His Dove's Flight

A Backwards World

For two weeks, I have been stuck in this weird version of Gravity Falls. For two weeks, I had no choice but to watch Bill and the other me get closer, despite Bill's initial resistance. It's funny, when Bill has a choice and isn't stuck in a purgatory-like state, how being too bored to resist a bet would be the downfall of his pride. But as I watch him, I can tell he at least feels whole with a friend by his side. A friend trained very well to kill him, no less. I go sit on the arm rest of the throne, where the absolutely glowing triangle is watching the chaos before him.

"So," I say, "It looks like I won the bet."

"Really, Carebear?" Bill asks, "Am I really glowing that bright?"

"Absolutely blinding," I smile. Bill dims a little bit. He seems to be trying to dimming himself down, but his absolute joy is impossible for him to hide. After a while of straining himself, Bill's glow is back to its previous brightness. His top slumps a little, defeated.

"This is why I rarely gamble, kid," Bill says, "Even when I use all the classic tactics to con people into benefiting more than I benefit them, I'm still a man of my word." Bill slaps the armrest where I am not sitting. "Makes my victims more likely to come back for more. But when it comes to a bet, I get nothing out of it, except for what??? Friendship!? Much less with the human who wants to kill me?"

"Is it really that bad, though?"

Bill looks over at the me practicing killing a simulated Bill. The human has become a much more efficient killer, something that even Bill could fear. Yet, he feels more pride for his apprentice than anything.

"I just trained my own doom," Bill says. He watches the simulated Bill get easily killed off, as though he was nothing more than paperweight. Bill laughs a little bit. It is an uncertain laugh. This, and his speech about his loss, they are those rare glimpses into the demon's mind that only I ever get to see. They are the humanity buried down, they are the vulnerability hidden away, they are his most wonderful parts. This Bill must be terrified out of his mind if he is being this open about it to someone he barely knows out in the open.

"Paradise ends by the hands of its creator," I say, "That is what the demons sing. They know that nothing lasts forever. There is a way other than you being killed and your people being banished, though." Bill perks up at my last sentence. "You will have to make a deal with the humans for a peaceful co-existence, and for your Nightmare Realm to be recognized as a nation."

"Are you kidding me!?"

"That's what my husband did," I shrug, "Your people could immigrate to have a stable home, humans don't get eaten, tormented, or killed, and you stay alive." Bill lets out a mighty cackle.

"I'd rather be dead, Carebear!" Bill laughs, "My people need anarchy to thrive, and if we live with the humans, then that means abiding by their rules." I look down at the demons inside the Fyramid.

"Not all decisions are easy," I say, "As the monarch, you must choose what's best for your people and what they need most. They may need anarchy to thrive, but if the Nightmare Realm falls apart and they have nowhere to go to, then they would want any option, even if that means rules." I look to Bill and smile at him. "I know you'll choose what's best. You care about your people, especially the Henchmaniacs, more than you care about yourself. The lengths you took to find them a stable home are admirable. So, please, if you end up putting that human's training to use, consider my suggestion, and make it your dying wish." Bill looks down at his people. He lets my words stew in mind, going over each letter over and over. 

Most places in the multiverse have these pesky little things called "rules." Unfortunately, Bill either has to make a Weirdmaggedon or tolerate rules, and the former is turning out to be riskier than it's worth. The demons deserve at least one alliance with a universe that have rules. They would not be thriving in such an environment, but it would at least be better than nothing.