#frogboyfiction

It was him, or at least, he thought it was him. A troll which seemed near identical to Morgo himself stepped out of the shadows of the room, darkened visage and all. At first, the arcanital thought that perhaps this was a wayward mirror image showing him the way out, but he shook his head. There was something off about the person standing in front of him. He certainly looked like Morgo, the same facial features, piercings, body shape, but there was simply something... off about him. His hair was jet black, and the usual golden clad robes Morgo wore were replaced by some tattered, dark leathers. The being stepped closer to him before stopping only a few feet away. 

“Who are you? Where am I?” Morgo asked in his native tongue. He was confused. Perhaps this was all just some strange dream? After all, he did have a bad habit of zoning out. This seemed different however, and it all felt so real. 

“Who does it look like?” The apparition grinned. “I am you, or at least, what you want to be. What we could be.” 

“I don’t understand you, speak plainly. I ask again, who are you? Because you certainly aren’t me, I’m Morgo’Boondax!” Morgo responded, puffing his chest out proudly. 

The man standing before him seemed to sneer, rolling his shoulders back, which showed off dark runes running up and down along his shoulders. “You still haven’t caught on then, have you? Oho, my friend, I am Morgo’Boondax, just as much as you are Morgo’Boondax.” He stopped himself for a moment, letting out a light chuckle. One thing was for certain, he sounded exactly like Morgo, if not a bit more… arrogant, and his tone was certainly harsher. 

Morgo crossed his arms, “An Imposter then? Is this another one of the Meister’s tricks? Am I being tested? Or perhaps you are another assassin sent by my mother, wishing to drag me back home so she can tear my ear off about how I’ve failed her and our family? Oh, what if you are-” 

The other Morgo raised a hand, cutting him off. “Ah, still confused, are we? You always were a little slow. I shall explain, dear Morgo, for you see, there are no tricks afoot here. I am simply a creation of your- our mind.” He grinned. “Everything you ever wanted to be, confident, proud, powerful.” 

Morgo raised a brow. He wasn’t wearing his mask so he couldn’t hide his facial expressions as well as he’d usually be able to. His thoughts turned to that of anger--how dare this imposter prance around and act like he knew everything about him! After all, If his words were to be believed, then he could dispel him with a single thought! “So, you are my insecurities then? Come to torment me in a physical form? Beh I say! Many people and beings far beyond your power have tried and failed in breaking me.” He spat back. 

In response, the clone simply chucked once again, an infuriating smirk chiseled onto his features. “That’s what makes this so beautiful, right? The fact that you are simply talking to yourself. We are talking to ourselves, rather. Come now, I only wish to have a little chat with you. Times have been so hard on us after all. Us and our little friends of ours.” He spoke in a condescending voice, mocking the proud mage that stood before him. “Well. More your friends than mine.” 

Morgo growled at this, his anger ever rising. For whatever reason, this twisted copy of himself speaking to him in this way was really getting under his skin. “Do NOT speak about my friends like that! What would you know about them anyways?”

This seemed to only fuel his aggravator’s enjoyment of the current back and forth. “I am you, remember? All your memories are mine, and oh, please forgive me, mighty Morgo! Surely such a wise and compassionate friend such as yourself, in your infinite wisdom, could spare a morsel of empathy for me, yes? Unless…” He paused. “Ah, of course, since no one knows me, and no one will know how you treat me... I am worthless then, yes? You need not keep up your precious reputation around me, so that makes it okay to treat me poorly then? Hah.” 

Morgo clenched his fists. What was this guy on about? He was just standing there, mocking him, pushing all his buttons, and not the good ones either. “You’re crazy, a jester. Consider me unamused. As you can see, I’m not in the best of moods as you so skillfully pointed out, and I’m definitely not in the mood to be mocked by my own clone!” 

The clone, in response to this, gasped dramatically and put a hand over his heart. “Oh my! Is that a hint of anger I hear coming from you, great Morgo? How uncharacteristic of you! Ahah! Hmm. Perhaps, well, perhaps it’s not uncharacteristic at all.” 

Morgo’s eyeball twitched irritably. What was this guy- this clone’s game? Here they were in a room that he could only assume to be the creation of his own conscience, and the only companion he had was some annoying rip-off of himself that kept picking away at his patience. “What is your point!? What are you even talking about? If you are me, then you should know everything I have gone through, and you should know the last thing I need is some insane copycat insulting me!” 

The clone of Morgo’s eyes widened as he began to laugh at Morgo himself. “Ahah, insane! Yes! He finally gets it!” He clapped his hands together slowly. It was at this point Morgo noticed something which made his blood run cold. The man’s forearm did not look like Morgo’s own at all. What should’ve been the golden tattoos Zandalar-inscribed upon blue skin were instead replaced by a pitch black, oozing substance, which completely engulfed the shadowy Morgo’s arm up to his elbow. It seeped with dark energy and voodoo, the same mystical magics he once saw radiating in De Other Side, where he battled the spirits of his own ancestors.

The imposter’s smirk grew as he saw a brief flash of fear in Morgo’s eyes, which was quickly replaced by anger. Nevertheless, he went on. “We are insane, Morgo. I am insane in the fact that I am not the one in your shoes right now, controlling our actions! Taking our life and living it the way the son of Jorgo should! And you, well, you are insane in the fact that you think you can hide who you, who we truly are. You cannot hide your true nature! Not anymore. I won’t allow it.” 

Morgo blinked. He had half a mind to shoot this man down where he stood. He was spouting meaningless nonsense to his ears! True nature? Morgo was goodhearted, he knew this, and he wasn’t some arrogant brat who let paranoia and fear dictate his actions, surely how this horrid perception of him did. “You simply wish to exist, to corrupt me and make me doubt myself, and I will not fall for your tricks! I am greater than that, greater than you.” 

“Greater than me? Quite arrogant for a paragon of humility such as yourself to say, huh, Morgo? Even now you show our true arrogance, our pride, the very same pride that led us to being manipulated by so many others who wished to do wrong by us.” The clone quipped back. Morgo went to respond, but he stopped when he noticed something. The room’s lighting had turned red, and the walls were now covered in a mishmash of violently scrawled down words. They all appeared to be illegible, aside from a select few which were written in bright red, bold letters. His gaze seemed to be forcibly moved around, reading each word and being forced to stare at them for an uncomfortably long time. F A I L U R E was the first he saw, quickly followed by B O R G, and then, suddenly, memories of Borg’Boondax flooded Morgo’s head--how he trusted him, how he let himself be bound to the spectre, how his frustrations and insecurities toward his family put him in the mindset that allowed a fanatical spirit to guide his actions, and how he brutally slaughtered the ghosts of his ancestors in the name of said spirit, damning them all to oblivion in a blind rage and under the promise that his father would be saved.

P O I S O N was the next word, with the biting pain that he felt when Borg stabbed him in the back with a poisoned blade shooting though his entire body. His mind was filled with flashbacks to when he was slowly decaying due to the poison and how his loved ones were forced to watch him suffer, all because of the mistake he made. The next word, W E A K, rang through his skull. Morgo clasped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes closed. His imposter had gone silent, but there was no escaping this mental onslaught he was enduring now. “Agh!” He cried out. “Why… Why are you showing me this?-” He was cut off. Images of Morgo’s battle with his ancient ancestor, Boondax, played through his head, how, even with his strongest attack, he was unable to defeat him, and how, if not for his father destroying the conqueror, he would have surely doomed himself and his friends. The visions ceased, but the damage had been done. Morgo sank to his knees and he began to shake, visibly in pain. “I… I have endured, I have made many mistakes... But I have learned from them-” 

Morgo’s apparition roared out, “WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED!?” Morgo opened his eyes. He was looking up at the dark copy of himself who now loomed above him. He appeared larger, stronger, more powerful than before. “Over and over again, it is the same story! Just replace the people! We give our heart, our soul, in the name of the ‘greater good’ or being a ‘better person’. Better person? BAH! We are MORGO’BOONDAX! The greatest magical specimen our empire has EVER birthed, and yet we waste our power in the name of friendship- FRIENDSHIP!” His voice boomed throughout the halls, which was certainly deeper now. Morgo could do nothing to stop him, powerless at this moment. This dark version of himself pounded on his chest. “Kisa,” He lamented. “We tried to help her, to bring justice in the face of evil, and what did we get in return for confronting an accused murderer? WE WERE BRANDED AS A VILLAIN.” Memories of a night spent in the barbershop flashed through Morgo’s head. The memories of that failure, and the great shame and humiliation he’s felt ever since then, shook him to his core.

“Now replace that name with Irro, someone whose life we’ve saved countless times, who we’ve supported since day one. Look at all the PAIN she’s given us--she made our mate miserable, she’s made you miserable! She is a RAT, an ingrate! She mocks our ROYAL ancestry, and you should’ve killed her when you had the chance! You would’ve shown her what it means when you cross US!” Yet again, rippling images of the incident seeped into Morgo’s head. Splashes of crimson began to appear on the walls of the room he was now locked in as the vision played out. “But you saved her, a decision she has made us regret ever since.” The apparition of Morgo spoke with such rage, such contempt. He had gone from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye. Everything was escalating so quickly, and Morgo couldn’t keep up. All he could feel was pain and hurt. More emotions came, that of anger, rage, sorrow, and remorse. Every possible negative emotion came crashing down upon Morgo in this one painful moment. Even so, the shade of Morgo’s consciousness continued. “The power we possess, the blood of a conqueror runs through our veins! We are unparalleled on the field of battle! And yet you suppress it! You suppress our power, you suppress yourself, what we could be. I am you, Morgo, I am the Morgo’Boondax that lets go of these pathetic wastes of lives that call themselves our friends. Quathe? A murderous mana-sucking leech who only uses you for his next fix, or for a shoulder to cry on. Dya? A prideful, foolish, and victimizing wannabe pirate who was so desperate for any kind of affection that she returned to an abuser. An abuser that, if you recall, WE had to kill for her, and where was our thanks!? Nowhere!”  The clone stopped for a moment though, chuckling. “We did get one reward out of it though, eheh!” He licked his lips slowly, psychotically, “Blood.” then waved a hand. “A taste for it, anyway.”

No sooner did the words escape his lips that the sound of a chandelier falling atop an unsuspecting elf ring through the room. The sounds of bones crunching and blood gurgling filled his ears. Morgo was then shown a vision of himself shooting down said chandelier. Unlike the prior memories however, Morgo had a sick grin on his face in this vision. His clone’s voice rang through his head. “We are bred killers, we were meant to enjoy it... Yet we spend far too much time trying to aid people who do not want our help. We pursue such meaningless and empty ideals such as mercy and wisdom and we still have nothing to show for it. Our greatest moments--our greatest memories!--come from when we are on the battlefield, when we are destroying, not giving!” Morgo’s mind was finally given a break. The visions stopped and the horrific sounds began to cease. He weakly pushed himself to his feet, his breathing heavy. He looked over at his other half. It seemed all the rage and zeal had finally left him, at least for now. The apparition now stood alone in the corner of the room, further away from Morgo than before. 

Morgo choked out a few words, clearly exhausted from the episode. “You.. we.. we are better than this.. We will be fine, we are fine. It is just a moment of weakness-” He was then cut off. The maddened scrawlings on the wall seemed to shift and change, before two words became legible. Plastered over every inch of wall, those two words read, I ‘ M  F I N E. 

“That’s what we always say.” The clone sighed, seemingly dejected now as he continued, “We suffer through so much for other people's needs, Morgo. It is tearing us apart. When will you realize we are alone in this world? Every friend that did not once hate us, or have something against us to try and tear us down, is gone. All that remains are those that wish to drag us down with them, and all we try to do is portray a beacon of righteousness, but we are not righteous. We are Morgo’Boondax, we are flawed, but you only create more flaws by being something that you are not. It deludes you, it makes you think that sparing the killer of our father was a noble thing to do!” 

Morgo’s shoulders slumped down. He was greatly disheartened by all of this. When would this end? Why was this happening? Even still, he pushed himself toward his clone, certain that he’d make it through this. “We aren’t alone, our friendships make us strong… It gives us wisdom, and if we ever feel alone, Liv will be there for us-” A whirlpool of shadows engulfed the dark shadow of Morgo, making him disappear for a brief moment before immediately reappearing directly in front of Morgo, face to face, tusk to tusk. His eyes were pitch black.

“And when she’s not? Look at where we are right now! She’s been distant. Maybe she’s finally had enough of us? She did try to end herself once before because of your inability to speak. Who’s to say she won’t again? What if you ‘accidentally’ hurt her like you did in that trial? What would all your wisdom and happiness do for you then, huh? HUH?” Morgo blinked, his eyes began to water. That cut deep, and went way too far, even for his clone’s sake. “Sh- shut up! Don’t you dare say that! How could you even suggest such a thing!? I’ve had enough of this, this torture! You are darkness! You are everything I strive to be against, and I will not give into you, your desires to be bitter, rage-fueled, paranoid, and pessimistic! I will never become you.”

The apparition--this clone, this shade of Morgo--only grinned, his pitch black eyes staring daggers into Morgo’s very soul. The endless voids that were his eyes held all of Morgo’s pain, all his sorrow and regret within them. Every mistake, every regret, and every drop of rage could be found in this Morgo's gaze. It was truly horrifying to the real Morgo, catching all of this in one glance. He’d certainly been put through a meatgrinder of trauma just now, and it was weighing on him. Before he could recover, the clone began to laugh. “Ahaha! Oh Morgo, don’t you know you possess all those qualities you just listed? You only try to hide them! You could become me. You will become me, given time… soon enough, just wait. Something will break you, then you will finally embrace me and become everything we were destined to be. Maybe it will be tomorrow, maybe it will be in another year from now, who knows? After all, all it takes is just one bad day.” 

The clone began to laugh, although this time it sounded much more unhinged than before. Its noise began to crescendo to a deafening amount. “Ahaha-ahaha! AHAHA!” The room around the two Morgos began to shake. Morgo, the real one, clasped his hands over his ears once again and stumbled backward, wincing as he felt blood trickle out of his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, as he could feel another round of visions were about to play out, but those visions did not come. In fact, the laughter began to die down. He opened his eyes to see that the clone was also looking around in confusion, his laughter cut short as a blinding light had suddenly breached through the red lighting of the room, making the dimly lit chamber begin to shine with a radiance it hadn’t known before. The maddened scrawlings on the wall began to melt away, all the blood and remnants of the violent visions were purged, and the clone himself was engulfed by the light, soon being reduced to ash. Morgo was fearful at first as the light began to envelop him, as it had just melted his excuse for a counterpart, though instead of pain, he felt… warmth, comfort. A tender and loving care could be felt as the light washed over Morgo. It mended those recently reopened traumatic wounds of his, and closed them gently with a soothing sensation to go with it. Morgo embraced this feeling, which brought even more tears to his face. This time though, the tears were that of joy and relief. This nightmare was finally coming to a close, or so it seemed to be. Something appeared in the midst of this light bathing Morgo. It was a hand, calloused and rough-looking, and it seemed familiar to him. Now that he thought about it, he could sense a familiarity to the energies surrounding him. It was the same light that his staff possessed! His mind began to finally ease up, and he reached a hand upwards, grasping the outstretched hand in kind, and just like that, Morgo was pulled out of the darkest recesses of his mind. 

He opened his eyes, and the blinding light of the desert sun filled his vision. He wearily rose a hand above his face to shield his eyes from the blinding light, then blinked a few times. He looked around. How long had he been standing here for? Oh Loa, he must’ve zoned out again! That was a really bad day dream he just had, he thought. He dusted his robes off quickly and readjusted his mask to better fit his face. Eventually, after recomposing himself and getting his bearings back, Morgo shook his head, getting rid of any cobwebs that may have remained. He gently patted his staff, feeling the holy energy that radiated off of it. He whispered, “Thank you.” before heading down an old dirt road to continue his day. Morgo’Boondax was off! He had to hurry! Someone probably needed him, somewhere, for some reason.