#nightmare sequence

Damn Tenna I think there's something wrong with your mailman

The way it started out innocent, sweet, making us think it was just a memory, or a scene being shown from Shadow's past.

The way the fight between Shadow and Gemerl ensued, only to quite literally shatter as Shadow punched him and found himself instead punching glass and winding up somewhere else entirely.

How he was putting the events together in such a way that made us realize - this is a nightmare. This is just one of many times he's relived that day. 😭

The haunting atmosphere of him landing in the prison cell where Gerald sat silently, eyes aglow as the lamp above him swung back and forth so eerily.

...only to glitch away from him again and again when he tried to warn the professor that they needed to leave.

The way he was floating in the red space, looking oh so small and scared with how far away the perspective is.

And those cruel flashes of Maria, terrified and calling for him. 😭

"Shadow! Remember!"

and he wakes up in such a violent panic that he immediately summons a Chaos emerald and blasts the nearest tree to bits.

I just... this felt like a deeper dive into his trauma, his PTSD, that hasn't been shown enough before. He did mention that it "wasn't an ordinary nightmare," but still. That was... that was insane.

inspired by: (https://www.tumblr.com/caramellcandy/772384179167051776/they-transformed-and-it-wasnt-quick-she-turned) @caramellcandy

The smile tempted him. The beautiful, welcoming palace tempted him. The smell that promised warm, fresh food tempted him. 

And yet there was something wrong, something he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Eurylochus had to stay outside, he had to. But hunger was so heavy, and the rest of the men were going inside too. So he followed them in, into the strange woman’s palace. 

The place was familiar; large and elegant, like the palace back in Ithaca, the palace of his friend…whose name he couldn’t quite remember. 

His gaze moved from the pink flowers blooming from every surface- the potted plants, the woman’s hair, the wind bag settled on his plate, with strange, alluring scents. 

The woman swept closer to him, and food was brought in, young girls that looked like nymphs settling roasted meat and vegetables and fresh fruit on the table- pouring wine into a goblet with a lotus settled on the bottom. The nymph serving him pulled away once she was done pouring, a red headband tied around her wrist. 

He reached forward and drank. It was delicious. 

The woman smiled as his fellow men dug in, devouring what was given freely to them. He did as well, his stomach growled as he ate, lacking manners he knew he should have, yet he couldn’t find it in himself. His heart pounded frantically in his chest; he couldn’t seem to figure out why, so he did his best to ignore it?

Time passed, perhaps minutes, perhaps an hour, before he looked up from his refilling goblet and saw something pink across him from the table. One of the other men, he couldn’t remember his name, was staring at his empty plate. How strange. Eurylochus’s plate had magically refilled itself when he was done. 

The man began to writhe, shaking and staring blankly at the plate, before he fell backwards off the bench he sat on. There was a horribly familiar splatting sound, like a club had been smacked into him instead of him simply hitting the floor.

Eurylochus jumped up, as fast as he could, but it felt like he was moving through water, sluggishly rounding the table to see the man was fine, there were no broken bones or broken glasses, no red blood staining his tunic. 

There was pink blood, though. 

Pink blood that stained his face, his bottom, his hair, and strange features growing from the unseen wounds, hairy and round and fleshy. First a snout, and the man howled and clutched his bottom as a curly tail ripped through his clothing, and the howl melted into a strange squealing noise. There was laughter echoing in harmony as the other men pointed and chortled at their comrade, before the biggest one stopped and twisted with a grunt, grabbing a piece of pork and smacking the man sitting next to him with it. The victim screamed and thrashed, the deep brown-red food leaving a pink mark on his face, and the laughter roared louder as the second man jerked, his wordless protests becoming pained and then animalistic as Eurylochus blinked and then there were two swine where his fellow soldiers had been. 

His hands started to itch, and he rubbed at them as the largest man opened his mouth snout and stood up, his hooves clopping across the floor as he began to dance away, running off to open a cupboard that hadn’t been there before, and dozens of little gray, furry beasts scuttled out like spiders. They swarmed the fourth man, silently burying him in cuteness, and when they retreated his crewmate had been replaced with a large, round, pink creature.

Eurylochus looked around desperately, rubbing his hands harder as he realized that every man he’d come in here with was now a pig. Two squealing in distress, one wrestling with one of the furry beasts, screaming it’s treasure! in unison in funny, high-pitched voices. One had sat back down at the table like nothing was wrong, continuing to eat his slice of roasted pork. 

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Eurylochus jerked and tried to look at it, but his head wouldn’t move, body wouldn’t obey him, it wouldn’t-

His heart hammered, his lungs wouldn’t breathe- he was drowning-

The hand shifted on his shoulder, a cunning, fanged smile sliding into view. His eyes tracked the glinting teeth, glowing eyes in his peripheral vision that he couldn’t meet. 

“Come on, my dear. Give into it. How much longer til your luck runs out?” The pink woman’s hands dug into his shoulder, the smirk growing. 

He tried to reach for his sword, pull it from the sheath that his lovely wife had designed for him (what was her name again?) but it was no longer there, gone, and he opened his mouth to scream for his captain, scream for anyone as his body shrank, it was like that time he’d stepped into an ant’s nest when he was younger, following Odysseus around- but no sound that could be recognized as his own came out, no, it was so shrill and high-pitched that it hurt the ears on top of his head. The woman was getting taller, the world around him blurring and growing, as the pink ants consumed him, and when he looked down he was pink, and his hooves reached up to feel the ears sprouting from his hair, and he was still screaming-

-still squealing as the sharp, clawed hand on his shoulder grew softer, shorter, shaking him vigorously. 

“-rylochus. Eurylochus!”

He gasped, his straining voice cutting off as his eyes cracked open, a blur of dark brown and a strip of red in his vision. 

“There you are.” The hand squeezed his shoulder, and his vision focused to see Odysseus, frowning down at him. “You alright?” 

Eurylochus stared at him, shaking and sweating. “O-Ody?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’d advise not to sleep in the Underworld. Gives you strange dreams.” 

Eurylochus let out a shaky sigh, looking around at his cot in the crew’s quarters. “Yeah…yeah, okay…”

Odysseus sat back. “What were you even dreaming about? I’ve never seen you thrash and squeal like that.” 

The familiar shrill cries of laughter could be heard in The Cookie Kingdom, a group of teenagers playing a game of soccer. As Ash Spice Cookie watched from the sidelines, the teens parents cheering them on enthusiastically, as they exchanged goals with each other. After the game ended, one of the players walked up to Ash Spice Cookie, much to his confusion.

“Hey. You’re Ash Spice Cookie, right?”

It was a young boy, scrappy, with a few tiny scars and messy hair. But nothing that looked like it was too painful. The former destroyer chuckled, putting a hand on his hip.

“Yeah? Who’s askin’?”

He asked playfully. To which the boy responded:

“My name’s Raisin Dart Cookie! And I want you to play with us!”

He exclaimed, carrying a sense of authority in his tone. One that greatly amused Ash Spice Cookie. He crossed his arms, cocking an eyebrow as he looked at Raisin Dart Cookie with a smirk.

“Oh really? You want me, the former Beast of Destruction, and the kingdom’s best player in virtually every single sport, to play with you and a bunch of teenagers?”

“What? Don’t think we’d be entertaining enough for you?”

“Oh I’ll show you entertainment.”

Ash Spice Cookie grinned, marching over to the field. He took a ball, kicking it up and bouncing it on his knee.

“Hey Raisin Dart!”

He called out.

“Think fast!”

With a powerful roundhouse kick, Ash Spice Cookie sent the soccer ball flying towards the teenager. A wide playful grin on his face. As he expected the kid to dodge, or catch the ball and fall onto his back.

{TW: blood and gore!!}

Rand’s vision fades to black as he loses consciousness, sleep overtaking him quickly. 

He feels himself awaken rather quickly afterwards, though, and suddenly, he’s in the woods, hands shaking and flashlight shining straight ahead, into the scattered trees. He looks down to see he’s wearing a muddied pair of jeans and beat-up sneakers, and his dad’s leather jacket over a Guns n’ Roses tee. 

He remembers this exact moment all too well.

Rand doesn’t want to move forward; he actually tries to will himself against it, but he can’t help but step further into the darkened bayou, mud squelching beneath his feet. 

He needed to find Rachel.

As the boy continues into the swamp, wading through ankle-high water, he glances around frantically, as if something was out here with him. It was a school night, and he was already out way too late, so he didn’t want to be caught. He freezes as the beam catches a figure, but it’s… Rolan?

Oh. Right.

Rolan scrunches his face as the flashlight blinds him, and he puts his hands to his face, trying to shield his eyes.

“Dude!” he whisper-shouts, Rand taking it as a sign to lower his flashlight again.

“Sorry,” he replies, voice lighter than normal, “I, uh- just forgot. Got- startled.”

“How far are we going?” Rolan asks, probably choosing to not respond to Rand’s comments. He sounded tired. Rand feels a twisting in his chest.

“Um… I don’t- know. I was gonna go until I reached the edge, but, um…” he’s unsure of what he’s saying. He doesn’t feel like this is anything more than some weird scene his brain is imagining, but he knows it’s a memory. It feels too authentic to not be one.

“My mom’s gonna notice that I’m not home eventually, and I’m sure yours is too. It’s already, what, 10? 10:30? It’s getting late, Tim, we should-” Rand holds his hand up, and Rolan stops talking.

Click click click click click…

Rand’s eyes widen in horror as clicks erupt through the woods, and he goes to run, but he doesn’t seem to have any control over his body. He continues towards the sound, Rolan following close behind. Neither of them say anything as they approach the biggest tree in the middle of the woods; the one they used as a hangout spot frequently. Kian couldn’t sit still for the life of him, so he would always climb as they talked, and Rolan, for some reason, said he found some sort of comfort in the tree. 

Rand fumbles for his pocket, putting his thick-rimmed glasses on in order to see just what his light was illuminating that was on this tree.

It was his sister.

No, it wasn’t. It was a red, pulsing mass, made up of what looked to be the insides of a human body: blood, guts, viscera. In front of it was his sister. She was actually there.

He turns back to look at Rolan, but he’s gone. He frantically whips his flashlight around, trying his best to find the other, but he couldn’t. He thinks, in passing, this is what he always does. He wished he had stayed with him, for once.

Turning back around, Rand is face to face with Rachel, whose eyes are pure black and throat is a translucent, pulsing red. Something akin to a stinger emerges from her mouth, as her body contorts in order to contain the awful, bug-like features. 

She tilts her head back, and begins to click.

Rand’s lip is trembling, and he grabs onto her arms, interrupting the inhuman sounds erupting from her.

“Rachel- we gotta go, Mama’s been so worried about you,” he tries to reason, his drawl becoming thicker in his panic, “come on- please, we gotta get home, it’s really late.” Rachel stares at him, mouth still hanging agape, almost unhinged.

Rand goes to say more, but Rachel blinks, and her eyes shift back to brown, white scleras reappearing. It looks as if she shrinks in on herself, before she collapses, face-first into the mud. He gasps and drops to his knees immediately, flashlight falling next to them.

“Rachel, come on- I-I know you’re tired, sissy, but I can’t carry you. We gotta- we gotta go.” His voice is almost hysterical, shaking Rachel harshly and trying to pull her upwards. She barely budges.

His hands shake as he gently presses two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. He can’t feel anything anywhere, no matter where he checks, or how long he holds for. He can feel his own body now; he hears everything so clearly, his vision is blurring with tears, and he feels a scream tear from his throat. 

---

Rand jolts upright, not realizing he was screaming until he hears rustling on the other side of him. He takes a minute to breathe, hands gripping his hair to try and ground himself, and for some reason, that works. His tears slow as his breathing steadies. He knows it isn’t real, and he knows that didn’t happen to her, and everything is fine…

These nightmares were a constant part of their life, ever since they could remember. A deep, ingrained part of Aeon's life that no one knew about.

Well, no, that wasn't true. Aeon had let someone else in once. Miss Holloway had been permitted entry years ago, sure she could help Aeon. She had been wrong, and she had never quite looked at him the same since.

Now, Aeon wandered through the dark Witchwood. Overhead, shapes darted through the branches, and Aeon hoped they were only nighthawks. From between the trees they heard the sound of whispers. The words were almost entirely inaudible, but the voices were familiar. It brought to mind years of listening through the bedroom door to hushed adult voices. Only a few words making it through.

"Seeing things..."

"Almost ready..."

"The starry eyed oracle..."

The whispers were louder now, hissing through the trees like an icy wind. Aeon was running now, trying not to hear the voices. He didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to remember. He'd left for a reason. He'd changed for a reason. He-

His face slammed into something solid. Something wrapped in denim. They looked up to find themself staring into a pair of unnaturally green eyes. They had run right into the chest of Wilbur Cross.

"Well good evening Mister Bones. Did you get my little gift?"

Aeon tried to back away, but Cross held him tight in a vice like grip. The whispering was getting even louder, and louder, almost deafening, but Cross' voice seemed to cut through it somehow.

"Oh come on, you can't go running off yet. We're just going to have a little chat." He wrapped an arm around Aeon's shoulders and began to lead them deeper into the woods. "You see, you have a very special gift at your disposal, and I have some friends that would be very interested in it. If you would just lend them your talents, I can promise you anything your hollow little heart desires."

They were standing at the edge of a dark pond now, the water swirling with specks of light like stars.

"You see, my dearest Mister Bones, your gift is very special indeed. You see a lot more with those cards of yours than you want people to know. You can't just see one future, you see all of them." Cross smiled widely, eyes shining with malice. "That's enough to drive a person mad, wouldn't you say? Is that why you avoid asking your cards about the future? Is that why you only ask about the present? Because everytime you ask about the future, the answer is always the same?"

He held something up, and in the dim light, Aeon recognized a tarot card, The Tower. Disaster.

"All roads in Hatchetfield lead the same place, you just don't want to admit it." He tossed the card into the dark pond before them. "But where does your road lead?"

Cross was holding Aeon's full deck now, holding the cards out to them in a gesture Aeon had performed many times for customers. Aeon knew what came next, and couldn't seem to stop himself as he reached for the cards. He pulled two, turning them over slowly.

The Hanged Man. Martyrdom and sacrifice.

The Four of Cups. Apathy.

Cross smirked at the results. "The current path you're on, there is no good ending for you. You'll end up like everyone else in this town, dead, or broken, and waiting for the end." He stepped closer to Aeon, until there was no space between their chests. "Or, you could choose another path."

He pressed something into Aeon's hand, then he roughly grabbed Aeon's chin in one hand and forced them to look him in the eyes once more. He leaned his face forward, his lips just barely brushing against Aeon's ear.

"It's up to you of course. But I don't think you'll like what happens if you ignore us." He pulled back with a cocky smile. "I'll see you in some other dream. Think about what I said."

And then he pushed Aeon backwards into the dark pond, and he was drowning.

Aeon wakes up with a start back in his bed. It's morning. Everything is fine. As fine as it can be. They sit up slowly, only to realize something is gripped in their hand. They look down and see two tarot cards. Neither part of a normal deck.

The first was one that was quickly becoming familiar to Aeon. The Warlock. Wilbur Cross' illustrated face staring up at him with a condescending smirk.

The second was new. It depicted a monster that Aeon had only seen in the shadowy visions that often plagued him. Something with too many eyes that seemed to constantly follow him. The card held the title of The Watcher With a Thousand Eyes.

Aeon stared at the cards curiously, trying to decipher what the meaning could be. What path was Cross implying Aeon could take?

Oh.