Can you avoid becoming a monster if you walk the path of hate?
Noche L. Grim has sworn revenge against Edward Death, and while her strength is unparalleled compared to the average Create User, it's pathetic against his seven Birds of Death.
Especi...
Tar slid down a finger as bones snapped from something large into something more human. This digit hovered above the start button of a music player on a smartphone. Its speakers were placed against a microphone.
The person holding the phone burped and it echoed across the underground facility. He chuckled, patted his full stomach, and pressed play.
"The Beatles" Here comes the sun blared on every intercom in DeathTech. Followed by the reverberating cackles of Edward's sinister laughter.
The music drifted through the massive marble room, against the cracked pillars and drifting sunlight; it was muffled slightly by distance and crashing ocean waves.
Jack's shattered goggles reflect golden light in its shards of broken glass. The last traces of his body devoured by the tar. Noche laid nearby with the light long faded from her dull eyes.
In her cell, anxiety forced Spark to pace back and forth as the song played overhead. She jumped when the metal doors snapped open. Edward stood before her as the music neared its end.
"It's alright. It's only me," Edward grinned something unnatural and rubbery. "Were you expecting someone else?"
The music died.
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Somewhere, far, far away a TV sat in a yellow room.
"I did it exactly like you told me to do," Dia crossed her arms. "Seventeen hours from our last conversation, book two, act twenty-seven. I used limbo on everyone at the exact moment."
The puppet-like entity stood and the marionette bar continued to float above its head. It brushed off its tuxedo and adjusted the unloosened red bowtie.
Over twenty feet of vertebra and spine snaked through the air in the yellow room as the body walked over to the remote and picked it up. Its rabbit skull, with wide horizontal deer antlers, slithered by Dia's face. The red button eyes were sewn onto thin skin that was similar to the soggy flesh of a fetal pig.
"EvErYoNe ExCePt – Noche, I assume?" The Jackalope said.
"You know it," Dia grinned. "The bitch bled out. She's dead. Through and through."
The skull that floated on spinal-rope nodded. "AnD tHe BoY – the one she loved?"
This time she frowned. "Erased from existence."
He paused. "SuCh A sHaMe – but it had to be done."
Dia sighed. Her solid black eyes widened and she perked up.
"What about Alice? She glitched away. Probably into some random point on the timeline."
"DoN't WoRrY aBoUt HeR – she's in book seven, but she'll be back in time," he paused and chuckled.
She shrugged; the Jackalope raised the remote and aimed it at the TV.
"Is this all worth it?" Dia muttered. "Are we doing what's right?"
He hesitated and turned towards Noche's personal scapegoat.
"WhO cAn SaY – we're doing what Galloway asked."
The Jackalope pressed a button on the remote and the TV came to life. In it, was a land as surreal as the monster that killed Noche. A world where night and day occupied two halves of the sky at the same time and appeared like an oil painting.
Brush strokes intermingled in the air around five-pointed stars that looked like they were drawn from crayon. The clouds were squiggles pulled straight from a cartoon. Everything in this realm was that of fantasy.
Everything except for the smoke that was as black as tar. This acrid cloud arose from a factory that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the world. It was far too realistic, covered in grit and grim, in a realm that otherwise screamed it was a dream.
This factory was surrounded by a forgotten forest. One that could inspire fairy tales and thrived with the creatures that liked to live unseen. On one such tree was a carving.
"It killed me."
Under the carving laid Noche.
She was alive.
Unconscious; breathing deep and steady. At one moment her left arm was gone, and at another, it returned. It glitched in and out of existence as if it was an indecisive illusion. After a few seconds, her arm decided to stay.
Dia took the remote from Jackalope, stared at the blonde who was in a deep slumber, and turned the TV off. She turned to the third person in the room; a little girl.
The child wore a red and white striped shirt, red pants, and red ushanka with fuzzy white fur on the forehead. On the sides of this hat dangled strings ending in fluffy white orbs. A mirror image of Noche at the age of four.
"You know what to do?" Dia asked.
Baby Noche's head bounced up and down with the nod.
"Good. Hurry now, everything depends on you," Dia said. "Bring adult Noche here. Bring her to the yellow room. It's time she regained her memories."
