Strange Collector, Strange Kingdom

    How long had it been since he first fell through the gate?

    Was it only a few years? Or was it more like decades?

   Time passed so differently here. It could’ve been a century for all he knew.

   Not that it mattered much. He was living a life he had now come to fully embrace, having settled into his new monstrous appearance a long time ago.

   The Creel Manor inevitably became his fortress; a permanent place of safety in the eternal night. He spent a lot of his time roaming the halls in silence, keeping himself entertained by inflicting his powers on objects and vines within each room. Sometimes he would step outside for a stroll, though these times were few and far between. While he enjoyed the feeling of the wind, there wasn’t very much for him outside that made leaving the manor on the regular worth it.

   He, for one, was fine with that.

   The grandfather clock had become his closest companion. The sound could be heard from any part of the manor, offering him the sense that he was never alone. It was soothing…even the haunting, thunderous chimes were pleasant to listen to; a delight to anticipate. Sometimes he still founding himself standing right in front of it, awaiting that next, dramatic chime.

   By now, it had also become an established, routine practice to connect himself to the vines in the attic. While it remained pretty painful in the beginning, his body did gradually get accustomed to it. And after a handful of years of doing this, it stopped hurting altogether. It was a relief when this happened; at last he could enter the mindscape whenever he wanted without being left borderline breathless…and he was very content to stay hooked up to it for hours on end.

   He easily gained the most fulfillment, the most insight, through intently listening in on the thoughts of the people living in Hawkins…the real Hawkins. Learning what the other side was like. How the town had changed in his absence. Who was currently feeling the most amount of guilt or who had experienced some manner of trauma. Weary minds like that captured his attention the strongest. Potential prey for later, he thought. He smirked as he imagined killing them.

   Still, he held back, knowing it was better to wait until he was given the all-clear to attack. He was not keen on possibly incurring the wrath of the entity in the sky by acting out of line. So he was happy to settle with merely…observing the other side. Waiting.

   But something was on the horizon.

   That entity had a plan.

   He sensed it psychically, and his connections with it always amplified the feeling. It was preparing for something. Lately, it’d been taking control of the mindscape, directing him to certain places or people that it wanted him to focus on. And it seemed to place great emphasis on the Hawkins Laboratory as a location of interest. It didn’t take long to realize why this was. The gateway inside the lab was still active. He saw it in the fog; a vibrant red tear like an open wound.

   Now it made sense.

   The entity was looking for a way into the other reality. It was ready to sow the seeds of itself and take over that world just as it had taken over this one. It needed him to command the monsters it was planning to send through the gate, to remove anybody that might stand in the way. Unfortunately…he knew all too well of somebody that very well could and succeed. Although 011 was only just a child, he had experienced firsthand how powerful she really was. Her powers never waned once. Truth he told, he had kept an eye on her from time to time, to see what she was up to.

   Her powers were still there. They’d never waned once. She was braver and more headstrong without the other experiments alive anymore. She’d made multiple attempts to escape, but all of them had ended in failure. She was still caged there like an animal.

   Shame she hadn’t gone with him when he’d offered her freedom.

   He almost pitied her. Sure, he was in another dimension, but he had free reign of it. Her on the other hand? She was still caught under Papa’s control.

   Henry’s resentment burned at an all time high now. It tasted bitter on his tongue. How easy it would have been to exact revenge right then and there. But he saw the value in biding his time. Wait for the right time to see his vendetta through. His own powers needed strengthening before he faced her again. He was not going to give her any chance at beating him again. He would learn from his mistakes. He would watch her, track her, wait for her mind to be weakened.

   Let the entity send its monsters in first. Let them wreak havoc all they liked. Let them slaughter and bathe in the blood of their meals. For every life that was taken would make him stronger. Even if he didn’t do the killing directly, he felt he wouldn’t have to.

   After all, everything in this dimension was connected. Pain was shared. Thoughts were shared. The energy that was absorbed from victims had to be shared too, right?

   Well, he would find out soon enough.

   No one in Hawkins knew what was coming. A storm. A nightmare.

   The end of all things. But every ending had a beginning.

   And Henry Creel was ready to begin.

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And that’s the last chapter!

This story ends in 1983, more or less right before Will is abducted and 11 makes her escape. For Henry it’s been 20 years, but for the other side, it’s only been 4-5 years since he was exiles. That happened in 1979 according to the prologue of Season 4? I think I’ve got the math right.

Good god this was both really hard and really fun to complete. I think it’s the first writing project that has been properly concluded. I’m pretty proud of myself for getting it done before July 1.

I hope Vecna does well in the finale. I can’t wait to see what happens. Wishful thinking wants him to pull through somehow. Hey, it could happen. With how many twists and turns this show constantly has, I have NO clue how the hell it will end. Vecna could survive. He could die. He could be redeemed. He could turn good long enough to help fight the Mind Flayer and sacrifice himself in the process… I’m sick with anxiety. I really don’t want to see Vecna die. I’m addicted to baddies surviving and eventually finding acceptance amongst the good guys XD.

    There were times, still to this day, when he missed the other side.

   He hated it…but it was true.

   Occasionally, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, he would find himself grappling with an emptiness that welled up inside him, making his body feel cold and hollow. He didn’t know why he had moments like this…he definitely knew he didn’t want to be feeling like this. And the fact he did with nary an explanation as to why was infuriating. The most he could figure was that it was his subconscious longing for the reality he used to belong to. But why…he could not say.

   Of course…he was human once. Although he embraced the way things were now, he supposed it was natural to miss what he used to have. So many questions regularly ran through his mind. What did things look like? Who was dead and who was still alive?

   What was she up to in the time he was gone?

   He’d taken to standing before the grandfather clock in these times, losing himself to its sound, as this seemed to be the only thing that calmed him down. Ever since it’d woken up all those years ago, the clock never stopped ticking once. The rhythm was deep and steady, echoing through most of the manor. It was infinitely mesmerizing to listen to…always providing a soothing closure. There would always be a tock for every tick, a tick for every tock; and so on forever.

   Now, the clock had begun to chime too.

   Its voice was booming and baritone, just slightly distorted, and its pitch would fall deeper and deeper as the sound faded away. One such chime happened while he was staring into the clock’s face. It slammed into his chest, sending chills through the vines on his shoulders upon contact. He inhaled as the chill swept down into his spine next, enjoying the way it felt. 

   The chimes almost had a cleansing effect on him. Any lingering loneliness was ripped away, while the coldness disappeared along with it. His resentment came back in full, and he allowed it to fill him. It had strengthened considerably over the last few years. It kept him going. Inspired him to keep practicing and honing his powers, giving his life new meaning; new purpose. That purpose? To finally seek revenge on the person who’d put him here in the first place. He wouldn’t be a monster if it weren’t for her. He wanted to make her suffer in kind for what she did to him.

   Once again, the voice pierced his mind. “Henry. Come upstairs.”

   He snapped his head to the side, landing his gaze on the staircase. He was surprised. He hadn’t heard that name in a very long time. The entity must’ve had something to show him…why else would it call him that, if not to get his attention? It certainly worked. He left his place by the clock and made the short jaunt up to the attic. The vines in the stairwell lifted when he arrived, welcoming him. He placed his hand on top of one, as if greeting an old friend. These things had caused him so much trauma in the past…now, they’d become something akin to…pets. He snorted to himself, running his hand along the one vine as he took the final flight of stairs up into the dismal little attic.

   Instinctively, his gaze settled on the support beams ahead. The vines normally clinging to them were missing. It was strange not to see them all there.

   The entity spoke. “You have your sentience because I allow it. You need to grow on your own, to recover your strength. I know that you miss the other side.”

   Large, fleshy tendrils started creeping down the length of the beams.

   “Would you like to see it again?”

   He stared at the tendrils in thought. Admittedly he was nervous, but he was interested in seeing what exactly the entity meant. He closed the distance to the beams in a few strides, feeling some instinct tell him to stand in between them, as well as to turn around. So…he did. More tendrils reached in through holes in the walls to join those already on the beams. Then, one after another, the tendrils plunged themselves into the flesh of his back. He seized in shock and pain, feeling his body lurch with each impact. It only stopped when all 19 tendrils were fully embedded in him.

   Then, they started pulling…it burned, but he made himself relax and let it happen. He felt himself be lifted into the air and suspended several feet above the floor. He shut his eyes, wanting to wait the pain out in darkness…when all at once, his consciousness was transported somewhere else entirely. A mindscape of rust colored fog, filled to the brim with apparitions of people. Young people and old people, all mindlessly going about their daily lives, adhering to the societal rules that he had escaped. As he traveled around this plane, he listened to their thoughts, their fears, their secrets…gaining insight on losses and loves, and past traumas; guilts. Things that would never be spoke aloud. He was able to home in on any one person of his choosing, and completely without their knowing.

   It was enough to make his heart race with a sadistic ecstasy.

   Every last soul in Hawkins was at his mercy.

   And already…he had a pretty good idea of what he was meant to do.

   “If you want to test yourself so badly, now you can. Hunt anyone you please.”

   As the voice went on, he found himself smiling again. Falling through had severely drained him, and now, he had a means of properly recovering. After all, every life he claimed only made him stronger. With all of Hawkins for the taking…he would be unstoppable. However…this was shown to him for a reason. A reason other than for healing himself. The entity needed him to bridge the gap between realities, to carry out its orders without any question or complaint.

   If it meant exacting revenge one day…then so be it.

   He would be very happy to help it.

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Eeeeeeeeyyyy look at that, two chapters in one day! 

     Life in this dimension proved to be a challenge to get used to, yet even with the passing of another 10 months, he had come so far. As expected it took him ages to adjust to his monstrous, decayed appearance, but the shock steadily wore off over time. Aimlessly wandering the Creel Manor’s rooms and halls helped him learn how it felt to be in this new form. The movements of the vines and tendons were excruciatingly maddening at first, until it dawned on him that…it was actually soothing. Especially on the days when the weight of everything managed to catch up to him.

    In those moments, the movements felt like an embrace…an embrace that went everywhere with him. And because of that…he stopped feeling so alone.

    For a while he kept forgetting about the talons on his hand, which was a problem. They were always grazing his thigh anyway, but if he happened to brush or bump against something in the house, the talons would pierce the muscle. Or, if he needed to calm an itch, he’d tear deep gouges in his flesh. Thankfully he healed far faster than normal, so any accidental injuries were short lived. Incidents like these were mildly embarrassing, but no one else saw them happen.

    One salient change was the removal of hunger. The starvation was…gone. As was any need for sleep. Something about this place was sustaining him. He never felt hungry or thirsty. He rarely felt tired, which was an immense relief, and a thrill. He had all the time in the world for living as he saw fit, without having to worry about catering to basic bodily demands.

    For the most part he was content to stay locked inside the manor. It was his home after all, but it was feeling more and more like a proper home; somewhere safe. In fact, this dimension as a whole felt safer to him, ever since he was made part of it. Ever since then too, he started to notice that the world outside was no longer so quiet. Growls, hisses and screeches established themselves and continued to grow in volume. Creatures skittered in the streets of alternate Hawkins. Wingbeats passed by the windows. This place was coming to life…he definitely was not alone here.

    What these creatures could be was an unnerving thought, but he needn’t have to wonder for long. As time wore on, he began yearning to see if his powers were still there. He hadn’t tried them out on anything since…since before the vines attacked him, at least. He cherished his powers above all else; it was hard not to feel an ashamed pang in his stomach for neglecting them. Eager to put an end to the nauseating feeling, he made straight for the front door of the manor. Alternate Hawkins never had much of anything to offer, so he preferred staying indoors most of the time.

    Today…today was different.

    Red lightning flickered after he set foot on the front landing, illuminating trees, the road, himself and plenty of vine-laden buildings. He calmly left the manor behind in favor of stepping onto the road, finding its surface pleasantly cool to the touch. A lazy breeze dragged over his shoulders. It brushed against those tendons along his neck, and he smiled faintly at how good it felt. He allowed himself to fall into a state of repose as he followed the road. It led him up to and through the overgrown woodland, where the shadows were so intense they nearly felt solid against him.

    Winged creatures darted over the treetops now and then, flying in the same direction as he. Up ahead was a break in the woods, and before he knew it…he’d reached the center of Hawkins. A cobalt sky hung above, still filled with those tumultuous blackened clouds. Power lines had taken shape now too, their thin silhouettes barely visible. Vines still lay criss-cross all over the ground, but they had matured since the last time he saw them. Now, the biggest ones were close to a foot in diameter. It was amazing to see. There was a strange melancholic elegance to this dimension.

    As nightmarish as it looked, its appearance was pure. There was no lying. No hiding. No putting on a disguise for the approval of someone else. It knew exactly what it wanted to be. It knew exactly how it was meant to be. Easy to understand, easy to respect.

    For that reason alone…he felt at home. He belonged here.

    A familiar wave of sensation washed over his mind right then.

    “Do you like what I’ve done?”

    He listened, but didn’t utter a word back. Another stroke of lightning revealed that massive, tapered being suspended in the sky, and it seemed to be looking at him. He ignored the weight of its gaze, choosing instead to focus on why he’d come here in the first place. He decided to start off with the vines, since there were so many of them. He settled on a tangled mass directly ahead and extended his left arm out to it, just as he’d always done. Tuned out his surroundings…honed his thoughts; his intentions. And this time, that tangled mass actually obeyed him. Readily, too.

    He moved them. Lifted them, dropped them; even threw them. He had to admit it was exhilarating to watch the vines respond to his influence. Even the mere flick of a taloned finger sent them hurtling off in a direction with purpose. But he wasn’t done yet. He put his arm down, hardened his gaze, and focused on manipulating objects next. Stones, streetlights, bicycles, trees; anything was fair game. By the time he was ready for a break, there was debris everywhere. His powers were still there. 

    His heart raced. It was immensely gratifying to learn he did have control over this plane of existence. Best of all, he seemed as though his mind was still his own. That thing in the sky might have made him into what he now was, but it had not taken his mind.

    And he would do anything with it. Perhaps even…kill. Granted, he hadn’t taken a life since his battle with 011, but now he was achingly curious to see if he still had the strength to kill. He was tempted to turn at the sound of soft footsteps. A creature was picking at the vines nearby, its skin as pale as death, and its bones showing underneath. A fitting first target. 

    “Don’t.”

    He focused on the creature and closed his eyes. His victim instantly fell under some sort of trance, just before it lifted up into the air. Its bones began to twist and snap, and almost as soon as they did, he was hit with extraordinary pain. It started in his legs, rocketed up his spine, and flooded down into his arms. It felt as if his own bones were breaking. A shrill scream filled his head; one that was not in his own voice. It was deafening to listen to. All of it came on so suddenly that it broke his concentration, causing him to drop his victim. He staggered back a step or two, becoming aware that all of the vines were bristling, and any other monster in the area was shaking in shared agony.

    This lasted for about a minute, then the pain faded and everything went back to normal. All the vines relaxed. Creatures got back up and sprinted away. A stiff silence hung in the air after that. He recovered enough strength to stand up, breathing raggedly, giving his test subject a glance. It was dead now, its body mangled beyond recognition. He was astounded.

    “We are connected.” The sinister voice spoke up. It sounded angry. “When one of us feels pain…all of us feel it. We feel everything. Don’t do that again.”

    The eerie words left him even more breathless, though more in awe than terror. This dimension as a whole was a massive super-organism, and HE had been woven into it. Anyone else would’ve been horrified to learn this, but it just helped him to appreciate this place more. He took great a comfort in knowing that he truly was not alone anymore. If any danger should befall him, this place would have his back. Just as he would have its back in return. He went back to gazing at alternate Hawkins for a while more, feeling both relieved and happy.

   Now he knew he had control over this reality.

    It could be his kingdom.

    As for the entity looming in the sky…it started to think. Sure, it was less than thrilled with him for intentionally harming a piece of it…but it was, at the same time, impressed. It knew what he could do and had done by digging into his memories. Witnessing his ability to kill firsthand electrified it. Power like that would not go unexploited. It had plans for Creel.

    He was almost strong enough…

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Ah...short, quick, and to the point. Just as I wanted.

Vecna just livin’ in the moment in the Upside Down.

    The worst of the mutations seemed to at last be drawing to a close. The rate of infection was slowing, restoring the ability to move with less difficulty. The exhaustion, however, remained a powerful paralytic that frequently prevented him from moving, even when he was at his most restless. In the end, he allowed himself to fall into a hibernate state, learning that sleep was the most effective means of escaping the pain. Sleep also helped time to pass faster around him.

   The last of the physical changes happened during this period. His entire left arm boasted some of the more drastic alterations, as well as anything from the shoulders on up. He would find out soon enough the full extent of what had been done to him. Soon…

   By the time things seemed to stop, the attic was left an arrant mess. The floorboards were covered in bloodstains ranging from drag marks to droplets to hand prints, causing the air to fill with a strong, bitter scent of copper. That, along with those large, sinuous vines, were the only things that kept him company throughout the years. The latter maintained a close watch over his progress, allowing that entity in the sky to monitor him by proxy. Its work was a success.

   He belonged to it now…he was bonded to this dimension.

   Then came that day when he finally woke up.

   He quietly stirred in a far corner of the attic, his shoulders propped slightly against a wall. It took his senses time to return to their full strength, considering they had been dormant for so long. Slowly, sounds faded into existence. The creaks and groans of the manor. The slithering of the vines. The gentle, sporadic rumble of unnatural thunder. His heart beating. He felt his nerves gradually awaken too, giving him back tactile sensation. He drew in a long, slow breath.

   Only to have it turn into a grimace immediately after. All at once it hit just how magnificently sore he was, and it was enough of a shock to completely jolt him awake. He opened his eyes in mild alarm, feeling his heart quicken a touch in anticipation of pain. But…there was none. No more active pain, anyway…he seemed to be on the other side of it at last. Now the only thing he felt was sore. Given the things he’d seen happen to him…he couldn’t be all that surprised.

   He had endured an outstanding level of physical trauma, after all…yet…he was still here. He was still breathing; conscious once again. He had survived whatever that thing up in the sky had thrown at him. A testament to how strong his will to live really was. And, perhaps, a testament to how determined he was to take back control of his fate. The longer this thought sat with him for, the more relieved and rejuvenated it made him feel. He even felt a want to grin a little.

   Once his vision had come back into focus, he had a go at sitting up. His neck was burning from laying at such a crooked angle, and he’d grown tired of it. Whilst in the middle of moving, his gaze happened to drift down to his body…and his good-natured smile fell. Honestly, he had been expecting to look different once the infection stopped; it was a given at this point. But when he saw how much he’d truly changed, he felt his blood run a bit cold. He was…monstrous.

   Any remaining skin resembled that of a corpse in advanced decay. It was mottled with discoloration; bloody reds, putrid purples, and even hints of jaundice yellow. Vines, some as thick as his wrist, trailed up and down his limbs, joined by hundreds of hairline tendrils that looked like external arteries. These were mostly dark purple, but some were almost black. Fleshy webbing completely encompassed his waist, filled with tendrils, veins and thinner vines that extended along his sides. His entire back was overrun with more of the same. Nearly all of the vines were moving.

   He spent several minutes gazing at his body, before turning his attention to his arms. The right arm, save for pronounced lightning scars, seemed relatively spared from mutation. The same went for his hand as well, although his nails had grown out into short claws. As for his left arm…that was what captured his full attention. Large vines snaked from his shoulder to his wrist, slithering in and out of the tunnels they’d burrowed through his muscles. Tiny, thorn-like projections poked out from the wrist itself. His fingers had greatly elongated, and were it not for the flesh still on them, they would’ve been just about skeletal. Every finger was tipped in a whetted, 4 inch long talon. 

   He’d always used his left hand for wielding his powers. It seemed this dimension had sensed that and modified it accordingly. He furled and unfurled his hand a few times at a painstaking pace. It was going to take time to get used to it…no matter how impressive the talons were. After a minute or two of doing this, he returned to studying his overall appearance in solemn silence. It was hard not to be horrified. Any sane person would have been. Horrified…and scared.

   The only places on him now that were remotely still human looking were his upper chest, and on his stomach. Bile involuntarily leaped into his throat.

   Then, rather suddenly, restless pins and needles settled in his legs, instilling a desire to move around. Having a stretch did sound nice after so many years of sleep. So…with nothing else to do…he listened to what his body told him. He stood up, tensing when things ached, and sauntered for the way out. The lot of attic vines willingly retracted as he passed by. To his relief the stairwell was no longer being barricaded by the things, so he had free reign of his home again.

   He let the stairs bring him down to the second story floor. His joints were stiff, but any discomfort he felt from them was ignorable. He ran his gaze over the hall upon entering it, still in silence. The floors and walls, any furnishings in the hall itself, were being smothered by those contagious vines. It angered him to see it fall into ruin like this, but…at least both he and the manor now matched aesthetically. He forced out a snide laugh in response to his own silly thought.

   Although…it sounded far more like a growl than a laugh.

   He made his way through the hall, in no hurry whatsoever. This was his first time getting to explore unhindered, and he was not about to waste it. The floorboard bled soft creaks into the air. Particles of ash or dust were suspended all around him. Aside from the omnipresent ambience of the vines crawling in the shadows…everything was silent. Wonderfully so. He had more freedom to hear himself think, as well as to explore…time he graciously welcomed to adjust.

   A crooked mirror was attached to the wall ahead, vines seeping from behind it. He approached with a morbid curiosity, interested in seeing how the rest of him looked. He faced the mirror head on, and almost instantly froze at what he saw. He had no face. Well, he still had one, except for the skin had appeared to have fallen off. The flesh beneath had degraded, leaving striations and pitting in the remaining tissue. His eyes were very sunken in, cloudy and grey. Any cartilaginous areas had completely rotten away, so he had no ears or nose anymore…only holes in his skull.

   Overall, his visage had become gaunt and ghastly.

   Fat, smooth and tendon-like vines surrounded his neck, stretching up from his collarbones to connect with the base of his head. Everything appeared to be wet, as if coated in blood. Every last vine, tendon or ribbon of flesh was in a state of perpetual motion. He watched them slither along his limbs and shoulders, flowing in and out and around his physique. He felt every last one. It wasn’t painful, much to his relief, but the constant sensation was horrifyingly similar to being submerged in earthworms. It took a good amount of effort to resist an instinct to panic in response.

   Fear, disgust, anger, and even sorrow, waged war in his mind. This was it. He could never go back to what he knew before. He’d fallen from humanity.

   For hours he stayed standing still. Contemplating. Reminiscing.

   He understood it was going to take a long time to come to grips with all this…and he accepted that. He had all the time in the world for it now. There was no one else here to bother him. And he was just beginning to realize how eerily tranquil this dimension actually was. Monstrous he might be now, but he was safe here. Free from pain. Free from fear and hunger. Free from the shackles of humanity.

   But his left wrist still bore the number 001. So long as it did, he would always be reminded of the life he’d led before…of the things he’d gained and lost. A reminder of what happened to lead to his banishment…and the one responsible for it. He hardened his gaze into a near lethal glare. He clenched his taloned left hand and the crooked mirror cracked.

   He promised he would never forget.

   And to this day, he never had.

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Again…hopelessly lost for a sensible way to end this thing…oh well. 

As much of a blast I had writing this, you have no idea how difficult it was to put all of what makes Vecna - well Vecna - into words. Thank god there are so many photos of what he looks like XD.

    This dimension was changing him. Prolonged exposure to it had poisoned and permeated every single fiber of his body…every bone, every organ…every nerve and artery. He had been mutating from the very beginning, though the changes had been minimal.

   Until now. Ever since the entity ambushed him, the mutations he suffered were dramatic and intense and terrifying. It progressed at an agonizing pace.

   Ropy flesh sprouted from the holes in his sides, his ankles, his shoulders…it slithered along his skin centimeter by centimeter, dripping both blood and lymph alike. The flesh itself was the color of bruises, as tough as tendon, and strangely tepid to the touch.

   Its grip was very strong. It ripped the skin away in some places, resulting in even worse bleeding than what he’d endured before. Patches of bare muscle rapidly twitched as nerve endings panicked. He tried to avoid putting any weight on these areas, but it was hard to do. No matter how he supported himself, it was impossible to get away from the multiplying wounds, or the spreading vine-like flesh. He was trapped…no way to escape what was being done to his person.

   The pain was excruciating. It sent him into a permanent state of rigor mortis, pinning him to the attic floor. Vomit burned in his throat. His fingers were paralyzed at crooked angles, though sometimes he had enough strength to dig his nails in the floorboards. His extremities were shaking, in response to the abject agony and those tendrils that overwhelmed them.

   It felt like someone had covered him in leeches dipped in acid. There wasn’t a single inch of him that wasn’t in some kind of pain. The worse part of all was having to watch. Watch his body be subjected to the will of another being; watch and feel as it was stolen from him.

   The invasive vines burrowed in and out of his flesh to anchor themselves deeper, as much a part of him now as his organs were. As they spread down his spine, it felt as if he was upon a bed of leeches.

   He fought to avoid voicing the pain, but it was very hard to do…especially when he had to breathe. It never failed that he ended up gagging or gasping, or sometimes uttering strangled cries. Involuntary tears fell from his eyes. He had no idea when this was going to end. No way of knowing how long he was going to be suffering for. He tried used his powers to stop it, but the vines didn’t listen. If anything, they retaliated by burrowing deeper and deeper, punishing him.

   These changes were going to press on…no matter what.

   The vines flowed along the scarring left behind by the lightning, using the already weakened flesh to expedite infection. Gashes appeared in his arms as a result, allowing for more vines to take hold within his exposed tissue. They spread down his arms and up his legs, curling up against his rib cage. They began to surround his waist and even encompass his neck. The latter-most adhered to his head, traveling up behind his ears where they settled in, fusing to his skull. 

   His ears rang. His head pounded. His heart raced.

   He lost so much blood.

   Every single day, a little more of him was consumed by the vines.

   Every single day, the horror and the agony grew in tandem, as well as a nausea from watching it all happen while being utterly powerless to stop it.

   The process was terrifyingly gradual. Terrifyingly painful.

   How long was this going on for? Was it days? Weeks? Months?

   For all he knew…it could have just as easily been years.

   Through the pain, he managed a growl. It was a cruel irony, wasn’t it? Now he was the one who was just waiting for it all to be over. But it was true. He was looking forward to when this finally ended…when he would wake up and the pain would all be gone.

   Waiting for his new life in this place to begin. 

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Indeed it IS years, Henry. Many, many, MANY years of living in a nightmare. Anywhere between 5 and 10, in my mind.

I regret to inform that I had no sleep last night, and this poor chapter suffers for it. I’d wanted to pour my heart and soul into making the body horror as intense and graphic as I could, but my brain was NOT having it. At least there’s some descriptiveness in there, but it falls short of what I wanted it to be. I hope it’s still entertaining. At least there’s still story progression here.

Generally, there’s a strong chance that Henry actually takes the full 20 years he’s in the Upside Down to become Vecna. What this chapter details is a VERY broad overview of some of those years, and again, the with the vagueness... *dramatically shrugs* I ain’t too good at it.

     He pressed his back to the door for a moment, wanting to catch his breath. The stained glass was cold and pierced into his back, numbing some of the pain. He gave his eyes time to adjust to the gloom. It was a great relief to have finally found adequate shelter.

    The scent of dust filled his nose, as did that of mold and decaying wood. For some reason it helped to comfort him further…perhaps it was a smell he associated with safety. He quietly ran his gaze around the interior of the manor, refamiliarizing himself with it. Ahead was the grand staircase leading to the second floor. On either side of him were entrances into rooms, rooms that were still done up in their old Victorian trappings. This manor might have only been a mere reflection of the real thing, but it was astonishing how near perfectly his memories had kept it preserved.

    Although, it too had not been spared from otherworldly disrepair. The flooring, walls and stairs were stripped of their varnish, while mirrors and paintings were caked in grime. Dust hung in the air so thickly that it gave the interior a misty quality. There was very little color left. Handrails were cracked. Holes had been punctured in the siding, letting in a draft.

    But thankfully…there were no vines.

    He stayed pressed to the front door for some time, temporarily losing himself to his rhythmic, ragged breathing. It came close to lulling him to sleep, but he made himself shake it off. As tired as he was, he did not want to risk setting himself up for an ambush. He pushed off from the door and sauntered a few steps deeper into the manor. He listened to the flooring creak underfoot; felt it shift with his weight. The burns everywhere on his body softly shone from sweat.

    Still in silence, he studied every inch of the manor around him, honestly impressed by the amount of detail it contained. Whatever the thing in the sky was had gone out of its way to make its replica as close to the real thing as possible. It wasn’t his first choice in shelter, but it made sense as to why it had appeared. Some of the earliest and most significant events in his life happened here. The son of Creel would always be connected to this place as a result of that. Always.

    Upon passing the staircase he came to a stop, turning to face a tall grandfather clock. Well, it was no longer quite so tall compared to him now; the last time he’d seen it was when he was a boy. He just…stood there. The glass plate covering the clock’s face was filthy, yet he could still make out the shape of its hands and Roman numerals beneath. Out of any solitary object he had ever owned, this clock had to be the one thing that held the most personal value for him.  

    It was here, right here, where he first learned about his abilities.

    His face went blank the longer he stared at the clock for, feeling bitterness bleed back into his mind. His gaze intensified and around him the atmosphere grew noticeably heavier. He thought about all the lies that humans loved to spread. How easy it was for them to hide from who they really were; to turn a blind eye to the injustices they committed. He hated people who hid from the truth. They were weak. They were cowards. Easily influenced by other outside lies.

    Yet here…here, he was free from all of that.

    No more navigating the lies. No more having to tolerate false smiles. No more struggling to stay afloat amid the restrictions of an arbitrary life script. He seemed to have some level of control over the matter in this dimension. Perhaps he stood a chance at finally creating his perfect world. Maybe his exile here would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. His freedom.

    He let out a slight scoff, feeling entertained by the idea.

    “Henry…”

    He stiffened a bit with the voice, but didn’t turn around. Then suddenly, for seemingly no reason, the supposedly lifeless grandfather clock began ticking. He took a step back in confusion, able to see the brass pendulum swaying back and forth all on its own.

    Tick…tock…tick…tock…tick…tock…tick…tock…

    “Let me in, Henry.”

    When the voice spoke again, it was just enough to break him out of his trance. Wanting to escape the clock’s maddening heartbeat, he went to the stairs and took them. By the time he set foot on the 2nd story landing, his entire body was burning, but he didn’t stop there. He couldn’t…not with that infernal ticking on his heels. He briskly limped through the upstairs, nary sparing any of its room a glance. His focus was solely on reaching another stairwell tucked behind a door…the way into the attic. It’d been a safe space in his youth and he longed for the comfort of silence.

    Unfortunately, the vines had beaten him to it.

    They had infested the stairwell so completely that they were now spilling all over the floor…and still continuing to spread. He was sickened by the sight. His sanctuary was been breached. There was nowhere left to run. Hardening his gaze, he made himself keep going up, climbing the stairs into the attic proper, whereupon he stopped dead in his tracks. This was where the biggest vines of all had taken up residence, covering the walls, the floor; even the ceiling. Plenty more had coiled themselves around the wooden beams that supported the roof, forming a frame of flesh.

    There was nowhere left to run.

    Henry was no doubt horrified to realize this, yet…in a strange way, he accepted it. By now, he’d been in exile for years. Years worth of endless suffering.

    He was so tired of it. Tired of the fatigue and the hunger. 

    Tired of feeling vulnerable all the time; at the mercy of his wounds.

    “Join me.”

    The voice sounded very close…as if the entity was right on top of him. The attic vines sprang to life, coalescing into a mass that blocked off his only means of escape. A few slithered around him, far too close for comfort. This dimension as a whole wanted something from him…that much was painfully clear. And to be honest…he was almost tempted to let it win.

    Maybe therein lied some kind of key to survival.

    “You…belong…here.” The entity hissed. “With me…”

    The moment it said that, Henry felt intense pain fill his legs. It resulted in him collapsing on the floor, momentarily stunned. Something inside the puncture wounds all over his ankles was moving. The nearest vines pounced. The ends of them unfurled into little mouths lined with teeth, teeth that sank deep into his limbs, sides and shoulders; everywhere in reach. He tried to resist screaming…but this agony was so much worse than anything he had ever felt. Worse than 011 tearing a gateway in his body and shoving him right through it. Worse than being struck by lightning.

    His jaw fell open...and he screamed.

    Then…as fast as the attack began…it was over. The vines released their quarry, dripping with blood as they retreated to the walls and support beams. They left him lying there, riddled with bites and gashes and lesions, bleeding profusely from some of them.

    The entity had gotten what it wanted.

    Now…all it had to do was wait.

-------------------------------------------

Well...I was expecting this chapter to be easier than 005... I was wrong. So. Very. Wrong. But! It is done... finally done. And we’re now half way through!

This is the ONLY time in the entire story where the events of a chapter take place immediately after the one before. From chapter’s 007-011, we’re back to massive time jumps in between things.

I’m addicted to Vecna’s grandfather clock. I love that baritone tolling sound SO much.

The very end of this one I’m on the fence about… the problem with the story as a whole is that during every chapter I’m battling to find balance between detailed and vague. It is BRUTAL on my brain XD. Especially since my gut instinct is to be very detailed and very thorough; it feels like I’m missing so much. Having to leave so many things unexplored or not fully realized is driving me crazy. Although, mostly? It’s the Mind Flayer’s motivations that I’m struggling with hard. Why is it doin’ what it’s doing? 

On that note, I have no idea how Henry’s mutations initially begin, but I keep thinking of how Eleven was infected with a piece of the Mind Flayer when it bit her, so that’s my thinking here. To get the process started, the Mind Flayer introduces portions of itself into Henry’s bloodstream through bites, then sits back and allows infection to run its course.

I also have NO idea how long it takes for Henry to fully transform into Vecna either. Could be months. Could be years. But hey, that’s why I’m not specifying the time in between chapters. Less to worry about.

     Before he knew it, he was in a completely different world. One that resembled a place he had come so close to forgetting, a place he used to call his home.

    It was Hawkins. He was back on the streets of Hawkins.

    Yet, as uncannily as it resembled his hometown, this version of Hawkins was a mere mirror image, a distorted reflection of the other side. It was derelict and apocalyptic, and lifeless. Large cracks spanned the roads, opening up into shallow chasms in some places. Yards were still neatly trimmed, but the matchbox houses the sat upon them were disfigured. The roofs of some sagged dangerously low and threatened cave ins. Brittle walls bore holes that bled plaster dust. Monstrous trees dotted the landscape in the hundreds, all of them dead and leafless. The sky had now gone dark, drowning Hawkins in an eternal night.

    The air was cold. He was freezing.

    By now his clothes and shoes were completely gone, leaving his wounded body bare. His burns ached every single time the wind blew. It sent sharp needles of pain cascading through him, sometimes so sharp it left him gasping. He had nothing left to protect him. Nothing left. He was entirely at the mercy of whatever this dimension had to throw at him next. To keep his mind off it, he continue to wander the lonely streets, taking in the sights in silence. It was amazing how closely the alternate Hawkins resembled the real thing, despite how decayed and dark and empty it was.

    If he stood still long enough…he swore he was able to hear the faint echoes of life. Laughter. Talking. Car motors sputtering. Lawnmowers roaring. Auditory visions perhaps, but they were kind of pleasant to listen to. A reminder of the reality he used to live in. He slowly walked the abandoned streets, having to be careful not to step on any vines along the way. They covered the ground extensively as far as the eye could see, reminiscent of how a nervous system looked.

    The vines weren’t just restricted to the ground, however. He saw them lying on rooftops and snaking through the sides of houses, even swaying from the branches of trees. It was deeply unsettling how quickly they had consumed this mirror image of Hawkins.

    They were always moving. Always stretching, always shifting, hunting for anything else in their reach to infest and inhabit. The vines uttered graphic scraping, squelching and popping sounds as they changed shape, seeming to react to stimuli around them. Sometimes they would hiss or screech softly at him as he passed them by, unsettling him even further. The grotesque cacophony certainly did well to drown out the suffocating lonesomeness that loved to chase him.

    Sometimes he inflicted his powers upon them, whenever he needed a little breathing room. Sometimes he would send large patches of vines flying at a time. Sometimes he treated them like his human victims, hearing the vines crunch and screech, watching them writhe as he tried ripping them apart. He found the vines to be surprisingly durable, even regenerating within moments of injury. In all honestly it was pretty intriguing to watch. It pleased him to discover he had control here. However…almost immediately after, he felt that intense sensation of being watched return.

    And now, he was finally going to glimpse the reason behind it.

    Lightning flashed, directly overhead. It flooded the sky with blood red light, revealing a presence that was normally hidden by the cloud cover. Something that had been there from the beginning, but had only recently taken shape. It was something huge, looming at least 50 stories above him. It had a long, tapered body with multiple tapered limbs that protruded off from it. These limbs were impossibly long, filling the entire sky before extending down to the ground, only to be obscured by the tree line. The whole thing was generally amorphous, yet it was weirdly familiar.

    This massive thing had no face, but he just knew it was staring right at him. He stared back up at it, stricken with terror, awe…and existential dread. After a while the red lighting faded, allowing the thing to melt back into the clouds. He painfully swallowed.

    Then, out of nowhere, a voice entered his mind. “Join me…”

    Moments after, several large vines slithered up behind him. They attacked before he had the time to realize he was surrounded. The vines snapped, boring wounds into his legs, and he yelled in pained shock. He hardened his gaze and focused, and watched as the vines recoiled in pain of their own. He turned and hurried up the road as quick as he could, feeling blood stream down his skin. He had no idea where he was going but he couldn’t let those vile vines catch up. The voice did follow him…drifting in the air, in his thoughts.  

    “I know you saw me…I see your suffering. I will make it end…”

    Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to pick up the pace. The road curved to the left and he followed it dutifully, letting it lead him away from the center of town and to the outskirts. The trees were even bigger out here. The forest was pitch black; the sounds of squirming vines echoed within. He did not dare to look up at the sky now, not about to give that massive thing an opportunity. He felt its voice infiltrate his mind, persistently attempting to communicate with him. 

    “Let me in, Henry…”

    He ignored it, continuing to follow the road until the pain said otherwise. It forced him to stop at the edge of a large property, a property which he instantly recognized. Dark blue walls, white trim and a grey roof, and a door decorated with a stained glass rose. Although it too was laden with vines, it was the only building he’d come across that was almost wholly intact. The only place he remotely held any sentimental value for. His childhood home…the Creel Manor.

   He stared deadpan at it, shocked to see it. As if it had just…appeared out of thin air. Why? Why was it here? He was content to never see it again.

    “Let. Me. In.”

    The voice jolted him from his trance, encouraging to move. He set foot on the yard and instinctively headed straight for the front door. This was the last place he would’ve expected to seek shelter, but it was arguably the most fitting. He threw the door open and disappeared inside, safe at last. As it slowly latched shut, that massive entity in the sky descended. It had taken a liking to this human stranded in its realm. It saw potential in him, and it already had a plan.

    The manor was as real as everything else, but it was not as it seemed. It was a honeypot.

    And now, the entity had him just where it wanted him.

----------------------------------

Holy crap that was hard! I don’t know why but this chapter was hell to write. I do love how it turned out though... I desperately hope this isn’t a sign of how the remaining chapters are going to go...

Henry seeing the Mind Flayer for the first time is a moment that I have been SO looking forward to. Real talk, I have no idea what the Mind Flayer would actually say to him, if anything. I just wanted some dialogue to help break up the wall of text, mainly. But I do like the idea of Vecna’s words being almost like echoes of what was said to HIM way back when.

Why!?

Why did they have to make him smile?

That’s not fair!

     The landscape was changing.

    It had been ever since his arrival in fact, slowly adapting itself to his presence, although these changes were so slight that they went entirely unnoticed for the longest time. In the beginning it made sense, as his focus was on not dying from infection than sightseeing. However, now that he’d finally realized something was going on, it came as a surprise to see how much this dimension had altered. The sky was no longer as hellish and fiery as he remembered. It was still plenty orange along the horizon, but it had become a more somber and cooler purple tone directly overhead.

    Those churning clouds had done some slowing down. Lightning still flashed on the regular, but now it seemed to possess less intensity than it did before. It was…quieter. The air was generally cooler, making it much easier for him to breathe without straining.

    It wasn’t just the heavens that changed. The ground was looking drastically different as well. It was scored with the outlines of roadbeds and curbs, and he often spent hours at a time following the lines with his gaze, curious to see how far they extended. Slight hills rose up like the backs of breaching whales, only adding more depth to the scenery. Structures were taking shape around him too, things that came close to resembling houses, yet…they weren’t quite there.

   These ‘houses’ were listing, had no windows, and were missing their roofs. And still…for a reason he couldn’t explain…he felt a sense of familiarity looking at them. It was astonishing. Truly astonishing. How could this be happening? Why was it happening?

    He hadn’t the slightest idea. In some ways that scared him. In other ways, it fascinated him. Perhaps, if his surroundings were as malleable as they seemed, he could figure out how to control them. Having that level of power over an entire reality was an invigorating thought. This was just the thing he needed to help take his mind off his declining state. While the bleeding had stopped at last, the burns were continuing to worsen. They had extended down his legs now, returning his gait to a pained limp. The burns on his face threatened to claim his vision, much to his anger.

    Something was still watching him, though he now accepted it as part of being here. He’d done a lot of scrutinizing of this realm, so if it wished to scrutinize him back, he felt it was fair. Even so, he didn’t enjoy being observed so intensely, especially since he still never saw the reason behind it. No matter how used to the sensation he’d grown, it remained disquieting.

    Feeling the tatters of his clothes fall off did nothing to put his mind at ease. Little by little, more of his broken body was left bare every day, making him feel more vulnerable than ever. It was hard, but he was determined to hold onto what remained of his uniform for as long as he could. He did not want to become completely exposed. The shock of it might kill him.

    And so he roamed on, just as he had from the start, never looking back. Trying his best not to let the pain get to him, or the hunger, or the exhaustion.

   All the while…he was being followed. Vines had begun to appear, vines that coated the surface of the rocks and the houses; vines that slithered like worms.

    Fleshy, slimy, as black as tar, consuming everything in their path. They lingered in his shadow, as if biding their time. It didn’t take him long to become aware of them, and he was caught even more off guard.

    Yet, when he saw the vines, he wasn’t entirely horrified. Everything just…made sense. Somehow, he instinctively understood that this was the realm itself he was looking at; the realm itself which was coming to life around him. The reason why he had felt eyes on his back for so long.

    It should have been horrifying. And yet...it wasn’t.

    Instead, it was almost…comforting to him. Because seeing this helped to put some of his long standing fears to rest.

    And now, he no longer felt quite so alone.

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There’s chapter 4, done already! Holy crap XD.

Again, this one’s on the less interesting side, at least to me. I wasn’t sure how the heck to end it, but for what it is, I think it’s passable. It’s another ‘limbo’ chapter between more interesting events, but at least stuff is still happening. Here, the Upside Down is just beginning to take shape, but in the next chapter it will look much closer to how it does in the show.

     His physical state, though already abysmal, was deteriorating worse and worse. Pervasive starvation wracked his body every waking hour. It constantly vied with the pain over which was powerful enough to bring him to his knees. Both subjected him to regular, potent bouts of nausea. He honestly could not recall a time in his life when he’d thrown up this much.

    His mouth and throat were dry as a desert from the dehydration, yet he always had the taste of fresh blood on his tongue. It was sickening. He watched the rest of his blond hair fall out. He felt the stiffness in his joints strengthening all the time. He fought to keep the stress off of his face, fought to stay focused, but this cruel place was gradually breaking his spirit.

    Even his eyes, once so bewitching and blue, had gone dull.

    His wounds were not healing…in fact, they seemed to be doing the complete opposite. To his distress, all those intricate, 3rd degree burns were moving. Spreading. He was actually able to see them writhing as they stretched across his skin, as if they’d been possessed and had come to life. The additional pain caused from this burned and itched, and it led him to feeling very, very trapped. He could not escape it. However long or far he traveled, there was no way to make the pain stop. Something dreadful told him that this was likely the result of his tissues becoming necrotic.

    If he forced himself to, he could grit his teeth and bear the pain. If anything, it was a reminder of how strong his will to live truly was. He’d been living in a different dimension with these injuries for as long as he could remember, and he was still carrying on.

    He often wondered how he wasn’t dead yet. He should have been dead.

    And somehow, he wasn’t. It seemed this reality was sustaining him. Perhaps this was his curse; to be consumed by suffering yet never see the end of it.

   Inside his chest, his resentment flickered to life. His only regret was having taken too long to finish off 011 during their final interaction. Had he killed her sooner, then he wouldn’t be here. Of course, he never blamed himself for what happened; he knew the truth about humanity and had merely done whatever was necessary to make things right. He wasn’t in the wrong…all he wanted was to make a better world. It was not his fault if she had been unable to understand.

    These thoughts cycled through his head all the time, tasting bitter on his tongue…supplying him with the strength he badly needed, inspiring him to live.

    Moments of energy like this swelled and faltered like the passing of a tide. There were more times than not when severe hunger, thirst and fatigue got the better of him, much to his frustration. It was very difficult to fall asleep without worrying if this was the time when he would never wake up. His clothes were in tatters and offered him very little comfort from nightmares.

    Sometimes, he would hear things. Sometimes, he would see things.

    Visions appeared in the dusty air. People he’d met, or places he’d been to, in his past. His father and mother, and sister…even himself as a boy. He watched himself take his first lives. The sound of shattering bone filled the vastness of this reality to its brim. It drowned out the ghostly echoes of voices, almost to the point of robbing his ability to hear what happened next. The first wave of visions faded, only to be replaced with memories of his life within the Hawkins lab. It started with the day that the number 001 was tattooed on his wrist, then moved through years of experimentation meant to test, heighten and control his powers. He watched the other children arrive and grow, and be subjected to the same things as he.

    Then it all ended with him slaughtering everyone.

    He heard his own voice, stern and vehement. “Seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years, decades. Each life a faded, lesser copy than the one before.”

    The words spread like wildfire across the folded skies.

    “Wake up, eat, work, sleep, reproduce and die!”

    Breathing heavier, he let them add to his well of resentment. That was, until he noticed footsteps, and saw a line of shadows join his own. He turned. At once, he was met with all 16 of the other children, their mangled bodies swaying in the breeze. As he gazed upon each one, he remembered how they laughed, how they spent their lives caged like animals…and how they screamed. As to be expected, the son of Creel was taken aback by the sight, surprised to see them.

    They aren’t really here, he thought.

    Yet they seemed so real. Especially when they closed in on him.

    “Everyone is just waiting…” his voice went on. “Waiting for it all to be over.”

    He took a step back, not in the mood for this mental stress on top of the physical. Curling his lip in a snarl, he turned away from the children…only to then come face to face with her. For a moment…just a moment…his heart stopped in shock. 011 was glaring at him with fear, confusion and anger. She too was bleeding from the eyes, though hardly noticed it. She raised an arm to shove, just as a scream blared out. His scream.

    “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

    He braced, fully prepared to be sent flying for a third time…but then, it was suddenly over. All those rampant visions were gone. Vanished in an eye blink. Once again, he was left standing completely alone in this sea of nothingness, knocked senseless by…whatever that experience was. It had to have been his poor health merely toying with his mind. It had to be.

    Still…why did it all seem so visceral? So real?

    A chill trickled down his back when the feeling of being watched came back. An alarm went off in his head, letting him realize that whatever was out there; whatever had been following him; must have been responsible. Something was bringing his memories to life. That could only mean there had to be something alive out there…something with abilities like his.

    And it had taken an interest in him.

    As if this wasn’t enough to contend with, it also readily occurred to him that minute details about his surroundings were…different. The light wasn’t as bright anymore. The ground had done some smoothing out, to the point where it seemed to mirror a road. Even the outcroppings he came across were starting to look…vaguely familiar. Kind of like…rooftops.

    This felt different, more solid than his previous visions were.

    How could this be? Had insanity at last kicked in?

    Or…or was the landscape itself changing around him?

-------------------------------------

I had a bit too much fun writing this one. I am like Vecna, throwing characters into psychological torment is what I do best XD.

Although, there’s not really any maliciousness behind Henry’s visions here; these are just the things most prominent in his mind. And it’s mostly the Upside Down as a whole beginning to tap into his memories for the first time, wanting to see what this guy’s head space is all about.

Listening to what he says to Eleven is inspiring. Especially the bit about how when he kills people, they stay with him. What does that actually mean though? Do shreds of his victims’ consciousnesses stay alive inside his head, or is it more like Henry just inherits his victims memories? 

Total Disarray (Low)

Separate Ways (Journey)

Ghost (Laveda)

The One Moment (OkGo)

Sometimes (James)