Bad Moon Rising | Sanders Sides

The Sixth

Deceit was a Side of many faces. He switched between them constantly, assuming the personality of whoever he needed to be just to survive the moment. He'd almost turned it into a game. Who will Deceit be today? He was a woollen man made up of many woollen threads, except sometimes they tangled and he lost himself.

And then the Wall broke, and all off those strings inside him melted into a blob of identity and suddenly Deceit didn't know who he was. He had a monster in his veins, and he had power on his tongue, and he had a snarl in his throat. He had a heart that was bleeding, and he had a chest that was hurting, and he had the horrible sense that something was very terribly wrong.

Deceit was losing the game. He hated losing.

A dark sort of heat threaded through his veins and warmed his wrists. It made him feel full - full of malice and full of anger and full of a desperation to be better than the world.

But something was still missing. Something that stopped him from being whole and balanced and strong. 

Something was missing.

Deceit bared his teeth in frustration, his entire body cushioned by the familiar soothing darkness that clung to him. It had carried him away from the remains of the Wall, had held him tightly as he tried to wade through the sudden fluctuation of power. He had it all back, it had all come back to him and now he was hot under the skin and he was dangerous.

But he still wasn't whole. 

"What am I missing?" He hissed to the shadows, his voice low and sharp. "Why isn't my full power enough?"

Because it isn't. It used to be - oh how Deceit used to flaunt his strength before the Wall - but now Deceit just felt hot and full and hollow, and it wasn't enough. He didn't understand. He hated that he didn't understand. He hated feeling stupid and small and weak. He hated not understanding the rules of his own game. It wasn't fair.

"Alright," he breathed, swallowing down the rising hysteric anger that's threatening to choke him. "Take me to the others."

The shadows oblige, twisting and writhing and twitching until Deceit's feet touch solid ground and he can see. Immediately, he fixes a lazy smirk on his face and waves off the darkness with an unimpressed wave. The power in his veins surged. Deceit managed not to flinch.

Remus let out a cackle. "You're late Deceit," he said, his wild eyes a little too focused on Deceit's face. He was looking for something. Deceit wouldn't let him find it.

"Mm." He hummed noncommittally. "Just checking on the Wall."

Remus's eyes sharpened, a dark sort of vindictive glee shadowing his manic expression. He twirled his club in his hands. Deceit eyed the weapon. How the Duke could wield such an...unrefined weapon made no sense. Deceit preferred elegance. Nothing about Remus was elegant.

Well, Deceit didn't like Remus either, so fair was fair.

"We must strike at the Light Sides," a voice hissed from somewhere Deceit couldn't see. "Quickly. Before Thomas starts to suspect something and actively tries to restrain us."

No, no that was the opposite of what they needed to do. Deceit knew what it would feel like to succumb to the new power swelling in him - he knew how addictive it would be, how freeing. It would help him bring Virgil back, because even Virgil couldn't resist the raw rush of dark.

They could get Virgil back if Deceit would just submit.

And he almost did, because he'd just figured out that Virgil was the thing missing. They all needed Virgil to feel whole. All of them were missing that last piece of the shadowed puzzle, and it almost hurt. Deceit wanted it, him, back. 

He wanted it, but he wanted to protect his Host more. Thus, he needed to convince the others to rebuild the Wall. They wouldn't like it, and he would have to fight, but Thomas couldn't fight them all and come out unscathed. If they were unleashed upon the boy's conscience, nothing would ever be okay again. Thomas would be ruined.

Give in, the power in him soothed. Something pressed against the inside of his wrist. Deceit let out a measured breath. Come on. Play. You can make it all go away. Give in. 

No. Deceit couldn't do that to his Host, no matter how strong his yearning was for Virgil to come home. He wanted Virgil back. He needed to protect Thomas. One outweighed the other.

He made up his mind. He would rebuild the Wall.

"Time's up, Deceit," something murmured in Deceit's ear, and the Dark Side stiffened at the familiar voice. The Void was back, and it was talking again, and Deceit was out of time. "You made the wrong choice, snake. You came so close, but alas you have failed me. And so I will take you as payment."

"Wh-"

Deceit cut off as pure cold gripped his muscles and paralysed him. His mouth closed with a click, and then his jaw locked. His vocal chords froze. He couldn't do anything, couldn't make any noise. All control had been stripped from him in between one breath and the next. He tried to make eye contact with Remus, because the Duke may be uncivilised and not a friend of Deceit, but he was right there and Deceit needed help.

But Remus was turning away, and then Deceit's veins warmed to the point of burning pain and Deceit was falling, falling, falling-

.

Thomas's limbs stiffened. 

Joan frowned as Thomas cut off halfway through his sentence, eyes glazing over and becoming fixed on something nobody else could see. Talyn tried as well, their voice growing louder in their concern. 

But Thomas wasn't present at the moment. His throat was tight, and his eyes had become unseeing, and all Thomas knew was that something was wrong, and someone needed help. 

He needed help, but he couldn't make any noise and he was falling, falling, falling-

.

Virgil knew what had happened the moment his veins darkened to a sickly black colour. Something was pushing at the edge of his mind, but he couldn't let it in. The Wall had broken, power ws returning to him, but he was a Light Side now, and to give in to the old sense of self would force him into an internal war.

No, Virgil needed to push it away. He needed to be fully Light in order to win the fight that would be coming. Because if the Wall had broken, then the Dark Sides would be making a move soon, and Virgil would be the one to fight them back.

Not Patton. Not Logan. Not Roman.

It would be Virgil.

There was a sharp pain in his temple, and he hissed, and then he was falling, falling, falling-

.

Somewhere in the Void, there was a flash of red light.

"Tick tock," a voice whispered maniacally. "Tick tock."