero glares at her silently before finally speaking.

“You don’t know where she is, do you? Nothing but a petty opportunist. Full of lies and confusion, a living doubt or something like it.” He declares with unwavering confidence.

“Now that's just rude!” she retorts, “I haven’t pretended to be anything, you’re the crazy one here. Waving some knife around you’re some valiant knight.”

Her mocking laughter echoes off every wall.

“I am going to slay you now.” he replies simply, moving in a flurry of feathers towards her and swinging his blade at inhuman speeds.

Helen dodges out of the way, but just barely, to her surprise as she watches in absolute horror as her right arm is severed from her torso. When she screeches in agony, the whole building shakes manically. 

Things fly off the walls, doors slam open and shut rapidly, the walls peel open revealing layers of spiral patterns all screaming in unison with her.

Before the hero can land another much more decisive and fatal blow, gravity throws him sideways, and he is ejected through a door out of the domain.

The last thing he sees before the door shuts is Helen holding her armless side with pain and a wave of confusion settling once more over the people he failed to save.

–

The Archivist had never heard The Distortion scream like that, even when Michael was subsumed by it the agony wasn’t so palpable.

Martin stumbled back as though Helens usual door was thrown out a large bird thing, even Jon was caught off guard and for once since he gained his omniscience was genuinely surprised by what he saw.

The Bird Thing stumbled to its feet, hunched over and cloaked in impenetrable shadow. Its beady white eyes gathered information on its surroundings erratically as it flashed an unnaturally pristine dagger in one of its hands.

The door vanished and IT looked at Jon. emotion was unreadable of its monstrous and hidden features. And even more terrifying, he didn’t Know what it was.

Martin stood between him and the thing, a determined look in his eyes challenging it to try something.

It said nothing, head tilting as it examined them.

“Jon. Jon what is that? Why did Helen put it here?” Martin whispers, hoping for answers from his usually reliable if annoyingly vague boyfriend.

“It... hurt Helen somehow, I don’t Know much more about how.” he answers, even more concerned now that it was looking at them exclusively.

“You.” it points with the blade towards Jon, then narrows its pupils at Martin “Both of you… neither of you are human.”

Martin, still guarding Jon with his body, spits back “well neither are you. What is your point?”

The Shadowy Bird stands up to its full height, towering over the both of them. 

“I was never human. But you. Both of you are like that Distorted Woman. Something human was in there and now something made of Fear is wearing skin and bone and mind.” it accused them mistrustingly “but you specifically, you reek of that Eye that watches everything. You are some vessel of the thing that took Her from me.”

“You met Helen then?” Jon asks, unable to hold back his hungry curiosity

“Do you know her?” It questioned, shaking its head as it shook off the compulsion to answer with more.

“Uh… yes. I knew her back when we were both human. Before everything that made the world like this happened.” Jon answered truthfully.

“... was she your friend?” it asks, almost innocently if it weren’t for the certainty in which it threatened with the blade.

“Not to me, not really. I didn’t get the chance to know her that well before what you met swallowed her.” Jon admitted

A long pause follows after as the Bird Thing thinks of what to do next.

“Are we really going to just answer its questions at knife point or are you going to smite it?” Martin complains, genuinely confused by how this is playing out.

“I don’t think I can. It’s from somewhere else; it only barely plays by our rules, and it is very agitated, the eye stole someone who was with them when it arrived and it's been carving its way through domains ever since” Jon explains, keeping his voice low so as to not alert it.

After a low bout of quiet it finally speaks up.

“Where is the Princess?”

–

You are in a cave underground. It is as cold as every grave to ever exist.

At the end of that cave is your salvation, your freedom from this unrelenting suffering.

You are buried by the weight of your fear. You will do anything to prevent your end.

She must die. She has to die. You reach her, she is bound in her place.

The cave walls groan as you see the ghosts of those before you who failed where you will succeed.

She looks at you, distraught to see you. Good she deserves what's coming to her. 

You wield a blade dirty and rusted. You scream, for in a moment your victory will be eternal.

Within less than a second your soul is sent screaming from your body as The Entropy slays you. Her very presence rending you down to your last physical atom.

Your spirit survives and it fuses with the walls as you scream every curse imaginable at the monster that refuses to die. Your hatred of her will echo off every wall forever. Joining a chorus of hundreds screaming the same.

She is tired, she is always tired. But everything she touches dies and the only people she knows hate her. She is trapped in this cavern, endlessly reaping echoes that walk down that entrance like her hero once did.

Some small part of her, growing increasingly smaller as what can be discerned as time passes, hopes that one day she sees the face she’s long forgotten come to save her once more.

But for now, she is swallowed by the maw of forever and her nightmare will never stop.

Chapter Text

“Your Princess is a place buried beneath the earth, a place of death and damnation. She is a monster and victim.” Jon answers, taking a deep breath as he realizes what he saw was much more than what it appeared.

The Bird Thing slumps a little, his Princess has been locked in another basement by another thing that doesn’t understand her or even worse for the world understands her completely. 

But he has a location and some assurance that she's at the very least alive… or at least not dead in any way more permanent than his time in the construct.

That was a small comfort for him in this frankly depressing hellscape.

“How do I get there? How do I reach her, do I head towards the tower?” it asks them, lowering the blade and stepping forward.

Martin gives a concerned look to Jon. He desperately hopes that they won’t have to spend any more time with this thing, especially after it threatened them both.

Jon sighs and answers. “You’ll have to follow us through some of our journey, but when we reach the point where our paths split you’ll know.”

Martin lets out a noise of distress before taking a breath and putting on his best ‘friendly’ face for their new travel buddy. “Well, so long as you put the knife away we’ll be. Just. Fine.”

The Bird Thing tilts his head at that owl-like angle and the blade vanishes under his shadowy wings. Its posture slumps and it waddles over and offers a hand to Martin.

“Sorry about all that. Um. My name is Hero, what's yours?” Hero awkwardly introduces himself after it seems that the whole situation is settled.

“... Martin. How did something like you get the name ‘Hero’?” he queries, inherently annoyed by this creature's sudden switch into trying to be friendly

“Well, Princess and I were choosing names before we got here. I was supposed to be a hero, and she was a princess.” Hero shrugs, he only really thought about his name just before he left the cabin so, he doesn’t really have many complicated thoughts on it.

“Grrrreat.” Martin replied dryly, then grabbing Jon by the shoulder and directing him for a sidebar. “Do we have to bring him with us? Can’t you just tell him where to go?”

“Unfortunately, Martin, if you want him gone this is the quickest way. Otherwise, we risk sending him off in a random direction and he comes back to stab us for tricking him.” Jon explains.

The Hero awkwardly stands there in silence as this exchange occurs, honestly contemplating stabbing at least one of them to see if that’ll get them moving faster.

–

Within a thousand weaved webs, the Hidden Machinations stir, the plan is moving forward as it should. The plan is always moving forward. 

The Archive has begun its walk towards the finale. Her Puppet is hidden well. The Eye keeps itself distracted with all the food it plays with, while the End consumes the supply slowly and patiently.

A String hums as something New is caught in her Web. It is shadowy and dark but it is not The Darkest Pitch. It is Unknown, it is small and quiet yet so very loud in the way it simply ignores the rules of the game.

The Mother must spin this one into something useful or nothing at all.

–

Martin didn’t know how to feel about the monster they now walked alongside. Its face was naturally unreadable just from how deep the shadow of its wings around its head naturally sat.

It was at least courteous to not speak until spoken too, it had tried small talk with Jon to varying degrees of success. Not that Martin could claim to be much more successful since his boyfriend became omniscient.

Honestly what disturbed him most about Hero was how outside of being a big freaky bird he was so… normal. Or at least as normal as he could be. Actually he was more simple than normal.

He didn’t know a lot, and his only goal was to find his lost princess.

“So um…” Martin spoke up at some point “what's so important about this princess that you're willing to walk through all this to get her?”

“She is my other half. She is everything I am not.” Hero explained “We were the first things we ever knew.”

“Oh… how romantic.” Jon grinned a little “If she is everything you are not then what are you?”

“I don’t really know how to answer that.”

“That's fine. I suppose it is a loaded question.” 

“Got any good memories of her that you’re willing to share?” Martin asks.

Hero goes silent, pausing in a way that makes it unclear if he’s thinking or ending the conversation.

“Once after betraying each other with violence, I found her in a room filled with thorny vines. She held the knife I had given her to stab me with, as penance for stabbing her first.” He began, a content smile clear on his simple eyes and a warmth is his disposition that would make you believe a bird could blush.

“She was tense and weary, and she was so beautiful. When I used that very knife to cut her free of the vines that bound her, we shared a kiss… it was amazing. The words I was given to describe the feeling were magnificent, and even then it felt even more wonderful than those.” He finished with an adoring sigh.

When the story had concluded Hero held that very blade flat across his heart, he could almost imagine the Smitten swooning at that tale that he had helped create. 

Jon smirked as he clearly saw the romantic in Martin take in that story, the romantic in himself enjoyed it immensely despite the Eye begging him to ask questions.

_

He doesn’t know when he first started noticing that crawling feeling on his soul as they passed into another domain. 

It happened at some point while Jon was taking his Fear God mandated Statement Break, Martin had wandered off presumably to be alone with his thoughts.

He felt a thousand legs of a thousand little creatures, invisible and intangible in near every respect. But he could feel them slowly crawling all over his metaphysical form… this unsettling feeling wasn’t just instinct… not this feeling was alive and searching.

Curiosity guided him to wait, to find out what kind of game was being played with this. So he did, he felt those unsettling things crawl on him until they found a contour in his soul.

Wiggling their way in he felt them weave themselves into a familiar shape, it felt wrong.

Then it spoke.

“It’s quite roomy in here , I must say, is your head always this empty?” The Voice of the Puppeteer hissed pleasantly

It was strange how immediately revolting the presence of this voice was, it felt somehow more Other than even the Narrator had once been.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t be friends despite that. I am here to help guide you after all.” The Voice of the Puppeteer explained, its tone crawling patiently across your skull.

He felt cobwebs forming in his mind the more it spoke and despised the creature that had put it there. It did not belong, it was not him… it was the vessel of Fear that had found a way in.

“You're not supposed to be here y’know? You play no part in the destiny woven and I can get you to your princess much better than that Archivist can. Don’t you want answers? Isn’t some part of you addicted to them?” The Puppeteer bargains, its words like a pill being shoved down his throat.

“Some part of me was yes. But that part of me isn’t here right now. Get. Out.” He finally directly replied to this unwelcome thing. 

“What? You can’t make me leave… I'm the thread of your fate~” The Puppeteer laughs before suddenly being silenced by his will.

“You are not welcome here Puppeteer. Destiny or not, I'll experience it without your strings around my throat. GET. OUT.” He shouts aloud and ejects the creature from his mind.

It hisses with agony as it vanishes, leaving behind cobwebs in his wings that he shakes out as Jon returns.

“Did you just… What did you just do?” Jon asks as he watches the webs fall from their uncomfortable place hidden under Hero’s feathers. 

“Something tried to make me a puppet. I refused.” He answered simply. “If it wishes to control me, it’s going to have to try something different.”

Jon doesn’t know what to think but he can’t deny what he sees. The quiet hero simply denied the web a puppet, and why that is part of its game knowing how vaguely how it works it's still impressive to be able to shake off the influence of the Fears like this.

Does even know exactly what he’s done? Jon hasn’t exactly been forthcoming to this out of universe stranger about the stuff that is near common knowledge for those he used to keep company.

They should talk about that sometime, but for now he’s going to rest his head on Martin's shoulder and enjoy the warmth of his sweater as they all leave this place.

Chapter Text

The woods they find themselves in are equally too dense and too open to be safe. The sound of shifting predators in packs can be heard with every quiet sound from the darkness. 

Jon and Martin are having a heated yet hushed discussion about something regarding the nature of this domain, and the fact that they are being followed.

Apparently, the goal of coming is to find someone they know called Basira. The scent of blood faintly on the wind clues the shadowy bird in that whoever Basira is, they are fueled by a Hunt of some kind. 

Martin is nervous and demands some plan for his partner to state, especially given their present company, but isn’t given much other than a reassurance that Jon knows what he’s doing.

Hero ignores them mostly as he keeps watch on the trees. His instincts from the Voice of the Hunted trained his senses sharp, and the thing attempting to stalk them kept him alert. 

It was doing a rather good job at hiding all things considered, but he knew roughly where it was. Then to both his and Martin's annoyance, especially now, Jon had to take his regularly scheduled statement.  

Both him and Martin kept watch while he spoke poetically about a pack, with every inclination to turn on itself the moment something is decided not a part of it. Packmate into Prey, an endless cycle. 

God this world is full of near endless cycles, isn’t it? Everyone is trapped in their own personalized hell and now his Princess is a victim here too.

He thought he’d be able to escape loops when he got out of the construct, but instead he wandered into a world full of fear where the idea of no longer being afraid is not even an option for most people.

He feels his blood pump a little with a hint of the Hunt within, he first noticed its presence when he declared he would never stop until he found her. 

It had made no attempt of control over him like the others had, all it seemed to do to excerpt its influence was gently push him forward in the direction he was already going. 

It wasn’t patient by any means, sometimes he felt it push against to move faster but it was not as demanding as the spider or the eye and it held even less power than them. 

Jon joined them after finishing his statement then gently asked Martin and Hero if they trusted him. Martin hesitated but agreed and Hero plainly responded with a negative but willingness to cooperate despite that.

Jon simply requested that whatever happened, however unpleasant, that he remains calm and Hero not make a move either. A near second after they agreed a old man weary with terror but furious jumped from out of the bushes and put a knife to Martin's throat.

He growls threats and commands like the cornered animal he is. Hero feels sorry for him as Jon puts into perspective the kind of things this poor man has gone through.

The conversation is tense, but Hero doesn’t know what to feel about Jons calmness. There is a plan that is clear, but he hasn’t made it clear exactly what it is. 

Then it becomes frighteningly clear when Jon makes known the old man’s place here. He is prey to something else, something bigger and more rabid, a true beast is hunting him… and now he’s even less than prey he’s bait.

The quiet hero takes a moment to truly pity the thing once named Trevor. This was a person, with a whole life, marked by a conclusion hurtling towards him faster than he could ever hope to run.

The gunshot to punctuate that point rings out within seconds, Martin flinches away, and Hero remains near motionless as he wordlessly examines the corpse as it falls.

Jon however remains calm, smirking even as everything he expected occurred with as little difficulty as possible. Basira appears from the brush and aims her firearm towards the three.

She looks at Martin more in shock over Trevor's body than the Bird Monster and holds back her instincts to kill it until she gets some answers.

“Alright. First prove that you’re really Jon and Martin. Then explain what that is and why I shouldn't kill it.” she demands clearly and casually, her stern gaze adding tension.

Martin sputters “I- I don’t know?!”

“You understand how that's really not helping your case.” she replies

“Well, we didn’t hang out much, how am I supposed to know what you know?” Martin whines in distress, really wanting to avoid getting shot to the best of his ability.

“You could try telling her some poetry?” Jon offers with amusement clear on his face.

“Not helping Jon!” Martin cries

Hero averts his eyes from the dead body of Trevor and looks Basira dead in her eyes. Instantly she responds by making sure the gun is ready to fire in his direction.

“Please don’t shoot me, I don’t want to have to kill you.” Hero answers her threat with one of his own, though this is more of a plea.

“I don’t think I’m much more helpful Basira, ask away though i can know literally anything.” Jon explains calmly

“That's not very convincing.” Basira replies as cold as ever

“But I already know you're not going to shoot us, or at least not Martin and I. I can feel the doubt has already found its way in.” Jon continues unimpeded, smugly smirking and allowing the moment to be basked in his omniscience.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my head.” She reminds him

“So, you do believe it is us then. Good. Let's make introductions quickly then.” Jon begins “This is Hero, he is surprisingly not a Fear Monster. He’s not even from this universe and has proven himself very resistant to the powers.” 

Hero waves politely at the ever-cautious Basira. She doesn’t visibly respond with anything more than a tired exhale. 

“Alright then, whatever. Let's get moving, we’re losing ground.” She ends the conversation and heads off in a direction at a speed they can follow. 

Hero and Martin share a look with each other, they didn’t like how many secrets were needed for this to happen, but nonetheless they must move forward.

Hero could guess as to her mission; she was a Hunter… they tend to find their prey eventually in a world like this.

Chapter Text

They travel through a slaughterhouse together, a domain of flesh and meat packed into products and feasted upon. A steel labyrinth of cruel machinery designed to tear apart those trapped inside like farmed goods.

A corpse was discovered, not a victim of this place but of the Beast she hunts. The Monster once called Daisy has been through here. When Jons statement need arose, Hero took this as an opportunity to try and understand Basira more.

“So… how do you know Jon and Martin?” He begins with a simple question in his mind.

“Why does it matter?” she questions suspiciously

“... because… I want to know?” Hero hesitates, unsure of how to properly continue from that response.

“What are you?”

“That’s a good question… uh…” Hero struggles for an answer he doesn’t quite have, “I chose to be like you. When I could’ve been everything else. I am nothing. I am me.” 

“What does any of that mean?” she sighs 

“I don’t really know.” he answers honestly

“... where’d you get the knife?” She asks, tilting her head towards the weapon gripped in his palm.

“It was in a cabin in the woods.” he replies simply, lamenting it a little as he looks at it “It’s the only weapon I've ever had… I wish I could throw it away but I need it right now.”

“Have you killed anything with it?” she pushes

“Only the Princess, I tried to kill Helen with it but she was faster than I was expecting.” 

“The Princess?”

“The one I'm searching for… my Daisy.” he sighs “though maybe it's more comparable to whatever those two have.” gesturing slightly at Martin. 

“And you’ve killed her?”

“She’s killed me just as much.”

“...” Basira doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says nothing and continues waiting a little impatiently for Jon to finish. 

–

The group continued into the next domain, once again in a moment of silence Hero tried to approach Basira.

“You still didn’t answer my question, how does a hunter like yourself know something like Jon?” he asks with an innocent emptiness in his simple white dot pupils.

“... My partner and I thought good ol Jon was the prime suspect in a murder case. I delivered him a couple tapes as an excuse to talk to him.” She relents with a controlled but annoyed sigh

“Oh. Did he do the murder?”

“No. We had solid camera evidence that cleared him.” Basira says as she marches forward with purpose.

“What’s a camera?”

Basira doesn’t answer and once again just keeps walking.

Jon, ever the diligent expositor, answers that fun little question for him though, explaining both the history of cameras and how exactly they work.

–

The flames roil in a place of desolation, people… real people stand before furnaces shoving things into the fire. Destruction without purpose, it was not a fury or a grey spectre that burned with love. 

This place was ash and smoke and the emptiness of destroying that which you may hold dear. With your own blistering hands. 

Hero despised this desolate place as he despised all the others. He wanted to free these people trapped in their stations, burning away all their belongings to a cruel flame. 

Yet within that fiery pit the scent of blood was thick in the air as a monster stalked the furnaces.

Daisy, or the thing that she has now become, in search of her prey. She finds it quickly and with her hatred tears it apart like a wild beast.

The blood coats her jaws, the mutilation of her prey feeding her as she enacts something that could be called justice if you were blinded by murderous intent.

By the time Basira and her hunting pack find them, it will be too late to save the victim. But through Jon she heard the last thoughts of that victim.

Hero can feel his feather perk up, his instinct can tell a predator is nearby. They are hunting it but Hero can’t help but feel like he’d be prey for this thing. If it believes itself to be a vessel of justice… maybe he’s been enough of a murderer in the construct for it to count.

Martin saw the murder and ran past them towards where Basira and Jon wandered off to. Hero meanwhile walked quietly towards where the lonely soul had just come from. 

Towards the beast called Daisy tearing apart a corpse with its teeth. Hero was like a shadow as it found a space out of sight of the monster, the ripping sound of flesh was familiar in a way that was unsettling.

Hero watched silently as the rest joined him and Basira began lining up her shot. The Archivist and The Hunter quickly begin wasting their time not shooting her arguing amongst themselves.

Hero is almost as exasperated as Martin as those two fail to realise the Predator has vanished from their sight. Hero’s instincts, trained to pinpoint accuracy, hear the beast before it pounces heading directly for The Archivist. 

Steel Claw swipes at Daisy as he fights against his desire to flee and chooses to fight. With a talon claw he pushes the head of the beast away and in a flurry of feathers gets her into a grapple with his Steel Claw against her throat.

Daisy’s teeth rip into the Hero’s arm, as he sacrifices that limb without hesitation to keep her many many teeth from tearing at anything else. A stillness emanates from the calm, focused mind of the creature that is empty and silent.

Jon flails back as Basira struggles to redirect herself. But in that moment of calm in the violence they see it… the stillness… the calm in the centre of the storm. Daisy’s monstrous eyes look the most human they’ve ever been. 

Her throat garbled through feathers and flesh and her own warped form speaks in a low rumble “Basira? Jon?”

Hero looks between the Beast and her Hunter, recognition between them. This tale does not have to end with a gunshot, this tale does not have to end with a monster being put down by her friend.

He cannot fix Daisy, he has stilled her mind enough that she’s the most human she’s been in a long time. Yet despite that an idea forms…

“Basira. This is your quarry and your friend. You decide how this story ends. But I have a third option, one that you could not take without me and will not be complete until we find my Other Half.” Hero tells her clearly through gritted teeth.

“W-what does that mean?” Basira asks, desperate for some answers.

“Her mind is clear because the Hunt is stagnant now, it’s chase stopped. My Princess can change her body to match her mind.” Hero elaborates a little, pleading for Basira to trust him in this moment. “I can help you save her… I only ask for permission first, this is your story right now not mine.” 

“I- uh. Daisy, are you in there?” Basira looks to her friend, her partner, her accomplice.

Daisy looks back, she’s confused and yet knows how much blood is on her jaws. She growls out an answer laced with guilt  “Basira? I guess you're here to fulfil that promise.”

Too far gone, they all thought she was too far gone. And they would’ve been right.

“Y-yeah…” Basira hesitates “are… are you sure you can fix her?” 

Hero pauses and looks into the eyes of Beast much like his own, skepticism helped him save that beast… and if he can free the mind then surely Princess can free the body.

“Yes.” he answers, dispelling any uncertainty he might’ve had, all uncertainty would do is guarantee failure. Belief is power and perception is key. 

“Do it.” Basira commands. 

Hero nods, and the wings of the Long Quiet unfold from his back. They stretch far farther than they ever have before and wrap them both in a cocoon of darkness. 

Together they are brought into a place that is quiet and empty. Daisy floats in the endless nothingness, no longer breathing as she once did. As a pair of eyes emerge from the darkness.

“I cannot fix you. But I can contain you and keep you safe until we can.” The Long Quiet tells her with a voice that sounds like nothing. “Your mind is still and you will sleep.” 

The darkness unfurled and Hero stood up, his many wings now much smaller folded into his back. He took a deep breath out, it's the first time he’s tapped into his divine self since he got here.

“Wh-where is she?” Jon asks as he scrambles back to his feet.

“She is in the Long Quiet, free of fear. She will not wither, she will not decay, she will be dreaming until I let her out.” Hero explains, his voice raspy as words start coming out of his beak normally again. 

“Y-you… what are you?” Basira once again asks, this time in astonishment. 

“Right now. I guess I'm living up to my name?” he laughs lightheartedly as he stands up.

Chapter Text

Basira could only stare in awe as she tries to comprehend for a moment what she just witnessed. The birdman, the weird monster tagging along with Jon and Martin, is really as something else as they implied he was.

His many wings naturally hide his face in shadow, but in that moment they unfurled she could’ve sworn she was staring into something infinite. 

The Shape of Nothing is the only way she could hope to describe it. The world froze, locked in stasis and even the flames of desolation stopped burning in that moment.

Jon looked at her with those frustrating knowing eyes and understood her without having to read her mind. Martin didn’t even know what to say but he gave Hero his thanks.

“This world is a nightmare, but nightmares are just scary dreams right?” He replies sheepishly, trying to downplay his own cosmic power as merely working in the dream logic of the apocalypse. 

Jon knows that's not true. The fears wouldn’t allow that kind of solution unless they were simply not in control. At the very least he witnessed something he’s not sure he’ll ever truly see again.

Basira steps back from the group and takes a moment to breathe, Martin walks up after checking on Jon.

“How’re you doing?” He asks with his usual nervous smile.

Basira weary from what just transpired replies “Better but not by much.” 

“That’s good.”

Basira looks down at the gun in her hands “I… I think I’m staying here.”

“What why?” Martin asks, clearly distressed.

Jon walks up “it’s fine Martin, it’s what she needs.”

“What are you talking about? Basira you could get hurt, that helps no one.” Martin argues.

“I’ll be fine. I just… I just need space. I’ll catch up with you guys in London, just follow the Tower right Jon?” Basira promised

Jon confirms, once again Martin argues.

“This’ll help me. All going well I'll see you there and he’ll know where to find me.” 

–

Hero was a little sad to see The Hunter leave, but he supposes without her prey she needs to find herself for a while.

Jon and Martin look at him with a new kind of weariness on them as they walk. Hero wasn’t exactly hiding what he was but the vagueness was more appealing than the glimpse of the truth. 

As they walk they discuss amongst themselves about whether or not Basira will really be okay, and have a quick moment of levity among the tombs of a necropolis. 

Hero silently enjoys this moment, shadowing them ever so slightly. He’s trying to not be a bother or draw attention to himself after what he just did. 

He doesn’t enjoy the weight of godhood but tapping into it in a relatively small way felt right when he did it. He was still him and not The Long Quiet, though they are one and the same.

Separating himself from his godhood with a vague line was the best he could manage for now, and he was fine with that.

Suddenly Jon got extra excited and that drew Hero out of his contemplation.

“I don’t know what's up ahead! It's a mystery!” he proclaims with unhidden excitement.

“This is an adorable look for you,” his boyfriend teases.

Hero unsubtly prepares his pristine blade and begins taking a quicker pace to be ahead of them. Jon has said very little can actually hurt him here, but Hero knows he can so he’s not taking any chances with his one guide to the Princess.

–

After the usual wait for the statement they make it to the threshold of the unknown and step into…

Reality itself suddenly feels different. The grass is green but not stoked with terror, the trees are just trees, there’s natural normal sunlight.

Still alert, Hero is amazed as he spots a flying creature darting between some trees on small wings like his. A Bird. A real bird. He finally saw one.

As his suspicion lessens but his companions don’t entirely, he simply enjoys the taste and feel of… Reality. This is the world, the real world, the one not ruled by parasite fear gods and one that would not steal his Princess the moment they arrived.

This is where he’s supposed to be, where they were both supposed to be. 

After a quick check of the perimeter, the trio finally walk up to the door. Before they can knock they hear the lock loudly click. The Upton House opens itself, greeting them with the spidery features of one Annabelle Cane.

“Come right in, he’s expecting you. Well two of you. But the third is welcome as well.” her voice crawls cheerily, not too dissimilar from the Voice of the Puppeteer but much more human.

Hesitantly they step inside and are guided towards a room. Inside is a cheerful man named Mikaele playing piano.

“Hoo-hoo-hoo! Excellent! Come in, come in! Ah, a pleasure to meet both of you. Thank you Annabelle.”

“You’re quite welcome.” She answers him as he resumes his piano playing “have fun”

“Sorry, Mikaele… Salesa?” Jon asks through growing extreme tiredness

“The one and only. I must say I’ve been, uh…” is all he gets out before, to his disappointment and Hero’s surprise, Jon and Martin collapse into unconsciousness.

“Oh. Are they okay?” Hero asks as he leans down and checks if they’re not dead.

“No they’re fine, just… well they need a nap and a bath and some food.” Mikaele tells him helpfully.

“I did say this might happen.” Annabelle chimes in.

“You did, you did. Well. So much for my big reveal.” Mikaele sighs. “And I suppose you don’t have any idea who I am Mr Bird?”

“Not a clue, I’m sorry.” Hero tells him honestly.

“Shame.”

Chapter Text

Upton House was nothing like Hero had ever seen. A fully stocked little home unlike the cabin, found in a beautiful natural space smack right in the middle of basically hell. 

Hero marvelled at the piano, he marvelled at running water, he marvelled once more at the few birds he was able to see from the windows.

Mikaele was all too happy to give him the tour while Jon and Martin rested away together. It was truly a delight for every part that didn’t include Annabelle.

She watched him with spidery eyes, and some of her skull was knitted together with web. He didn’t like looking at it, he didn’t like looking at her.

If she was a patron of the thing that spun webs in his own skull then he already had enough reason to dislike her, but the fact she was keeping a close eye on him didn’t help.

“You are truly amazed by the most mundane of things!” Mikaele says, once again impressed at the monster man who has literally never heard of a toaster.

“Well, where I'm from. We only had an empty cabin with one table and a basement.” Hero tells the funny man.

“Truly a poor life you have lived.” Mikaele bemoans, amused.

“Yeah, but I'm really happy I saw a bird!” Hero says whimsically. The innocence of a large childlike monster is truly something to behold. 

“That is lovely, I'm sure you have many questions. The Archivist is certainly going to have plenty when he wakes up.” Mikaele laments a little with a small grin still on his face.

“How is this place… real? My understanding from what Jon told me was that the whole world had been changed.” Hero asks as he tries to avoid awkward eye contact with Annabelle from across the room.

 He really doesn’t want to talk with her, but he knows he’s going to have very little choice in that matter soon.

“Well you see, I was a mere merchant of the occult and strange back before the world changed. I had a long and successful career. I'm sure Jon could tell you all about it.” He begins his tale, but the cliff notes version. He was saving the more dramatic telling for an actual statement “eventually I looked at how many people were running around and realised eventually, one of them was going to succeed in ending it all… so I searched for an item I came across early in my journey that could defend me should such a thing come about.” 

Hero nods along.

“And then it worked!” He concludes, “Annabelle moved in a little bit after and she’s been a kind roommate ever since.” 

“Do you trust her?” Hero asks.

“Not really, she’s still dangerous but I don’t mess with her and she doesn’t mess with me.” He answers without hesitation, “I just hope she’ll be kind enough to kill me quick if she pops this bubble of safety for her plans.” 

“That's… good I suppose.” Hero tries to discern how he feels about that, not good certainly but he can’t fault the man for knowing what he wants.

–

Plenty of hours have passed with Jon and Martin seeming no likelier to stir to consciousness anytime soon. Hero was spending some quality time in the garden, feeding birds some seeds he was provided by the host.

He came back inside and found himself face to face with Miss Cane… the Spider’s Vessel. 

“Care to walk into my parlor?” She hums as the door to her room creeps open slowly, behind her is the entrance to a dark room choked in spiderwebs.

“I’d rather not.” Hero tries to move past her.

“You can’t avoid this conversation forever. We need to talk about your place in the big picture after all.” Annabelle says smugly, stopping him in his tracks as she hums. “Wouldn’t want to keep your Princess waiting after all.” 

Hero fully turns around and looms over her “Is that a threat?”

“I wouldn't dare. No, I'm here to bargain big boy.” She clarifies with complete nonchalance.

“I didn’t bargain with the last spider, why would I bargain with you?” Hero remains unmoving, holding back his own bitterness with a cold facade.

“Because, Jon and Martin aren’t going anywhere until they wake up. And who knows whether or not your other half will be okay by then, but worry not… I know the way.” 

Hero’s eyes narrow in suspicion, every last remnant of the skeptic and paranoid’s instincts in his skull are screaming at him to not even consider trusting this woman.

She wants him away from Jon and Martin for some reason, they are the big important pieces to her game no doubt. But why make this clear to him indirectly? 

Does she truly believe he’s enough of a chaotic variable to deserve special attention, or is she the type of schemer to account for that? She’s frustrating no matter what the answer is.

“I’m on an important thread aren’t I? You’ve spun your scheme and a simple slip of my blade could tear the web apart.” Hero discerns, he awaits her response.

“You’re observant.” she notes “This doesn’t have to be a fight y’know?”

“I’m not part of this, your pitiful puppeteer made that clear.”

“Exactly, so why get tangled up? I can show you the thread that’ll get you to your Princess much easier.” 

“What if I were to kill you instead. Are you so important a piece of all this?” Hero threatens

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I'm not. But even if I were to die, cutting one thread won't bring down the whole web. And it certainly wouldn't save you or your princess.”

She cuts through his threat as simply as a spider catches a fly, her smile is pleasant but it’s repugnant how he can feel the string around his throat just from her words.

“It's not just her I'm worried about. You've got something planned for Jon, haven't you? I don't know what it is but I doubt it's anything good. I won't let you hurt him.” He tries to counter her scarily adept attempts to cow favor.

“Hurt him? I never even considered it. Don’t worry! Though if you’re going to attempt to carve the webs from him, I wouldn't advise using that blade, it’s rather crude and it's already too late for that.”

“What do you mean it's too late?” He worries, his barely held mask of coldness dropping instantly alerting her easily to how much control she really has over him now.

“The Archivist holds a special place in the world, too powerful and too important for something like you to mess up without monumental consequences.” She explains with a calm yet cruel grin. “He's tied up in the future of this world by his role and his choice, no matter what you do he's going to try and do what he wants with this world!”

She’s right… he hates how much she’s right. Somehow she was able to discern exactly the right buttons to push and he despises her for it.

“If he’s that important why shouldn’t I get involved! He holds the weight of the world on his shoulders and he’s already aware of all the suffering his eye god perpetuates.” Hero tries to find stable ground in an argument he can’t help but feel like he’s losing.

This isn’t like The Shifting Mound. He’s not talking with an equal, he’s not talking with a god. He’s talking to the puppet of a puppeteer so confident in their script they’re telling him what his role should be.

“If you did, if you tried to alter his course so that he’s no longer a part of our plan, then you'd be depriving him of an option. You don't have to like me or the mother, but following the grand plan is very much a choice the Archivist could make. And if he does make that choice, who are you to deny him that?”

–

After nearly two full days, the apocalypse boyfriends finally awaken. Which is a sweet moment of peace and relief, and an acknowledgement of how Jon now physically can’t help but sleep with his eyes open.

It’s also an awkward moment when Hero bursts into the room and engulfs them both in a feathery hug in relief over them being okay just as they were getting up. 

“Hey hey, put us down please!” Martin whines 

“Oh right sorry.” Hero apologizes

“Are you okay?” Jon mumbles as he gets his barings.

“Uh… no- Yes.” Hero sputtered.

“What happened?” Martin asked.

“You were out for a while… So I got to know the owner and his roommate well. Mr. Salesa is nice, Annabelle is… a lot.” Hero answers awkwardly rubbing his neck and doing everything he can to downplay how uncomfortable he’s been.

“Oh.” The boyfriends reply in unison.

“Anyway, Mr Salesa told me you’d probably need food… I'll go get you some toast!” Hero changes the topic quickly and scurries out of the room.

Chapter Text

Jon and Martin enjoyed what little time they could in Upton House after their long long sleep. Martin picked up fairly quickly that whatever Annabelle said to Hero unsettled him enough he simply refused to talk about it… which wasn’t unusual for the quiet bird but still was concerning in this context especially.

Jon, by virtue of his own curiosity, powered through the lethargy this bubble of unchanged world gave him in order to get a rather enlightening statement from Mikaele.

Thanks to Martin’s encouragement, Hero shook off as much of his frustration with the spider by trying tea. He didn’t quite end up understanding the appeal but he enjoyed the experience.

“If this is truly a piece of what the world was like before… I would like to do everything in my power to help this world return to it.” Hero says idly as he tries a different blend of tea to see if it's more to his taste.

“Well… I don’t know if we can do that,” Martin says with a sigh, “but at the very least it's going to be satisfying to kill Elias.”

“Why would Elias want this?” Hero asks with genuine melancholy as he thinks about all the terror he’s seen thus far.

“I don’t know and I honestly don’t care.” Martin tells him, an expression of determined vengeance etched on his usually disarmingly soft features. “He deserves what's coming to him.” 

Hero can tell that of the two of them, Jon is the one that hesitates to kill when the time comes. They really are like him and his princess in some ways… maybe everyone is just smaller and smaller reflections of their shared humanity.

He thinks they both deserve better than whatever scheme you’ve been spun into. But for now this is another world of roles much like the construct, The Archivist is a title and a prison and unfortunately a person.

He’s slotted back into his own familiar role now that he thinks about it. Once again he’s found himself on a path with Her at the end of it, this time the walk is longer and wrought with more dangers but it's all still a path.

He once tried asking Jon once while they were walking on if he could update him on Princess state. All he was told is that she is alive and waiting for him. She’s always waiting for him… and now he’s making her suffer even longer by shamelessly enjoying this moment of respite.

“Hey, while we were asleep… Did you?” Martin asks, cutting through his sad internal spiral.

Hero tilts his head in that way he tends to do when pondering every question. His moment of silence where the voices would usually speak up is shorter than it used to be now he’s just scrolling that list in his head.

“No. No I did not.” He answers bluntly. “It’s a bit like death right?”

“I suppose?” Martin replies, unsure of what train of thought he has accidentally led his friend down.

“You go unconscious and then you wake up sometime later, right?” Hero makes sure he has further clarification.

“Uh… yeah.” Martin hesitates.

“Then if i really need sleep this should work.” Hero says as he pulls out his blade, grabs the hilt with both hands and aims at his heart.

Martin immediately panics and discourages him from doing that, and then angrily yells at him for the small heart attack that action nearly caused.

Hero promises to never try that again.

–

Eventually they simply had to leave, as much as they wanted to enjoy all the comfort this safe haven provided. Jon was getting physically worse the longer he stayed, and being this disconnected from the Eye that kept him alive meant he could not last any longer.

The departure was a simple yet tragic affair, Jon’s omniscient mind would retain none of his time within. The disconnection from that dreaded watcher meant nearly all his memories of the house were contained within it. To exist outside of the watcher as he was near fatal, and he would need to be told by his loving partner what a good time he had.

Hero knew what it was like to lose your memories, it was simply part of the process within the construct that allowed their eventual ascension and escape. But this was different yet so close in experience.

As they left the radius of normality for the nightmare, he could perceive how Jon’s form glazed with the fog of knowledge over, then alighted back to their usual state. A voyeur god now back in its rightful seat in the skull of The Archivist.

–

As they enter the uncomfortably clean halls of the hospital, Hero’s feathers stand on threatened ends as he gets a glimpse of the ‘lady’ at the front desk.

She greets Jon and Martin, apparently they’ve been expecting ‘The Inspector’. She looks wrong fundamentally, a strange mix of sharp medical tools and indiscernible but human features. Jane Doe gives them an enthusiastic tour of The Wellbeing Centre.

Her explanation of the kind of work they do here is vague but medical. They do ‘medicine’ with ‘machines’ and many ‘patients’. Martin is generally concerned as he tends to be with the terror stoked within places like this.

Jon for his part is amicable and is doing his best to get this done as quickly as possible. Eventually going off to an empty room to give his review on this place.

Hero and Martin awkwardly stay outside the room simply waiting, alongside a Janitor who Martin strikes up conversation with… in fact he seems familiar with it to some capacity.

Breekon has lost his Hope. It would be amusing if it wasn’t kind of sad. It is a monstrous thing deserving of little sympathy, but despite that it is quite like him. It too has lost its other half, it is missing a piece of what once made it whole.

Once it realizes who it’s talking to and who they’re waiting on… it chooses to wait as well. Taking a break from sweeping the stench around this damned place of wellbeing.

Jon is expecting it when he arrives. He greets it calmly but his control holds the weight of his own power. It asks for death, it is a lost piece of fear and has no place in this torturing world without what made it whole.

And so Hero witnesses for the first time the true depth of The Archivists power as he unmakes that piece of fear. Destroys it and scatters whatever remnants to a painful cessation.

And once it's over… nobody really knew what to feel.

–

They stood now before an impossible building. A monument to a man long dead and all those who shared his ideals. The ideals of hubris that demanded the impossible be neatly boxed and categorized within labels that demanded man at the centre.

“So that entire building is a mockery of the legacy of one man?” Hero asked.

“Essentially yeah.” Jon answered.

“Seems rather petty to be honest.” Hero noted with distaste. “It's like if I or the princess built a large mirror in memory of the Narrator. Just seems unnecessary since he’s dead.” 

“I suppose, it doesn’t really matter why at the end of the day. They did and it's feeding them.” Jon shrugs.

Suddenly the sing-song voice of a distorted woman calls down from above. A yellow spiral door creaks open suspended in the air far above them, she waves at them playfully as she leans just out of the door from an oddly specific angle.

Her long spindly arm with its fingers with too many bones tap playfully against the frame of her door, having opened outwards to block her view of Hero seemingly on purpose. 

Martin greets her wearily “Hello, Helen. I figured weird architecture would get you to show up. It’s like your area of expertise.”

“I suppose. Though would you consider ‘petulant poet’ yours? I AM weird architecture. Anyway, where did you go? You two just kind of vanished.” She queries, pointedly ignoring Hero’s presence to the best of her ability from her relatively safe distance above.

“Ah. I see.” Jon mutters to himself as he realises something.

“I was looking forward to catching up with you two after the whole Basira and Daisy thing played out, but then like poof! You disappeared! I’m very keen to know you pulled off that little trick.” Helen continues.

Meanwhile Hero quietly contemplates whether he could throw his pristine blade with enough accuracy to hit her.

“Why, it caught us by surprise too. I mean, w-we actually we ended–” Martin is about to explain but is firmly cut off by Jon who says,

“We just found somewhere to rest. That's all.” 

Martin makes some short noises of agreement.

“Fine. Be like that. I can appreciate the particular pleasure of a kept secret.” she bemoans politely in her teasing way.

 Hero silently balances the blade in his palm as he ponders.

“It’s a shame Basira didn’t get to do what she wanted and join Daisy when she had the chance. I would’ve been more help but… well I chose not to be.” she hums playfully, her spiral eyes twisting in place as she watches them.

“Well, I'm happy you thought about it.” Martin grumbles sarcastically.

“Speaking of Daisy, she really got swallowed up didn’t she? Eaten by something much more terrible than us, wouldn't you say?” She sneers, her form fractalling with malice.

“If you want to insult me, at least do it to my face.” Hero tells her, only to be rudely ignored.

“Do you want to know what Basira’s been up to while you’ve been ‘resting’? She’s been on quite the journey you know.” She queries them with a cheshire style grin.

“We don’t need your help. I already know.” Jon shoots back.

“Well I don’t.” Martin points out.

The world hums a little in static as the power of knowing flows from Jon.

“She’s currently moving through ‘The Void’, hungry shadows drifting in the dark.” The eldritch hum of knowledge ends but Jon continues, “She’s been there a long time now, struggling to find a path.”

“But she will.” Martin determines hopefully.

“I think so.” Jon agrees.

“Always seems to manage it doesn’t she? It’s impressive, although a little bit… tempting at times.” Helen adds.

“Look, Helen, what do you even want? Okay you keep turning up like a bad penny, and, honestly it, it seems like it’s… it’s just to be a dick!” Martin complains, doing his best to look at Helen from her obtuse angle above them.

She gasps in mock offense, “I am trying to be friends, Martin. Forever is a long time. And I occasionally like to have some company that isn’t screaming.”

“It won’t be forever when I'm done with you.” Hero threatens, only to once again not get any visible reaction as he’s ignored.

“What do you even think friendship is?” Martin asks flabbergasted.

“I dunno, do I? The only personhood I have is from someone I ate.”

“You always said you were Helen.” Martin argues

“I am. I also ate her. It’s very simple, as long as you don’t think about it.” She answers plainly which was even more frustrating.

Martin is about to argue more and voices his distastes for all this fucking about, but Jon cuts him off with the fact she’s annoying him on purpose. Martin says she’s good at it and she takes the compliment.

“Aww. Thanks sweetie. But to be honest, I'm mainly here to see which path you choose.” She says with her signature grin as he dangles her arm out of the door.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, I need to know how much of a welcome mat to roll out.” Her smug amusement was clear on her false face. 

“Martin, I'd prefer we talk about this alone.” Jon interjects trying his best to save the feelings of his partner.

“Oh, I bet you would. You were probably going to bypass it entirely, weren’t you? I can’t believe you’d deny him the choice to see his own domain.”

And like that the gulf of silence between the two becomes deafening as Martin sputters in shock. Hero stands there with his head tilted in curiosity, Martin's surprise at this simple fact is surprising on its own.

Hero had instinctually and immediately recognised them all as the same type of formerly human thing. Sure Jon was undeniably the stronger and more important of the two, but on sight alone he could tell they fundamentally worked the same as everything else.

You feasted upon fear or else your fear would be fed upon. You were either the warden or the prisoner, the hunter or the hunted, the watcher or the watched. This world was torture but even when the roles blurred they were fairly clear. 

The fact the monument was a mockery of such categories was even more insulting now that the labels had changed into a simpler system really.

“Awkward! Right, well. Well this seems like a conversation the two of you should be having alone. So I'll, I’ll be off, then.” She says through a cringing noise.

“Watching from a distance? Running from Hero some more?” Jon accuses calmly.

“The Eye rules everything, Archivist. We’re all snoops now!” She brushes him off cheerfully, still ignoring that part about Hero, “Ciao!”

Her door closes quickly as a pristine blade thunks into it then drops into the dirt when it vanishes. Hero, satisfied with the attempt, retrieves it as Jon and Martin continue their conversation in a minor degree of privacy.

Hero see’s Jon and Martin depart from each other a little. To give Martin time to process and Jon time to collect his statement.

—

“So everyone has a domain, could I have one?” Hero questioned after Martin did his own interrogation of the concept.

“Not really, you’re so fundamentally different and repellent to the fears that they’d need a firm grip on you first before one could form.” Jon explains plainly. “So not impossible, but you’d almost have to let it.”

Hero ponders that. This world runs on a different dream logic to the construct. Perception was the key within there but here Fear rules all. To simply be not afraid nearly makes one immune to it all, but to feel even a sliver of it invites the horrors within and without.

“You probably wouldn’t even have victims in yours should it ever form. The Fears are too interested in trying to successfully feed off you to incorporate you like that.” Jon elaborates, the strange metaphysical rules are nearly set in stone yet Hero proves to be the exception nearly every time.

Their path leads them downward. Under the earth a colony of ants lets them inside.

Chapter Text

Uncountable ants crawled along the tunnels, they walked through a land rife with the corruption of insects. Deep beneath the earth stepping carelessly on a million eyes and a million legs that tormented a thousand souls.

They parted somewhat for their honoured guest of The Archivist and his partner but they only barely offered such a courtesy to the shadow that followed them. Hero was unnatural in a way that he knew every avatar that witnessed him could somewhat understand.

He was not feasting on fear and he was not afraid. So he was neither granted respect nor direct torment. Most of his safety came from the grace of their holy master who watched from above and granted The Archivist his power.

This was true of everywhere but it felt more notable here due to the way the swarm would prefer to either be crushed underfoot or nip at his toes with every step.

It couldn’t stop him but it was very annoying. The shadows unintentionally became sharper in a way that warded them off enough for a moment of comfort.

While Jon did his statement, Hero followed Martin through a couple tunnels until they found a man writhing in agony underneath the torture of the swarm.

“It’s quite different up close isn’t it? The screams hurt more when they’re closer.” Hero says as his empty pupils lock with the victims.

“We know him… I- I should get Jon, see if we can do anything for him.” Martin says as he begins making his way back.

Hero simply stands there near motionless as he allows the twinge of sympathy to flow through him as he simply watches the victim cry out in pain and terror.

The ants move like a wave, an ocean of legs and mandibles. Crawling in and out of every orifice this human has. His screams are choked with ants in his throat and his breath is hitched by ants in his nostrils.

Hero doesn’t know how long he stays there, implicit in the system the Watcher built this place for, but it certainly feels like too long.

He’s drawn out from his motionless state as both Jon and Martin return. They spend an important moment discussing what to do, they refuse to do nothing because Jon at the very least feels like repaying a debt.

“Please. Help Me!” He cries out when he sees them, begging desperately.

And so… Jon channels the power of the watcher. He recites a new chant and instead of destruction he ascends a victim to tormentor. The Victim rises from the swarm and gains command of this realm.

He is one with many eyes and crawling things. He is horrified. He knows this is fundamentally better than where he once was but it's terrible in a different way now.

He feasts for the Eye. He is its way of drinking the fear it produces and he is just a man made monster.

“You could do that the whole time?” Hero questions, unsure of whether that makes his choice not to so many times before better or worse.

“Kind of. But not really. All I did was change the avatar here from the ants to him. That’s all I'd be doing if I did it anywhere else.” The Archivist explains, “I only did it cause I felt I owed him.”

After a moment of explanation of his new place in the world that has ended, as a torturer and a monster now debatably human in ways their mortal mind can barely decide for themself. 

The fear is now wearing his skin and bone and mind. Then as coldly as they came, they began turning to leave.

“The ants… If I told them to attack you. Could they?” The newly crowned Lord of The Swarm asked the Archivist, his face dread with hopelessness and a hint of rage he hoped he could direct at his savior.

The Archivist thought on that for a mere second.

“No. Nothing can really touch us anymore.” He tells him clearly, the sound of a tape clicking off nearby punctuates the power behind that simple response.

–

Prison. A concept that our Hero was already primed to despise thanks to his experience within the construct. Unlike those walls of nothing that held him via deception, these walls were of brick and stone and steel.

It was a place of mechanized, dispassionate pain. Victims in cells crying out in unison as literally faceless people in uniforms patrolled outside the cages.

Jon had found himself an empty cell to record his statement. Hero watched all the people recoil at the sight of him as he merely watched them through their cell bars.

The jailors feared him nearly as much as the prisoners, which did make him feel slightly better. He was an armed guest in their home after all. He hasn’t let go of his pristine blade once in a long time.

 Sure he threw it at Helen fairly recently but that was an attack. He can feel the way his hand perfectly wraps around the hilt and he almost despises it for being such.

He didn’t bring it with him when he and the princess exited that door into the land of fear. But as soon as he determined he needed to slay whatever was in his path… it was there in his grip.

He examined the way he didn’t even have a reflection on the steel. He was mortal, but he was also nothing at all. He remembered the cage and the prisoner, how confining those paths were. 

But there was kindness in those chains. If he fought for it hard enough, maybe he could do that here.

Jon finished and they walked out of the empty cell together, having started a conversation that Hero was now only catching.

“Does it not bother you?” Martin asks

“What? Being a ‘guest’?” Jon replies

“Yeah. it’s not like it resisted. Hell, it was chummy.”

“To you at least. I’m pretty sure they only let me in because I was with you, and even then they were wary of me.” Hero reminded them.

“Would you rather it had attacked?” Jon questions.

“No it's just… is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?” Martin clarifies, the idea crawling up his skin like spiders.

“Well you are.” Hero says, unhelpfully distressing Martin. “I knew it from the moment I saw you.” 

“Hm! I forgot that’s a new experience for you.” Jon muses at the novelty of that.

“Excuse me?” 

“You have to remember I’ve had this for years. Right from the start, it’s always been ‘Archivist’ this and ‘Archivist’ that. All these weird, awful creatures assuming I’m ‘in’ on all the secrets. Even when they were trying to kill me, they treated me like I was a... a peer.”

“Yeah but they were still trying to kill you.” Martin argues.

“That doesn’t mean much when it happens a lot.” Hero points out, knowing from his own experience.

“Not all of them. And now? Sure the power’s shifted, it’s all politeness and respect, but it still feels just like more of the same. I guess I just stopped caring at some point. Besides they are technically right, I am one of them. To a degree.”

“Boxes made to contain the totality of us don’t define us. Especially when humanity itself is being called into question.” Hero adds trying to spin something positive out of this.

“I mean yeah that's some philosophical wisdom from the questionably human to begin with. But I was human, I like being human… I think.” Martin sputters out, trying to formulate the irrationality of feelings into proper opinion.

“If humanity is something you want to define yourself by, then by all means. You are as human as you’ll ever be within the way this world works.” Hero tells Martin, with enough stern optimism and hope to make the very walls recoil slightly from the certainty.  

–

As they pass by a cell, a prisoner desperate for escape speaks up, grabbing Martin's attention. An inspector for the police, enforcer of the law and all its flaws. 

He begs for Martin to help him, the choice mirrors the one Jon made before. Martin asks the question of guilt, of fear, of the truth of why a man of the law is locked away in this hell without a key.

Martin barely hesitates to damn the man once the answers are pulled from him by his boyfriend. Mistakes in the system, indeterminate victims locked up like he is. The determination that if he were to ascend to watcher, he would enjoy the position of power once more. Makes the choice that much easier really.

Hero despises prisons, he knows what it's like to be a cage and be caged. Once through powerful skepticism he trapped himself quite thoroughly in one.

 As they leave him behind, Hero can’t help but wonder what the Princesses' domain of victims must be feeling. Their cage is one of death or change unwanted, certainly stagnation wouldn’t be a part of it, that's his speciality.

As they keep walking away pondering their choices, a fog rolls in… a mist of loneliness clouds their vision as Martin and Jon’s voices fade away, replaced by the silence of amnesia and distant rain.

A lone Hero… a lonely hero.

Chapter Text

Being swallowed by loneliness is a strange feeling. While the other fears so far have crawled in his feathers and boiled his blood or simply watched ceaselessly… this felt different.

It felt like the mist was lightly pouring from him… his own feelings projected physically forcing him further into isolation. Who was he? He couldn’t have been anyone important, he barely had a name.

His name was Hero. It was chosen for him by his beloved. She’s probably forgotten you though. You are alone here. The Archivist cannot see through mist. The lonely soul that owns this place… he didn’t really like you that much so why would he bother?

The more these thoughts worm their way inside the nothing, the damper its feathers become. Weighed down by the truth of how few people even know it. 

Basira will remember me. No, she won’t… you’re just another monster to her. One that ate someone she loves. She’ll forget you easily. You can lie to yourself but lying was never one of your skills, you have few to begin with and that's not one of them.

Who are you when you have no one? Not a voice in your head or a princess to love or a mortal to fear you. What are you when you are alone?

The mist that clouds your vision and your mind is unbearable. It has found a weakness like no other fear has. It is right after all. What are you without something to measure against? You are nothing. In the most literal sense you are Nothing.

You miss her so much. You miss her more than anything else in the world. She’s like a piece of your heart torn away and stolen. She is alone and you are alone and you will never find each other again.

NO. You refuse to accept it. You refuse to simply surrender to loneliness. You are not alone. Jon is out there searching for them both. Martin is not alone in finding his path. Your Princess is waiting for you and you will not disappoint her.

–

Martin is talking to himself… well the self made by his domain. A friend kind of sort of but not really, he’s a bit of a prick… he is himself after all.

He’s trying to mind games himself… it’s really difficult. He’s also experiencing this weird feeling of not knowing something within his own domain. Like he vaguely knows that others are here for the most part, but this one stands out in its absence yet embrace.

Martin barely has the right words to put it together. But if he were to guess. That's probably the feeling of Hero wandering around here. Huh… he could subconsciously keep Jon out presumably, based on the worlds of Also Himself, but he couldn’t keep out him.

Probably has something to do with his weird not-fear stuff he does. Despite the resistance and absence he feels in the presumed direction of Hero… he’s also feeling nourished by it in a way. 

Like it tastes bad and weird but it still feels like a meal. Ugh, he doesn’t want to think about people like food in his domain let alone Hero who has been mostly nice to them outside of their first meeting… which was at knifepoint.

Martin was still a little bitter about that honestly, what doesn’t make him feel better is he does kind of enjoy his company too after their time in Upton House. 

Outside of the knife and the vague godliness that he shares with his boyfriend, Hero is practically just a big kid who's never seen the world before. He’s got some big heroic romantic quest for his princess going on and he just misses her really.

Besides her, he’s pretty sure he and Jon are his first friends… at least first human friends, as frustratingly debatable that is. He got dragged into his domain not because he couldn’t keep him out, but because he’s so lonely.

–

While Martin contemplates his own domain, and Hero stews in it somewhere within but distant, Jon is walking up to a familiar door… a door he quickly notices is scarred quite deeply thanks to a pristine blade.

The banter strikes up immediately as the distortion named Helen greets him at the door to a spiral hotel. One of her arms is twisted in the wrong direction, severed at the shoulder by a power that shouldn’t exist in this world.

She hides the pain with a practiced smile and pretends this was always the case, I mean who needs two arms when you’re a door and a hotel and a Helen and a lie? Especially when she’s lured her special guest inside exactly as planned.

Now comes the question of execution, of risk, of the danger of a smile you can barely trust to help you or harm you. They casually discuss this as he forges his correct path through her twisting halls. But then the topic of their third comes up, one who Helen was avoiding talking about.

“But you’re not just scared of me, are you Helen? No, Martin and I might save the world but you’re afraid of HIM aren’t you? The one who cleaved your arm off.” Jon discerns.

“Why wouldn’t I be scared, Jon? You require a little speech to smite them into oblivion, all It has is a knife. I’m so lucky that Martin took it with him into his self reflective little house.” Helen admits through the walls. “Cause otherwise that door would’ve never opened. I mean this as your friend Jon. Kill it if you can before it kills you.”

“This might shock you Helen. But I can't kill it any more than you can. It doesn’t experience death or oblivion like we do. While we’re playing human, it’s playing mortal.” Jon responds calmly watching the way her walls shudder.

“Am I dangerous? Sure. but that Thing is more monstrous than we could ever be. It stole Daisy, it cut off my fucking arm, it cannot be Known not truly. None of us can truly fathom what it could do and that's more dangerous than I'll ever be.” She argues, trying desperately to twist the facts in her favor.

“It defies reality as it is while living within it naturally. Quite the paradox, something you’d probably enjoy if it didn’t cut your arm off for trying to eat it.” Jon muses. “You know there’s a chance it comes right here, if it gets out of Martin's domain sooner rather than later, and no stalling me will save you from it.”

–

Isn’t it nice? The silence of the mist, the distant rain pattering down. You’re alone in your head, as it was always meant to be since the day you left the construct.

It’s comforting to be alone once you accept that you’ve always been. You decided and keep deciding, you were once The Decider. But you don’t need to decide anymore, they’ve forgotten you wherever they are.

They’re better off forgetting you.

Is this all you are? A distressingly comforting blanket of feelings that push others away and push me towards liking it that way? You want me to be alone, to know I'm alone, to know I'm forgotten.

But I'm not alone. She’s out there waiting for me and I will find her. I will shake off your mist and part your fog and I will find her. Jon knows the way and he’s not in here.

Because he’s abandoned you. Why wouldn’t he abandon you? You are not Martin, you are a monster with a knife. You could cut his thread and destroy the archive with the single slip of a blade.

She’s not waiting for you, she’s forgotten you.

That can CHANGE. But it- NO.

–

Martin steps out of his domain with a deep sigh of acceptance. He walks towards a hotel and watches as it implodes on itself, torn apart by cosmic watcher power as a thread of lies was pulled.

Behind him Hero steps forward and shakes off the water on his feathers left from his domain like a wet dog.

“Oh. Hey, Hero. Uh, sorry you had to experience that.” Martin apologizes instinctively.

“It is fine. That is the deepest under my skin any fear has gotten. I will not allow it to happen again.” Hero asserts. 

“Oh I think that's Helen dying.” He adds casually as he watches the twisted remnants of that domain demolish itself and Jon stands in the middle of a wasteland with a hand raised.

Jon groggily looks around and spots them both, he stumbles over and asks how Martin's domain was after assuring them he killed her for a good reason. Hero certainly doesn’t question that, he would’ve done it himself.

Martin is given a short time to mourn someone he somewhat considered a friend, but nonetheless they continue forward. 

London is in sight and it sees them approaching.