Episode 2, Act 1 - Wrong Questions

=- February 12th, 2012 -=

Grimy fingers twisted the doorknob as I opened the door and wandered through, leaving marks. my sneakers made imprints on the ground as I walked into the kitchen, tracking mud. The toaster was nowhere to be seen, but I didn't need to see her to know that everything that happened to that point was real. I could just look down at my small hands, covered in blood, or the satchel of sand on my belt.

The soles of my sneakers squelched, and I tightly clutched to the satchel. Maybe it would protect me if he... I can't think like that. I couldn't use this sand on my parents, awful as they were, or any civilian. If I did that, I'd be in the wrong, wouldn't I? I stopped by the living room, hand touching the door frame as I leaned against it. My father, draped in a blanket, was watching news broadcasts. My fingers tightened, nails gouged into the wood, and my eyes drifted towards the screen. My pupils narrow when I see a picture that was... no, undoubtedly, it was me. I was drenched in black blood, standing off against the Bronx Beater. I closed my eyes and my perspective faltered, before I saw through the eyes of the camera.

=-📰-=

"It's Hour Five of the Blood Bowl! Americans are on pins and needles! For those just in to see our nation's latest tragedy, the Super Bowl turned into a massacre today! For more information, we turn to our sports correspondent, John Buck!" Part those pearly whites for the camera! Can't stop smiling, even if your cheeks are stuffed with botox and people are dying.

"Thank you, Carla. So, as you all know by now, the Bronx Beaters were locked in a brutal grip with the Sunhawk Smashers for today's Super Bowl. Both teams had a lot to bring to the table; the Sunhawk Smashers made some excellent draft picks last season. Seasoned players like Wayne Thompson, rest his soul, turned a previously unknown team into a powerhouse. Meanwhile, the Bronx Beaters had a solid team; Jeff Rogers, Tony Brightwood and Ray Masterson were the cornerstone of the strong defense that the Beaters were known for." A withering husk ghoulishly delivers the news, maintaining his trademark smile.

"Things were looking shaky for the Bronx Beaters today, with both Jeff Rogers and Tony Brightwood benched after taking some serious injuries on the field. Without their star defense and offense, Ray Masterson was forced to field the team all on his own, the pressure building. The game came to a boil when Ray Masterson transformed into an unstoppable monster! Now, I warn you, the clip we're about to play is absolutely brutal, but you need to see for yourself this turn-around!" The husk laughed in his smile. Deep within him was the heart of a Bronx Beater fan, and he's delighted to see the carnage. As long as his team wins, he doesn't care what happens. Who has to die.

He's not human.

The tape rolled on, focused intently on Ray Matherson as his body bulged out, his primal roar; technology had advanced such that you could see every bead of sweat rolling down his skin as it coated his body in a black, grimy substance. Tempering. Ray Matherson wasn't just Malice; his body went through a Tempering as well.

=-📰-=

I 'woke up', so to speak, when I felt my nails digging into my flesh, pulling back from the damaged woodwork, I walked up the stairs, headed for my room to grab some clothes. I was tired, but I hadn't forgotten my body was coated in filth. I pick out a large tee and a pair of pajama bottoms, and stop when I see a toaster sitting on my bed.

"You did great your first day out in the field, kid!" Malty cheered. "I think we need to celebrate. Go take a shower and grab some cash, we're going for pizza!" I kept my glare on her, nice and steady. I opened my lips, white smoke escaping with every breath. Thank every god out there my father was too cheap to fix the fire alarm.

"Ray Matherson went through a Tempering." I was distressed about the implications. We had the same grimy skin as each other, maybe the same powers? No wish was involved. Malty doesn't grant wishes, even if other mascots do. She looks at what your heart desires and directly pulls that magic forwards. Well, I probably don't need to tell you. You know that part, Olivia.

"He did, did he? I wonder why, then." Malty tried to play coy, but again, I've seen this show countless times over. Mascot screws over her magical girls? She wasn't about to fuck with me. I grasped her cord, my white smoke-filled demands clear.

"Tell me why he went through a Tempering. Now." It's important, in any relationship, to establish who the dominant partner is, my dear student. For mascots like Malty, you need to show them very quickly that you are in charge, or they will chew you up and spit you out like bubblegum.

"Heh. Or what, pipsqueak? You're a fresh new magical gal. I'm an experienced magical-- WAH WAH WAH WAH!" I started to swing the toaster like a flail. Centripetal force, you know? Because the slime is always moving inside, not outside, it can't escape if you swing its toaster fast enough.

"OKAY! Okay, I'll tell you," The toaster blurted out, and I stopped flailing her around. She swung from side to side, a green and queasy pendulum. "It's probably the Council of Knots? Maybe."

"Maybe?" Another puff of smoke escaped my lips as I lifted her up and looked her in the eyes. "Who is this Council of Knots?" I seized onto this information, clenching her cord tightly.

"Well, they're an organization of Witches, like us-- the bad kind, I mean! Don't give me that look!" Malty makes it hard not to give her that look. She's a what? "We've been around for centuries. Witches are, well, we're not BAD people. But they are! They want to give dark, magical powers to everyone."

"As opposed to you, who just wants to give dark, magical powers to me." I gave her a look, and she paled right quick, flushing blue.

"N-no! We're different, good Witches! Haven't you watched the Wizard of Oz? We're Glinda! The nice witch, helping out poor Dorothy! They're Elphaba, the nasty, evil witches who want to corrupt the world. The Council of Knots wants to drown Dorothy in flying monkeys and silver slippers." Malty tried desperately to use outdated movie references and Broadway musicals to distract me from the fact she didn't answer my question.

It worked.

"What are you talking about? The Wizard of Oz?" I stared at the toaster, incredulous. "What does that have to do with this? Us?"

"It has to do everything with us! Okay, change of tactics, how about Aladdin? You've heard of Aladdin, right? Beggar rubs a little oil lamp, gets a smart-talking genie?" Malty continued to steer the conversation in another direction.

"No. I haven't." I gave her a glare. "Where is this leading, what does this have to do with the Council of Knots?" She was starting to strain my patience.

"It has everything to do with them! How about Cinderella? Surely you've heard of Cinderella. Chick gets her shoe stolen after wish goes awry? Sister goes nuts and makes a foot sandwich with her heel?" The look I gave her told her everything she needed to know. "There has to be something about wishes you've seen, Madeline! You called out for me!"

That made me tense up. I did no such thing.

"You wanted so badly to be safe, you conjured up memories of something. Right? Something in your head told you that, well. You needed me. To live. Right?" Malty's words made me shudder. I-- no. She was wrong, of course. She was wrong.

Wait. Why was she wrong? I don't remember.

Why don't I remember?

Olivia, why don't I remember?

When did I ask for you, Malty?

=-⌛-=

Huh? There I was, shivering on the rooftop. I was holding my elbows and knees. Crying. No. Crying isn't-- crying isn't going to solve anything, don't you know? Where's your sense of survival? Madeline, get up! Get up...

The ladder had fallen to the ground. If I had the strength, it would have been raised onto the rooftop with me. I was sobbing. I cried out for help. I cried out because the monsters were real, but no hero was coming to save me. 

The gravel of the rooftop dug into my palms as I cried. I hiccuped and bawled my face out. No, that's wrong, that's not how it went. What's happening? That's not how I told the story, that's not how things just went... I heard the sound of the ladder clicking back into place. The ringing of metal against ladder rungs. A pink ooze crawled onto the roof with me, scraping with metal claws and teeth of bone.

I screamed. It was a horrid creature, with a beating heart and seven eyes. The ooze seemed like it crawled right out of a television screen, the way it seemed to be two dimensional in some places and not in others. Flat eyes stared at me as it shifted and squirmed into a human-adjacent shape. 

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND, KID! DIDN'T YOU CALL FOR ME?"

I coughed. I sobbed. "Blease don't hurt me..." I tried to back up, stumbling over rocks and backing up. I think I pissed myself. Fuck. I definitely pissed myself.

"HURT YOU? WHY WOULD I DO THAT, KID?" The amorphous blob, shifted, a maw on her left laughing while eyes opened and closed. "YOU'RE MY TICKET TO PARADISE."

I tried to back up, tried to run right off that gravel rooftop. She merely grasped my shoulder in response. Her arm extended a disgusting distance, and she pulled the ladder up with a free tentacle of slime.

"KID, DON'T RUN, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU. I'M HERE TO MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE, KID! DON'T YOU NEED A HERO?" Malty pulled me from the edge of the roof, saving my life.

No. No. God. Christ. I don't need another monster to help me, I need a weapon. A soldier. Anything that can kill that monster!

"JUST THINK OF ME AS YOUR KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR, THEN," Malty cackled. "WHAT'S WRONG? STILL SCARED? THAT'S NO GOOD, KID."

I was terrified. I needed to think of something soft and cuddly. A doll, maybe... anime in the bedroom, sitting with my sis... breakfast with mom... toast. Crunchy, crunchy toast. Toast. Knight. Toast. Night. Night, night toast, crunch...

"Are... you a toaster?" The words escaped my lips, my mind trembling, craving the assurance that only Malty could provide.

"WHO YOU CALLIN' A TOASTER? AH, FORGET ABOUT IT." The toaster spoke to me. She was strange. But somehow... calming. Yes. Calm. No need to panic, you're just talking to a toaster... you're only insane, the world hasn't gone crazy.

"I'M A TOASTER, SURE... YOU CALMING DOWN, KID?" The toast popped out of its metal shell, slathered in jam. "GOOD. CAUSE I'M HERE TO SAVE YOUR SORRY KEISTER."

=-⌛➡️⏱️-=

"Finally, she recounts it correctly," Malty huffs from inside her jar. "That's how I remember things going down. Can you believe this girl? A whole freaking decade and she forgets all about my majestic shape. None of that eloquent bullshit, either, she spoke like a real ass twelve-year-old back then."

No... no, you shut up! You freak! You foul creature! You... you messed with my memories! You stay back! You stay the hell back! "I didn't mess with your memories, kid, you did that yourself," Malty sighed. "When will you get it through your head? Whatever, we can have this conversation later."

Olivia looked somewhat torn. Her hands were on me, trying to calm me down. "It's okay Madeline, you need to cry. I understand. It was a scary situation, you saw something you wished you hadn't..." No... no, you don't understand, Olivia! If this is wrong, what else is? My memory isn't faulty, it isn't, it can't be all messed up. I can't be messed up, I...

"No, shshsh. It's fine, Madeline. I read about this in the works of Seigmund Fraud. This is called a repressed memory. Sometimes, something traumatic occurs and we just try to forget all about it. Or we remember it differently. Maybe just... whatever this was, it damaged your ego too much? Or was it the superego?" Olivia held me, making little circles on my back as I hiccuped and sobbed. It helped.

"You made her look like a toaster because, in your mind, that's um. A lot easier to grasp." Olivia gave our collective hallucination a concerned look. I didn't need to see from her perspective. She was probably thinking the same thing as me; wondering if her memories were different too. If she remembered what she looked like. It's too scary.

I couldn't show this face to my student, to Olivia. I needed to get things together, needed to compose myself again. I have to be strong... she expects me to be strong, she expects me to-- She's hugging me. My face turns red in the tears, the panic. Why is this happening now? I can't handle this. I can't. I close my eyes and just let my body shut down.

FernGilly

4/2 chapters this week! Extra yuri mode, go! It's time to spend a little bit of down time-- this next episode won't have any real action in it, just a little mutilation and self discovery. The next monster of the week is in Episode 3. Unless you count Malty as a monster of the week? Maybe you should.

(art by MiruuArt)

Update: Fixed some grammar; accidentally called Council of Knots the Council of Thorns. I want to slap my head, I did this six times.

REAL TALK! I convinced one of my proofreaders, Orlon, to join Scribblehub! They're an amazing writer, and they're a big part of why this story flows as well as it does. Definitely pile into their stories-- a lot of my writing habits were picked up playing with them!

Ode to Fallen Angels is great; there's queer themes, religion, characters struggling with gender identity and DEMIHUMANS! They dropped a whole boatload of chapters to bring their work up to speed with their other mirrors, so you should read up and see where this story is headed.

If you like my work, check me out on Twitter! I'm only marginally more wild than the things I write! Interested in learning more about the Neverlands? You can visit me and ask all the questions you like at my Discord! You can also catch me on Twitch and Youtube. I'm not streaming at the moment, because I've been writing like crazy. It would make my day if you could follow me on Youtube, though! ;w; I'm still not at that fabled 100 subscriber mark... that's when I get my own channel link.