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boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
focusedvoid) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
voicetest the voiceless
They're not dead.
Less dead than they'd felt, at least. Their shell doesn't normally take so long to reform.
Then again. Their shell doesn't usually break of their own violation as they ascended in a boiling rage, ate at least one realm, a god, and all the Godseekers.
(That last point is debatable, actually. There's some odd sense, deep under their...shell? Void? Wherever they once stored things like Isma's Tear, much deeper now...that the sea-mind is still there, sluggish and held in a stasis. They're already adjusting enough, and they don't seem to be dying or trying to kill them, so that problem is neatly sorted as 'for later'.)
They push their body to stand. Their horn clangs uncomfortably loudly against the grate they've apparently woken up beneath. They're somewhere in the Royal Waterways. A quick check of the map--or, not so quick, as it takes time to locate where it had been--shows they've risen about halfway through, closer to the City of Tears than the White Palace. They'll go to the Stag Station in the City Storerooms next.
So they think. Complications arise on the way.
The Infection is gone, leaving dead Flukes, Pilflips, and Hwurmps in piles enough it takes time to force their way past. Their body seems too small. No, their body is fine--there's something wrong with perception itself. That will take time to adjust to.
Then, they discover the Monarch Wings now stretch and warp when used, twisting around the nearest pipes after landing before the Knight forcibly calls them back. Shade Wings, they decide to call these.
Once they're high enough to hear the rain above, they realize a noise they'd ascribed to water running in the distance is, in fact, something swirling behind their mask. Many somethings. All the fragments of Siblings with enough self left, staring out from their eyes. It's disconcerting.
By the time they actually get out of the Waterways, they're using their Shade Wings to grip ledges and drag themselves up, with those holding onto things better than their own arms are with the Mantis Claw.
The Knight faceplants awkwardly onto the floor of the building Lemm's shop is in. If the City is the same as below, there's little left to try killing them in the area.
They'll just take a moment here, thanks.
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In the curtained shadows of his resting place, the Troupe Master bides his time. A dead Kingdom is in no hurry for the Ritual, and the Ritual is in no hurry for its summoner. The Heart beats the slow and somnolent pulse of the interlude.
Kin pass the meantime steadily, sweeping and checking and double-checking and occasionally pitching small, fiery rehearsals. Until the Ritual is complete, the Troupe idles.
Until it does not.
All at once, every single member of the Grimm Troupe freezes and looks up - at each other, or at the middle distance, suddenly alert. The Nightmare's Heart skips a beat.
And then it thunders. The Troupe Master's eyes snap open, and he vanishes from his perch in a wash of flame.
There is nothing quite like a wake-up call through Dream. There is even less like one from a being that swallowed a god. To have such a thing brush so dangerously close will not stand. The Nightmare's Heart must perpetuate, and for this the threat of extinguishing must be addressed.
Elderbug staggers back in horror as a rush of scarlet flame spears past him and through Dirtmouth, and pitches down the well. At the bottom, Grimm lands in a perfect acrobat's crouch amid a roll of flame and pauses, motionless, for only a moment. The Heart knows: that way. He pushes off, driven by something not quite as mindless as instinct but with all the same force.
The Knight has few warnings in very short succession. The cold, Void-charged air presses up against a sudden bank of warmth from the east passage - and then something beyond there displaces in a snap, in a similar way that it does for a Dream Gate.
A shape bursts from the residual flames just a platform's length away, eyes burning like the embers of the dead Kingdom and wings coiled into a lance-like point, and rushes.
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Second thought: he must be tired of their indecision.
First thought: no thought at all, but screaming instinct to MOVE. Hallownest hasn't been peaceful nearly long enough to dull those reflexes. Their reaching retracts and their self slams back into their body with a weight that jolts them.
Grimm is a smear of distinctive flame they leap away from. They're in a near-freefall for a moment--
--before their Wings hook around the platform they were clinging to. They still grab their Nail and lash out at movement, but their body hangs for too long a time as they try to adjust to shifting perspective and disobeying limbs.
Later, they'll appreciate the irony of being literally trapped in a web of panic.
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They are permitted little time to recover. There is none of the Troupe's music here, and this is not part of their dance - it is fierce survival that drives him now, and when he reappears on the platform below, it is not Troupe Master Grimm alone who glares up at the Knight.
(There is danger in that look. And something burning at the edge of their consciousness, like a challenge, or like a threat - it will not be drowned, and if it must, it will have its vessel incinerate the Lord of Shades first.)
Grimm darts directly beneath them, pulls back an arm, and launches himself upward with his wings tangled in claws, swiping at them. Red fire gathers to rain down after. Escape may prove difficult.
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There's something on the edge of their thoughts. They nearly notice it--but this sudden stage has an audience of countless eyes, called closer by their Strongest Sibling Knight by accident, thrilled and terrified and drowning anything else out.
One flame bursts on target between the Knight's horns before they reorient and dash wildly between platform and platform, sending a roiling Shade Soul straight up where they think he might be.
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(Somewhere beneath the deafening roar of a beating heart, Grimm might have wondered at what their chances really are. Grimm, however, is somewhat crowded out.)
He vanishes again in a flash as shadow threatens to graze at his wings.
He must stop the Void from moving. The last successful strikes had been because they were immobilised. Grimm whirls into being again at the centre of the cargo lift, wings already lifting in preparation - and, ah, this is no ring, and no flat plane, and so the results will be delightfully unpredictable. His wings stab down.
Sharp, spiralled spikes lance out everywhere, the directions random and criss-crossing, tangling their makeshift arena in points.
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Despite the blows, shock is fading; irritation, naturally, steadily rises in place.
The already-flimsy reasoning of 'a dance' falters in this sudden strike. There's no rhythm or polite bowing here. Grimm could have come over and knocked.
They forget the Dash and instead shift into darkness itself, a shadowy blur behind their opponent. Their Nail lashes out, aimed between his wings.
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No matter. He has landed enough strikes to remain confident now, and he whirls into flame and reappears on a different platform. Grimm braces an arm against his wing and sends winged flame searing towards them.
He is faster than he was in the tent when they faced each other before - there was rhythm to that, and even then it had been a testing sort of encounter, feeling out the power of the Summoner. Not so now.
Now that they've managed to strike back, the Heart thrums, ever more defiant, becoming a pulsing beacon against the Shadelord's presence. They will perhaps find this harder to miss.
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It's not enough to distract them from sending out another tendril-laden Shade Soul straight back.
What does distract is watching those mostly-independent tendrils reach and drag one of the flying flames into itself. Another clips them and the final slams into them headfirst when they try to flutter out of the way and just manage to go straight into it.
Launching backwards, fed up, they Dive to the bottom of the shaft. They need a moment to collect themselves--
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Grimm cuts off early, flames fizzling as he launches backward off the platform and pulls his wings about him and vanishes again, Shade Soul missing close behind. Too close; the Heart is pounding at him -
(at the Lord of Shades, too, announcing and insisting its affront that the being that swallowed the Radiance would dare to come for the Nightmare now)
- it is drawing him down to chase the streak of inky black as it tries to find some breathing room. He must allow it no quarter.
Grimm whips into being directly over the Lord of Shades, wraps his wings into a point, and plunges.
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The Knight gets no chance for healing. Grimm is on top of them, with just enough time to regret not testing their Focus how they have their other abilities.
He crashes down with force that rings along with the Heartbeat watching--chasing--calling direct threat at them. Displeasure? Anger? Siblings respond with a seething wave of their own like jeers, so it might be its, it might be theirs, it's no time to think.
Double volume, double damage, they whirl and tank it and SHRIEK.
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For a fleeting second, the Nightmare's Heart is drowned out.
(For that moment: this is the Summoner, small and pale-masked vessel, this fight is perhaps avoidable - the Heart thrums again and reminds him of the danger, their End lies in this opponent, this is no time for perhaps, can he not hear the sea of Shades threatening? - and Grimm falls neatly back into the rhythm of self-preservation.)
Suddenly disoriented, and with the Heart in a renewed frenzy, he claws at this lifetime's worth of experience and flares his wings and twists his body to right himself in midair. This is not the arena he's used to, and he catches an arm on the hard metal of a platform he didn't expect in his way. (The Nightmare King rails against the dropped form, and the amateur mistake. Less than helpful.)
He ends up skidding (skidding! Unacceptably sloppy!) to a halt with his claws digging into the grooved floor.
It is vital to win. The pain of the Abyss Shriek is dutifully ignored and Grimm leaps up and back without hesitation, eyes narrowed only slightly. His wings catch the air and surround him in a cocoon of protective spikes, and he begins a barrage of scarlet fire.
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The trend continues. Another flaming orb sizzles into their back and they Dash through a few others, dropping to duck beneath the platform he floats above. No chance to heal--instead a chance to notice that there's no blocking at the bottom of the shaft. Irritably, they take it. It's a blow their pride, but Void is beginning to bubble from underneath their shell, and another blow from something physical would do worse.
In a shadowy flash, they're disappearing down to where they first met Cornifer. Without thought, they start heading Eastward, and then stumble to a dead stop--they might be being followed and the Ancestral Mound is too close. Dithering: do they run through quickly or try going back around--?
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No, this must be done, though he is not so foolish as to suspect it will be over quickly.
Grimm drops to the ground, wings falling back into place to cloak him neatly, and permits himself only a second to gather his wits before pressing onward and giving chase.
They move fast. But they think slower, and he sees his chance.
Oh, this would be terribly unfair even in the Ritual's bind, not that he hasn't resorted to it before - but the stakes are high. Grimm catches at his wings and twirls and vanishes in a flare of red.
...There is a notable delay.
Then the air right where the Knight is standing twists and sears with heat, and Grimm displaces their physical body with a painful crack.
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Their mask splits. Their Siblings silently shriek panic as the Knight does the same in frustration.
The theory briefly posited to Lemm is proven; they do not wake up on Dirtmouth's bench with their Shade left behind. Grimm has made the absolute worst choice in how to finish them off.
The Lord of Shades in full tears free of the pale, wrapping black and black and black in layers around his body. Deeper, elsewhere, tendrils of thorns wrap around fabric tubes--no, stitched-together veins. This is enough!
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Fear is the Nightmare's domain, and it rules that domain in absolute. But that does not mean the Nightmare cannot fear, and it terrors -
Grimm in the physical is clutched by shade and panics. Spells fizzle, either in the mind or against the Void, and he cannot get away, cannot fulfil the role into which he was cast -
The Nightmare's Heart pounds in frantic arrhythmia, lightless Void coiling up the seams. They might as well be squeezing, even if they aren't. Nothing should reach so deep. Not past the vessel and the King, and speaking of -
Nightmare King Grimm has been pacing the arena. Nightmare King Grimm stills and freezes. What the Lord of Shades does to Grimm does the same to his mind, and in that arena thorned Void coils in whether they mean it or not. The King retreats, slowly, towards a corner.
Every fraction of the Nightmare fears.
Grimm, in the present, fears least.
Ignoring the pound of the Heart, ignoring the gravity of the King: quite deliberately, Grimm suddenly hangs still.
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The Knight is aware of this. All the Siblings are the same.
A multitude of the latter demand it; the former lightly bats them off. Since their Shade Soul absorbed his attack rather than parrying it, a part of them was already braced for the urge to snuff him out. Them. All of it.
They needn't. It's frightening he did this, yes, but not very. This isn't the first battle they'd lost in surprise--and they haven't lost at all. See, while significantly displeased, they're still here. The Knight, the Shadelord, the Void, the Siblings: all fine. This is victory enough.
At Grimm's sudden stillness, the blanketing Void slowly unfurls itself until he's held only in a cage of claws.
They raise those four limbs level to their face. The eyes of the Void, all of it, all of them, examine Grimm and further in. They haven't killed him just doing this, have they?
The thorny tendrils stay in place in the Dream...the Nightmare Realm in steady warning, sharp shadows hissing where they lay across seams--pressing in enough to just barely make them burn.
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Slowly, the beating of the Heart retreats. And Grimm stays still.
Still. Even as the Void's clutches pull him closer to those pale eyes. Grimm softly lolls forward, like a doll. His eyes are open, but he won't look. He allows the Lord of Shades to hold and examine.
It is when things settle - when the Heart reluctantly, anxiously beats to a slower rhythm, and his captor is convinced he is done, that Grimm dares to tilt his head just slightly, and angles a curious, squinting glance up at the Lord of Shades. Like a bug peering cautiously up at a too-bright lamp.
He hangs in their grip, quiet and deliberate, and watches up at them deferentially to see their verdict.
Troupe Master Grimm has decided to yield.
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Strange. No, but it's fair. He's trapped. But...then...then they need to first. The Knight is lacking in easy ways to write, even if they let him loose, and they're not sure they want to.
Again, going slowly but firm, they reach, and attempt to present their query: a slow pour of primarily confusion and annoyance.
But the Lord of Shades is, too, the Lord of Dreams, once connected to the King of Nightmares from a realm once whole before being torn in half, and they connect far more than they intend. While their honest emotion-as-question is given, Grimm and the rest of him are flooded by an undercurrent beyond what they realize.
Their annoyance is strong, at Grimm and at their close quarters. They can fit as they can fit just about anywhere, but parts of them are spilling through barrels and wheelbarrows. They could just knock them aside, but then Greenhorn can't explore them with Lemm later, and hello Greenhorn, Godhome must be less interesting for everyone right now. There's likely nothing in them, there was always just rotten food when they broke them with their Nail. The cargo lift's weights are bumping against the back of their head and the whole thing could come down on top of them if they catch, so they won't catch. They can go back up, but then they'd have to melt a bit and funnel it while holding Grimm, and that could go poorly. Grimm is very small? Of course they they knew they were massive like this, but, but, but, Lemm was small, but they never held him, and the Soul Tyrant's corpse was small, but it was a corpse. Myla was small, but she's small even when the Knight or the Siblings are right beside her. Grimm is warm and alive and holding him like this is a new kind of disconcerting. He was taller, enough the Knight was genuinely somewhat intimidated the first time they met. He killed them a significant number of times later. As he's locked in their claws they could still do some sharp prodding him for their deaths, now and before, and that impulse is cast aside even as it forms. Countless Siblings, too shy to rise from the darkness in physicality, pepper Strongest Sibling Knight at the head with a constellation of indignation and intrigue. What was he doing? What is he actually? A Higher Being, a Troupemaster, but what's a Troupe? That's less important than the ambush, they can discuss that later. The Heart's not so loud. What's the Heart? The Higher Being. Later, later, they're just glad they can't feel it thrumming through--the Knight's mask, where is it? Half on the stairs, easily felt with a few Siblings glancing, but where's the other part? If it fell all the way down to the spikes...it'll be fine, truthfully, but spikes are still spikes even if they can't be damaged as they currently are. With their luck it will be anyway, but they can have a little hope.
Reflecting none of this outwardly, the Lord of Shades carefully adjusts their head. They're leaning on their elbow-joints, holding him level with their face as they wait.
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But the Lord of Shades does not crush the life out of him, as Grimm suspected they might not.
What lances through him next is - too much, too much and the heartbeat rises again, demanding that he struggle as the waves of thought are pushed over him, the Nightmare will drown in it -
- Troupe Master Grimm is sometimes the most valuable asset of the whole Nightmare when it comes to matters of rationality. He braces and lets the ocean of questions and curiosity and probing wash over him, despite the urge to resist once again. That would do no good. The Heart got them into this mess. Grimm has some idea of how to get them out, because underneath all of that he thinks he caught...
...Yes. There. Confusion. With some difficulty (small? He is small, in comparison, he supposes) Troupe Master Grimm holds onto that and tells the Nightmare King firmly: look. (Could destroy him, snap him in half, and doesn't. He's quite grateful.)
The Nightmare King catches on, and presents that confusion to the Nightmare's Heart for consideration. (The Heart - yes, master of the Nightmare, Higher Being, he does the mental equivalent of nodding along.) Relieved, Troupe Master Grimm plants himself firmly in the present and works on the more immediate problem.
"...An honest defeat," he struggles out loud with some difficulty, feeling rather overwhelmed, "and I believe some misunderstanding has settled on all of us. But first - if you might permit us room to think...?"
Diplomatically, Grimm presses back against the torrent of thought, finally putting out some resistance in the hopes of getting their attention. He will answer, and they might straighten this out - if they can stop flooding him.
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All this passes through their mind and link quickly. Mildly frustrated confusion bleeds into further confusion and drops into alarm, as the Lord of Shades realizes just how much Grimm is getting. Not the details, though the Knight instinctively pushes their Siblings' thoughts back first since they're just so many, but that it's significantly more than they meant.
The connection is lingered on long enough to pass apology for that, and, specifically, only that: they are not apologizing for holding him and the Heart as they are for the sudden attack. More still gets through than they want here, that they're not terribly angry, but it certainly threw off what they were going to do, and maybe they should just stop making plans. They're not going to. They have obligations and they still haven't gotten Elderbug his leaves--
Silence.
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And, ah, what he finds in the meantime is valuable! Even their furtive guilt is a reassurance; that there has been a misunderstanding indeed, for them to still consider the child. They would surely not, if they intended the flame to be extinguished. (A flicker of amusement rises from him amid the rush at the thought of Grimmchild being kept out of trouble.)
And other children, of sorts. It is a fascinating glimpse of personality, even if it is being projected at him in suffocating waves. Well, there is rather a lot of the Lord of Shades to go around. A lot of Shades. Children, too, clamouring at a sibling for answers, but Shades.
...Steady. He suspects they are... amateur at this. Whoever taught them to share this way has not done a very good job, if they were taught at all, and he can be patient while they orient themselves. It's not like he's going anywhere.
They will perhaps feel some small measure of reassurance from Grimm at the realisation that they've been oversharing.
"No harm was done by it, friend." Easy for him to say that now, with the Heart so distracted by what is rapidly becoming recognised as a mistake. "In fact it is a relief. We might more easily come to understand this as... an accident," he tries, as courteous about it as he can manage. "On both our parts, it seems."
Silence, suddenly, but for the uneasy thrum of the Heart. No longer having to weather the onslaught of thought, Grimm goes far more relaxed in their grip.
"Very much obliged. It is a delicate operation to bare the mind so! A lack of finesse is to be expected, and may be honed with time."
Now... He inclines his head very slightly, unable to move the rest of him enough to bow.
"I must profoundly apologise," he offers, and the Nightmare's Heart finally, finally releases him from its death grip on the situation as things begin to make sense. "Might I be correct in my suspicion that your will was misread?"
And - because he is far more used to such things, and does not wish even slightly to come across as thoughtless of their requirements here: Grimm offers them a smaller, more polite little mental nudge. They might still share, if they can manage to do it carefully.
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The Shadelord's head mirrors his little bow. He's correct that they're lacking finesse, and the Knight recognizes in other context, this reading wouldn't bother them so. This was not a pleasant situation to go through. And with how he's acting now, an accident is seeming a more reasonable explanation than sudden malevolence.
Their will? What does their will have to do with his attacking--?
Several pieces finally snap into place.
The tendrils in Nightmare don't quite let go yet, but they ripple until the thorns are gone, leaving them smooth. In Hallownest, their claws shift until Grimm is cupped between a set of hands rather than caged.
Several thoughts are passed through, one at a time, drops of black into red rather than a full-on torrent.
Their will was unrelated to him. (Accidentally attached, despite themselves: the general concept of oh no.)
They had been reaching up into Dirtmouth for someone specific, without considering Grimm or the rest. (Attached: rising embarrassment and memory of Myla, sitting on their couch and on Godhome's bench, humming.)
To their understanding now, it must have seemed as though they were trying to...drown or eat them? (More embarrassment, alongside vague hypothetical wondering of what would happen if they actually did so. Would they have the Nightmare Realm somewhere next to Godhome, or--?)
That was assuredly not their intention. (Myla again with Grimmchild fluttering between them, and the Knight standing between the Grimmsteeds, peering up at the Troupe's main tent with mild amicability.)
They're displeased by this attack, to be certain, but are unlikely to hold a grudge. Particularly if his mistake was caused by theirs. (Yes, they're annoyed, and they're going to stay that way for a time despite this mostly being their fault, but that's the Knight's irritation, not a Higher Being wanting to erase someone else.)
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Grimm mildly accepts the pieces he is given - especially the Lord of Shades' discomposure about the whole thing. It is an immeasurable relief to know this situation is indeed salvageable. That they had not intended to consume the Flame at all.
"Yes. I see now."
He is free to do so, so Grimm offers them a proper sweeping bow this time and remains in it as he speaks. The mistake was his and the Heart's - it is right that he offers the proper amends for the disturbance. (Disturbance it was, not a battle in the true sense, because a battle implies each side to be at least somewhat matched.)
"How lamentable! We would never have hastened into such a skirmish had we known the truth. Your attempt at convening with this bug -" Myla, though he has not been formally introduced and politely does not use her name "- reached far further than you intended."
This they seem to have realised. He straightens up and offers a more complete explanation.
"Such a broad cast of presence was taken for a challenge, I'm sorry to say. That you would make a show of laying claim to this stilled land would not be so grand a stretch. None would contest the territory. We, however," pushed forth: the Troupe, himself, the Nightmare's Heart, "did not take well to the risk of being counted within it."
They had all rather thought the Lord of Shades was making a show of possession, and possibly an example of what fate might be visited on the Nightmare after. Isn't this terribly awkward. He impresses this upon the Lord of Shades, and: he and the Heart both are terribly sorry for the inconvenience - it is just that they were woken from the interlude rather convinced the Ritual was about to be abruptly brought to a permanent end.
There. A very clear explanation, in exchange for which he direly hopes they will let go of his master.
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They send apology in return, and the Lord of Shades bows their head deeply to the figure in their hands. (For this, they wonder bitterly why Higher Beings are so unpleasant. Not the Nightmare's Heart in particular, but all the rest, for giving others natural expectation for possessiveness and cruelty. Seer, Grimm, even Lemm at the start--)
Lightly smoldering tendrils pull away from Nightmare veins and evaporate.
As well as a few Shades' forms and sets of eyes, startled by suddenly being visible and disappearing a little too late not to be seen. The Knight angles disapproval back into the Void--what were they even doing there, in another's dangerous territory? Just looking is a poor reason.
Another thought, set forward, pulled away, put forth again: less formal sense of apology, followed by the assurance the Knight's starting to find customary. They hold no ill will despite this, will not try to kill Grimm or the Nightmare's Heart even through further insult or attack--though this has an edit, of as long as they don't try to do anything unpleasant to their Siblings or people here without provocation. They don't expect this to be a problem, they're only putting it out for straightforwardness' sake. Higher Being to Higher Being, as it were. (Here, the general concept of fucking Higher Being nonsense. Pale King, Radiance; the White Lady talking in measured displeasure about Grimmchild. Sour consideration of if they should claim Hallownest as their territory officially...but they don't want to. They're the King. Maybe that's enough. A thought without seriousness that maybe they can shove the White Lady out of her gardens and make her do--something, anything.)
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The moment the Heart is freed and no trace of Void remains, the Nightmare's Heart sinks back into the unknown of whatever deep place in Grimm's psyche it channels itself - though only when the visiting Siblings are gone. Grimm himself whirls from their hands and reappears on an eye-level cargo platform, with a clank at the sudden weight. It would be too implicit of trust they do not quite have, or else just simply improper to remain standing there, held - the Lord of Shades is not a stage, Godhome notwithstanding.
The apology is met, accepted, and responded to with another of his own. There; it is a good thing to know they stand on (relatively) even ground again. He is not one for grudges either.
"Perhaps it goes without saying, but it ought to be said: we wish you no ill will despite our altercation. I hope this changes nothing of our Ritual together, my friend. Its conclusion yet awaits."
And - well, that is a lot to unpack, isn't it?
The Higher Being nonsense thoughts are promptly returned to sender, untouched and without comment, as if he simply did not hear. How foolhardy it would be for a vessel of the Nightmare's Heart to open a discussion like that.
"Too, we wish nothing of your kin, nor of those who choose to plant themselves in the ash of the Kingdom tilled. Our business is with you, Summoner, and the last remaining embers of what was." Perhaps there is some fundamental misunderstanding of the Troupe? It would be one he is quite familiar with; at once the concepts of fallen civilisation and lingering essence and Ritual are vaguely offered up. These are the point. Harming anyone uninvolved would not be.
He does not press the reminder that he is still waiting, in regards to the Ritual. It would be unwise. They are quite clearly in a bad mood. The rest of those thoughts are picked through, instead.
"I could not speak on the Pale mother, her presence so obscured - but if I were to indulge in fancy," and this is a dangerous thing to say, but he would like to humour them just this once - they have earned it after he so rudely challenged them as he did, "whatever your will, you will have it done."
Not that he's one to comment on who would win in a fight, or anything so crass! However. He doubts very hard that the White Lady would be capable of resisting anything the Lord of Shades wanted of her, after witnessing their power firsthand. (Put forward: respectfully, this stays speculation, and between us.)
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