Chapter Text
You were promised a body, once.
A voice calling to you, barely audible in the endless, endless dark. The abyss, the void, the darker and still yet darker. Whatever it was called, it was cruel, formless, and all you were was a shaking, red soul. Who were you? How had you gotten there? How long had you been there?
Meaningless questions with no answers.
Your "vessel". You'd built it with love, because you wanted it so desperately. With compassion. With anguish, and horror, and resentment. With everything you possibly could.
You'd rejoiced, feeling your essence move for the first time in unknowable time. Slowly, but surely, your soul was being moved towards your body.
And then—
You're still not quite sure what happened.
A voice, far louder, right in your non-existent ears, announcing that your vessel was discarded.
And then a pull so hard you no longer existed.
You meet Kris.
Although, you find that's not quite right. Can you meet someone you are?
You experience Kris, though you don't know at the start. Very quickly, everything begins to separate into things you do and don't know.
You're not really sure how you know the language, or the manners, or how to count. You can pick out parts of your body. You can read and write, and you know flowers bloom in the spring, but you definitely don't know where you are. You don't know why you are here.
You do know that something's wrong, immediately. Your name is not Kris. You are not your vessel. Your body doesn't move the way you instinctively know it should. Your vastris lateralis and vestus medialis resist your movement, making you fight every step. Your tongue is uncooperative and your lips don't shape words properly. But you get out of bed, marvel at the light spilling from the window onto the carpet, and go to school.
The woman, a goat-like monster with violet-wide eyes — she speaks, but you can't hear, and makes something inside you ache (your upper lungs, maybe your sternum?), but your eyes move away from her of their own accord. They move away from everything of their own accord aside from your own two feet, still walking the school halls like quicksand. You don't know why.
The list of things you understand is much shorter than the list of things you know.
Surrounded by people you ought to know but don't, you start to think that maybe the reason you don't recognise anything is because this is not where you are supposed to be.
And that thought — it carves its claws into you, sinks its teeth in like a basset hound and a fat steak.
Who is Kris?
Who are you?
You're ran out into the hallway again, watching through irises you don't own as a purple monster eats chalk, something you understand to be ridiculous, but you don't understand what you're supposed to do about it. The teacher gestures frantically at you as you look back through the styled glass, before facing the class.
Danger.
A voice, around the shell of your ear. You think you might shout, but your mouth doesn't open.
Before you can think of it any further, the monster - Susie - picks up your body and slams it into the locker behind you. You feel bad, because it isn't yours. She bares her teeth, rows of sharp canines inches from your face.
Something is happening to your body, this body — the amygdala alerts the hypothalamus which alerts the sympathetic nervous system which tells cortisol and adrenaline to release from the adrenal glands just above the kidneys.
Your hands shake.
But she drops you, and you slump. She doesn't want your mother to bury her child.
She asks your opinion on something, and your mouth finally, finally opens, but she spits that your choices don't matter before you can say anything. You want to laugh, wondering if they ever have. It's clear, from your position slumped on the linoleum flooring, that all of your hopes and dreams for some kind of new life have disappeared into a haze.
She marches off in the direction of what you assume to be the closet full of chalk.
You don't understand. You don't move.
Susie looks over her shoulder. "Hurry up."
Your — the body obeys your request to follow.
Who is Kris?
Who are you?
No answers present themselves, and you honestly can't say if a Dark World is a normal occurrence. Susie seems shocked and afraid, but you find yourself unsurprised, both that there is a world at the bottom of a hole and that a hole exists in the first place.
"You're blue!" Susie blurts, and you check your hands but they're gauntleted in shining silver - your arms, at least, are a fluorescent blue, almost robin's egg, up to the pauldrons covering your upper arms. The sneakers you'd become intimately familiar with over the last few hours have transformed into metal boots. It's a bit—
"The fuck," says Susie, pulling at her new vest. Succinct, you think.
After a few more minutes understanding the magnitude of shoulder pads, Susie takes off ahead. You try to appreciate her enthusiasm as you stumble after her.
And then you meet Ralsei.
The prince. Your eyes don't let you comb over him as much as you'd like to, and you forget about it in favour of listening to the Prophecy.
There's something familiar in his tone, in the lilts of his story, in the hollowness of the streets leading to an empty castle. It stirs something in your chest, but it's shoved away before you can try to identify it properly.
And the Prophecy of course; a human, a monster, and a prince of the Dark.
Kris, Susie, and Prince Ralsei.
No space for you. For whoever you are. For whatever you're supposed to be.
Susie brushes it off easily, making the prince's cloaked silhouette deflate. She turns to leave, and as much as you pity his empty home, the Prophecy leaves a bad taste in the back of your mouth.
Before you can try to force your legs into action, though, a small, round, something slams through the castle wall on a motorbike.
No, sorry — a bike that's on fire.
It crashes into Ralsei, who tumbles back with a shriek.
"And who are YOU supposed to be?" Susie snarls.
Your — the body tenses, your right hand reflexively reaching for your waist. There, your thumb, index finger and middle finger curl around cool metal.
"I'm..." He honks his horn, then points directly at Susie. "... The bad guy!"
Her expression flattens as he monologues. All things considered, you think he's pretty cute. He has a big smile and lolls his wide blue tongue every other word. He barely comes up to the tip of your ischium, and this body isn't particularly tall.
"And then, you LOSE!" He gives a big, wide, utterly unthreatening grin.
Susie's flat expression doesn't change as she reaches into her pocket. "Great plan."
He pauses, looking at her, and your other hand moves to your waist, clenching the metal there tightly. "... You think so?"
Her face grows vicious, teeth bared in a fearsome smirk. "Mind if we use it on you instead?"
The air crackles.
And then—
Susie hauls a massive axe out of her pocket at the same time your hands pull the metal at your hip to brandish a bright pink sword.
You take a moment to marvel at it; it's remarkably light, and staring at it closer, you can see it flickering in places — it seems it's actually made of wood, not metal.
Focus.
Susie gnashes her teeth. Lancer revs his bike, but all it does is change gears. You blink, and it comes flooding back.
Strike up a friendly conversation. We do not want to hurt anyone, do we?
Quickly, you try to think of something to say.
...
Mercifully, your mouth opens. You succeed in forcing air through your vocal chords, and up through your windpipe. "I like your clothes. Um... body. I mean... head?"
Something inside you cringes horribly, but Lancer smiles at you, and you know you did the right thing.
And then Susie swings her axe, and only his spin saves him from being cleaved in half. He's slashed in the chest instead and he recoils, smile sliding away.
Horror rises in you, a tsunami wave, watching him clutch at his front, visually looking no different, but they never do, they never do—
Horror in your throat, under your eyelids, crawling on your back and it stings like betrayal and it tastes like dust—
Whatever has been fighting you cannot stop the scream that chokes itself past your larynx, through your vocal cords and up out of your mouth, a high, bloodcurdling wail that causes the other two to stop and stare at you.
You stare at Lancer, whose brows are pinched with concern. You stare at Susie, who looks beyond confused and maybe a little afraid. "Kris...?"
You drop your sword and stumble back, despite the body's best efforts to keep you still. Spots dance in front of your eyes, and your chest feels like it might collapse in on itself.
You are not Kris. You are not Kris. You are not Kris. You are not Kris. You are not Kris. You are not Kris You are not Kris You are not Kris You are not KrisYouarenotKris Youarenot—
Something violently crashes into your mind, doing the mental equivalent of shoving a hand into your mouth, or perhaps locking you in a birdcage and dumping a blanket over it.
You force your eyes shut, and feel something else open them. Someone else.
"I'm fine," comes a short voice. You can't remember who it belongs to. Your — the body walks easily back to the sword, picks it up, and levels it at Lancer, intent to continue clear.
But your vision is all blurry, or maybe flat - the colours smudge together oddly. You try to rub your eyes. Nothing happens. You try to blink. Nothing happens.
You try to open your mouth. Nothing happens. You try to turn your head. Nothing happens. You try to inhale, or exhale, or scream. Nothing happens.
Lancer's hood darts between you and Susie, face pulled down in a frown. It's unsettling, though you hardly register it through your muddied eyesight.
The body lowers the sword as Lancer says something, flipping it back into a pencil and shoving it in their pocket. The body looks at Susie, still eyeing you strangely, and their expression is flat as a board, flatter than you could ever hope to imitate.
The round boy points again, drawing the body's attention, and seemingly comes to a conclusion. "My bike is almost out of fuel! But next time... YOU will be the losers!"
He laughs, a high, happy sound you would never associate with a "bad guy", then flings himself back through the hole in the castle wall. You can hear the tooting of a horn in the distance.
The prince returns, looking no worse for wear, though you can't see much underneath his giant cloak. Susie says as much, and he pulls it away to reveal—
Something inside you clenches, tight as a vice, as the body inhales minutely in shock. A fluffy shadow smiles back at you. "Um... My name is Ralsei. It's nice to meet you two!"
The body immediately darts its eyes away, and you feel its shock be pushed down, down, until it's gone.
“I'm sure the three of us will become great friends, and—”
“Quickest way to leave is East, right?” Susie interrupts, her voice flat.
You can hear the beam in the prince's voice. “Yes! That's where—”
“Got it.” She pivots on her heel, before pausing. “See you in school, Kris.”
With that, she takes off, leaving Ralsei stammering.
“Well… Um… I guess it's just us two.” He fidgets, drawing the body's gaze again. He reminds you so distinctly of someone you can't put your finger on and are in no state to remember, being the mental equivalent of tied up.
Ralsei smiles again, clearly trying to cheer himself up after Susie left without much of a word. “Um… Kris… I'm a prince, but I don't have any subjects.”
The body tilts its head, and he continues, “I've been waiting… my whole life for you two to arrive.”
His whole life? His whole life?
You think of the dark. You think of having a choice. You think that Ralsei is much different than you for choosing it.
“I'm really happy to meet you, Kris. I hope we can be really good friends.”
You want to smile and say yes, but nothing happens. The prince smiles at you again. “Let's go southeast, to find Susie.”
The body nods, and when it marches out of the castle with an even pace, Ralsei follows along behind.
It pauses outside of the gates, holding a hand up at something you can't see. And in an instant, air is filtered into your lungs and back out again, and you open your eyes and blink.
That voice again, flat, unemotional, in the shell of your ear. You would jump if the body let you.
Calmed down?
And then, very suddenly, you know another thing: the original owner of this body is still with you.