A match made in hell (SP//Dip)

Sleeves, dagger, Pip

Damien's POV
Darkness. Null. Void. Nothing.

That's what surrounds me. A state of nothingness, an empty abyss of pitch black. My first instinct is to call for Phillip.

"PHILLIP?"

I call. I wonder if this is punishment for forcing him to come to hell with me. I hear no response, but sounds start to slowly filter in. The sound of dripping. I follow it, barely hesitating to step into the space of nothing. My feet meet the floor, which I suppose is a good thing, but the floor is soaking. And whatever is over the floor is rising. I begin running towards the source of the sound. A vague shape forms, the shape of an altar. I see two figures stood atop it, and another laid down. The closer I get, the more horrifying the scene becomes. The first thing I notice is two Phillips. They shoot daggers at each other, staring confusedly at the space around them. The next thing I see is the mutilated body of Phillip's foster mother.

She looks like she was used as a human puppet. Her limbs are all elongated, the joints pulled apart. Her eyes have been plucked from the sockets, leaving two bloody holes in her face. I feel sick just looking at it.

One of the two Phillips notices me. The other quickly catches on, staring intently at me.

A voice booms from above us. Or does it come from below? It's hard to tell when you're surrounded by nothing but darkness.

"One is true, one is not. You must pick, or you will all drown."

My pocket grows heavier. I reach into it, pulling out a small, sharp dagger. The Phillips clamber down from the altar. They are almost identical, with the only difference being their knees. One has bloody, scraped knees. The other has dirty, blood stained knees.

I gulp, meeting their eyes. Each stare back with identical ice blue eyes. Both west exactly the same clothes, the exact same hair style, the exact same shoes.

I grip the dagger a little tighter. The liquid, possibly blood, has risen to midway up my shins. If I don't figure it out, we will all drown. Or will we? Does this endless cavern have an end? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I want to run, but I can't. I just stare. They stare back, neither moving or speaking. As though they are frozen. I test it, moving slightly left and right. Their eyes follow me. The one with scraped knees steps back, chewing the sleeves of his hoodie nervously.

The other stands tall, looking on the verge of tears. I raise the dagger to throat height. The liquid has risen to my thighs, and is rapidly making its way up. I stand hopelessly, trying to form words, but not being able to get them out of my mouth. A million ideas fill my mind, a million ways to decide which is which, but not on makes it out of my mouth. The liquid reaches my hips, my chest, my neck. And finally, I slip under.

*

Darkness. Null. Void. Nothing.

That's what surrounds me. A state of nothingness, an empty abyss of pitch black. My first instinct is to call for Phillip.

"PHILLIP?"

I call. I wonder if this is punishment for forcing him to come to hell with me. I hear no response, but sounds start to slowly filter in. The sound of dripping. I follow it, barely hesitating to step into the space of nothing. My feet meet the floor, which I suppose is a good thing, but the floor is soaking. And whatever is over the floor is rising. I begin running towards the source of the sound. A vague shape forms, the shape of an altar. I see two figures stood atop it, and another laid down. The closer I get, the more horrifying the scene becomes. The first thing I notice is two Phillips. They shoot daggers at each other, staring confusedly at the space around them. The next thing I see is the mutilated body of Phillip's foster mother.

She looks like she was used as a human puppet. Her limbs are all elongated, the joints pulled apart. Her eyes have been plucked from the sockets, leaving two bloody holes in her face. I feel sick just looking at it.

One of the two Phillips notices me. The other quickly catches on, staring intently at me.

A voice booms from above us. Or does it come from below? It's hard to tell when you're surrounded by nothing but darkness.

"One is true, one is not. You must pick, or you will all drown."

My pocket grows heavier. I reach into it, pulling out a small, sharp dagger. The Phillips clamber down from the altar. They are almost identical, with the only difference being their knees. One has bloody, scraped knees. The other has dirty, blood stained knees.

I gulp, meeting their eyes. Each stare back with identical ice blue eyes. Both west exactly the same clothes, the exact same hair style, the exact same shoes.

I grip the dagger a little tighter. The liquid, possibly blood, has risen to midway up my shins. If I don't figure it out, we will all drown. Or will we? Does this endless cavern have an end? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I want to run, but I can't. I just stare. They stare back, neither moving or speaking. As though they are frozen. I test it, moving slightly left and right. Their eyes follow me. The one with scraped knees steps back, chewing the sleeves of his hoodie nervously.

I open my mouth, letting words spill from my lips.

"Sleeves. Up. Now."

I watch as both hesitate. Neither comply. The liquid rises, and consumes me, pulling me under.

*

Back again. Two Phillips. One chance. I think about stabbing randomly. However, if it's wrong I'm not sure what will happen. Will it restart, like the last time, or will it be over.

"Pip."

I watch both of their reactions closely. One winces at the name, chewing in his sleeve harshly. The other just stares, standing awkwardly.

"I do wish you wouldn't call me that." The awkward one pipes up.

The other just stares at me, his eyes filling with tears.

The liquid rises, my hips.

I point at the one chewing his sleeves, beckoning him to come to me. The other stares, mouth agape. And before our eyes, he contorts, his body clicking out of place, transforming into an ugly, blood thirsty creature of the void.

*

I wake, panting. Phillip is on the edge of the sofa, silent tears falling from his eyes, chewing his sleeves mercilessly.

"Phillip?"

"Damien?"

His eyes shoot to me.
I meet his stare.
My arms open, inviting him in. He darts to me, clinging to me tightly. I feel blood prickling the areas his nails dig into. I don't care.

All that matters, is it's over, and he's safe.