(Give me your heart, son.)
He was sinking. His body was numb and his chest was empty. Every thought was slow and weak, like his mind was working through a fog.
(And I'll make you into a real boy again.)
Father said that it wouldn't hurt. That he'd be better. They'd be a real
The boy(p̢͇̻͙̰̥̀̇̐͛́u̷̯̹̟͈͈̥̻͎̔̿̍͆̈́̆̋͟p͇̟̲͎̯̺͕̬̗̉̎̊̃̉̋̒͜p̴̨̠̲͇̈́̓̊̌̀͂͛̊͜͝e̛̜̳̳͔̝̬̽́̊̚͡ţ̧̧̱̙̜̝͚͓̍̆̀̕͟͠,̨͇̼̯̟̟̱̙̜̑̃̈̒̾͂͠ṫ̵̻͉̹̰͈̭̖̈́̾͑̓̉̀͗̚͟͞h̢̬͙͙̻̞̭̜̓̐̋͂̀i̴̧̝̼̳̱̙̾̓̄͊̈́͟n̨̛̳͎̫̰͍̐̂̀͋̊̈͜g͔̰̠͉̠̑̀͐̍̓̅ͅ,̡͓̯̜͇̮̳͙͂̐͑̄́͜͝ḑ̶̧̘̗͙̘̦̀͐̓́͂͟ͅề͔̼͔͍̼̝̣̬̲̽̊́͗͞a̡̝̘̳̺̫͎̞͆͆̒͆́̐d̷̡̨̧̡͈̘̯̪̒̽͝͞͠͡) wasn't the only one capable of lying, it seemed.
(Finally… my son.)
It was cold.
…
…
…
T̫͓͆̀͒̄̀͆̋̉̚͜͢ͅh̴͉̣̲͋̇̐̾̓͊̂̚͢͢͞͠a̷̢̨̭̳̱̱̳͇̥̱̾̋̓̾͋̒͡͝͠t̷͓̺͔̒̓̓̏̏̄̈́̀̕͜͢ a̴̼̖̩̥̱̤̎͑͆͗͘r̸̡͕̗̱̥̳̫̜͐́̑̈̅͋͊̕͜͡m̴̛̻̤̹̻̳̤̮̂̓̒̓̍̇̍̅́͜ d̨̡̟͕̠̫̝͇̪̺́͂̅̏́̌̆͠ő̝̱̥̤̹͙̏͆̅͛̕͞ͅe̺̼̩̦͕̤̰͉̒͆́́̍̆͆̈́͗ͅṡ̨̠͚̙̟͈̬͂̈́̔̒̚ṋ̤͇͕͇̫̣̯̱̙̀̀̈́̿͂̋͂̈́̚̚'͈̤̼̙̮̥̮̺̈́̒̾͆͊̆̃t̥͙̝̝̪̜̺̓̋̐̇̔̂̑̚͠ b̸̜̯͔̺̪̮̘̐͐̆̌̋̍͋͋̕͘͟è̷̢̙͈̺̳̲̩̹̤́̊̒̚l̴̛͉̖͉̬̹̯̙̭̎̊̓͞͠ȯ̶̝̝͉̯͑̈̈́̂͂͜n̢͖͓̱̜̖̗͑͌́̃̚g̴̞̘̯͈̟̤̥̦̽̆̒͌͐́̈̀͂͊ ţ̷̭̝̜͇͍̮͇͊͋͊̊̾̋́̕͠o̯̹̫̳̤̱͌̊͆̂̓͆̈͒̕ ý̵̛̘̪͉͎͍̬̊̃̒̚͘ớ̢̤̭͙͚̘̎̃̀̒̌͆u̢̩̻̤̻͙̩͎̿̈́͆̾͝.̨̩̞͙͉͕̜̦͔̥͋̿̌̋̓͒̃͝ Ȁ̭͈͉͙̦̱̙̆̔͗̕͜͟n̶̢̯̮̟͚̱͍͔̰̆̀̾̑̈͂̆̐̚ḑ̘̪̠̦̄̾͊̑̉̈́ n̶̢̙̟͚͉̲̆͂̍̌̂͑̇͊͟ȅ͔̟͙͙̠͈̄̂́̔̃ͅĭ̵̲̞͖͉̦̠͚̋̀̈́̀̈́͊̒͟͟͜t̵̨̟̪̮̜͖̒͗̍͛̚͢͡ͅͅḩ̶̧̛̛̛̰̳̗̳̹̖̜̓̊̏̂̾͐͜͞ë̱͍͕̗̺́͌̅̈́̚r̸͇͓͓̗̯̩̻͑̈͂̎̿̚͝ d̶͍͖̭̻̫͔͈̖̂̉̀̇̆͒̿͑͞͝ö̵̡̤͖̝̥̤͓̽̃̌̎̓̊̉̔͢͡ę̡͉̖͖̙̝͚͈͐͒͛͆̓͞s̪̖͍̪̠͔̣͌̊̍̌̏̈͘͝ ṱ̶̮̰̟͆̏̓͛̉̓̾̌͟h̘̤͔͕̦̻̠̮̀̂̈́́͑́̌̉͠ͅå̱̟͙̱̤͌̐͗̐́̃̑̕̕͢t̸̨̯̞̞̬̹̗̗̐̅͑̋́͑̀͞͞ ŝ̶̥̞̞̯̜̳̈́̅͒͠w̘̗͇͕̥̹͕̥̤͛̃͐̊͊͂̆͛͝͝ò̸̮̪͍̼̺̠̫́̑͌̎̈́͆͛r̡͉͇̘̗̟̫̯̮̿̍͋͂̏̈͡͞ḓ̰̺̀̿̔́͗͟ͅ, I̵̫̤̙̥̲͍̦̒͂̋̅̍͢ͅ m̸̡̧̘̞̞͇͕̊͆̊́͆͛͘å̡̭̩̦͍͎̥͊͗͂̅d̛̪̱̖̹͓́̅̽̓͒̕ḛ̛̼͕͓̻͈̙̅͊̐͒̎͟͢ͅ that f̡̟̪̯͔̥̼̈́͊̏̏̑͡o̸̳͓͕͙̙̲̲͗̓̒͐̆̆̋͊̚̕r̢̹͚͔̰̔̀̉́͞͡͝ h̵̛̠̝̘̱̅̀̏̃͊́̀̍͜i̧̨̤̗̹̘͊̄̌͗͗m̵̡̠͙̣̉͆̇̍̑̌̉ͅ!̷̧̡̪̖̻͍͎͖̻̑̄͛̈́̓̆͛̏͝ͅ
Voices. Noises. Things he couldn't understand anymore. Why would a puppet need to know anything?
Ì̷̢̢̡̺̝͎̞͔̄̈̉́̕͡͠ k̭̖̯͔͔̺̣̺̗̀͌́͛͒ͅn̴͚̹̬̪̤͎̓́̈̐̅o̸̧̠͙͉̜̙͖̗͖͙̎̈̔͋͠w̵̼͕̜̳̍̌̿̍͟͝ͅ ï̸̼̮̼̬̱̲̿͌̌́̚͝ͅt̵̨̡̛̫̗̘͔͉̉̄̕̚ͅ'̛̼̝͓͚̟̆͂̀͘͟͞͠s̨̘̪͕͉͓̅̽͊͐̍̇͝ n̸̛͈͎̭̟͎̉̃̑͌͐͞ó̧̨͚̟̄̐̏̓̍̐͢͠t̠̜̲͖̖̬̰͓̦̓̐͋̉͊̉̃̚ m̡͈̘̖̹̉̌̎̽̒̑͌̎į̵̛̝̣͖̝̼͌͛͋͠ṇ͓̗̼͎̫̫̺̝͑͒̔̉̎͋̐̾͒͊͢ȩ̵̰̮̰̻͚̈̏̈̓̆͜!̧͇̪̘̼͈͓̓́̉͑̈̂̕͘̚ͅ Ị͉̘͇̆͗̓͒̚̚͢ w̴̟͇̠̱̙̞͙̽̐̑͛̓a̟̹̺̭͍̼̗̩͒̅͆̇̌͐͑̕͞͠ͅs̵̹̩̼̙̮̘͍̥̬̐́̽̓̿̍͛̇̎͝ͅ ț͙̻͔͔̬̝̞̮͒̆̀̏͒̋͟ḩ̵̯̜͚̖̱͋̑̐̑͂͂̈́͡͡͝ê̷͎̤͇̮̮͈͍͚͒̂̊̿͜͢͝r̷̨̪̱̣̜̙̔̃̀̊̃̉̇̓̚ę̖̱̜̬͂̈́̃̓̈́͞ w̡͙̙͉͓̱̹̒̅̑̕͜͝i̥̼̮͚̘͍͊͂́̽̇̾t̩͉͉͙̥̻̤̻͋̂̇͆͗̋́̀̆̆͢h̦͔̜͍̬͈̼̥͂̋͌̓̚͜ h̢̧̨̼̹̲̦͗̅͆͆̓̀̔̕͟į̶̢̹͍͈̗̠̹͕͌͒͋̃͝ṃ̷̧̝̞̻̝͂̊̊͗́̈̚ f̡̟̟̘̜͕̮̳͈̠̌̇̅͛̆̄̑̓o̴͔̘̝̗̰̊͋͗̑̀͌̽͡r̛͔̖̜̖̩̪͚͐̈̎́ e̡̧̬͔̣͓͑̔̃̉̂̀̑͟v̴͈̳̬̺͍̣̦̻͊͒̔̆̕͠ẹ̗͈͖̹̣̜̈́͑̂̇́̈͆̄̕ȑ̷̡̺̭͕͖̈́́̕͘y̸̛̪͖͖̲̘̳̝̺͑̀͆͂̀̚ f̘̘̣̘͎͛́̾͑̿̍́͒i̶̭̻͕̩̣͔̮͖̳͌̀̾̒̌̕͢͡͠g̸̡̳̦̦̺̳̩̲̼͂͊͛̓́̚͟h̜̞̰̟̘̦̰͔̺̦͗̑͆̔̀̎̕̕͠t̴̨̘͓͓͚̩͈̩̥̑̆̽̒͆̈́̿͢,̡̲̦̘̦̯͍̦̺̿̽̐́͋͋̑̈͊͞ f̹͔̹̯̣͗̈͒̌͗ơ̛͈͔̯̖̺̊̀̂̿̅̎͞r̴̭͙̘͇̠͎͛͐̇̾̓̌͑͜ è̴̤̤̤̳̦̉̄̑̍̄̒̕v͔̘̣̝̠͈͚̜̦̈́́̑̒͡͞ȩ̡̡̦̱͓͋́̌̈́͛̿̕͡͠ŕ̸̡̫̝͔̞̩͍͔̭́̉͒͒̆̇̔̈̓y͕̖̜͓̦̯̙̺̿̍̒̄̓̐̚̚ m̢̩̘̤̮̆̂͑̑̎͟͜ö̵͔̺̦̫̣͇̰͇́͑̄̌̃͌͗́ͅm̥͎̳̣̪̳̟͖͌̓̓͂͊̂͜e̠͕̦̗̖̎̓̿̾͗̍́ņ̷̠̠̙͖͚̺͖̱̿͆̀̂̏͝͞ẗ̶̖̜̱͈͔̞́̏̾̀̅ o̧̢͈̗̬͎̪̗͗̅̑̽͆͜f̶̙͍̦̼̟̘̎̉̎̆͂̔̚͜ ṣ̴̨̖̖͓̘͍̒̈͐̐̃̔̈́͌͠u̷̢͈̜̫̹̠͖̲͈̳͑̍́̐͂͐̈̈́͝͞f̞̫̻̩͑̎̒̓̿̾̕͢͡f̸̧̛͙̰̱̖̮͙̥̦͆̐͐̚e̡̥͓̰̖̝̿̽̃̒̌̇͑ŗ̺̗͍͇̘͙̦̥̐͂͒͛͟͝î̼̳̺͈̟͚̟̙̔̍͂͜͜͠ň̡̠̥̪̪̜̖̳͍̬̀̋́͋g̗̰͖̞̅̆͒̒̊͟ ḩ͉͖͓̣̙̲͙͒̀̒͌́͒͒́͟ͅë̸̢̲͇̥̦͕̣̭͚́̊̎͊̇̾̉̊͠ͅ e̢͕͎͚̠͇̠͒̀̏̀̅̋̒̕͡n̸̢̻̣͔̱̫̺̙̯̍̀́̆̔͟d̨̘͖̩̜̓͒̎̆̾̃̏̕͟u̶̢̠̖̞̲̱̤̤̦̟̎͆͋̒̂r̘̠̱̦̣̣̼̤͇͐̄̂́͛̋ę͎̬̦̠̗̫̥̊̃̓̈̾̇͠d̵̨̹̤͕̲̯̥͖̑͛̑̄͌͟.̴̠̮͈͔̦̈́͆͆̓͘͟͡͝ H̷̛̲͇̭̫̙̰̅̒̇̄̎̿̕ȩ̸̡̢̻̬̼̈́̋̌̀̈̉͜͞ w̡̜̤̙͍̩̬̟̤͒̉̾̅͘͢͡ä̸̲̘̼̟͕͉̩͕̮́́͆̾̽͢s̛͙͖̥͈̩͈̜̯͓͖̑̏͗̿͑̓͒͘͡ m̵̮̝̳̬͙͕̥̟͌̂̐̽͆̍̊͘͡ǐ̧̼̘̱̙̣͇̝͚̊̒̀͐̋͠͡͠n̵̢̛͔̫͙̟̜̥͐̽̈́͒̀̀̉̂͟͠ĕ̯̙͖̼̠̜̎͂͘̚ ț̶̨̖̠̺̆̿͆͞͡o̺̭̞͗̇̋̆̆͟ͅ p̶̠̗̪͚̩͇̜̏̇̉̎̈͒̊̀̚͡ṛ̛̟̫̯̬̭̗̟͓͆͌̋́͗͋͝͠ơ̷̦̞͉̝͙̮̜͉̆͑͑̿͆̀̆͘͢͝t̸̨̯̮̦̜́̆̉̔͒ͅȩ̸̯̬͇̥́̇̑͋͘č̻̦̳̱̽̍̋͘̚͜ͅt͉̩̙̮̠̐̀̅͌͗͋͘͡,̙͕̖̝̤͉͉̎̎͛͛͑͢ t̷̫̲͍̝̖̼̃͌̌̑̌ǫ̸̩͓̝̤̹̞̻̲̇̀̓̀̽̅̎̌̋̚ w̵̢̙̺͇̰̞̣̃̍͊̉͑̚̕ả̷̡͚̺͔̞̊͋͊̿ț̸̞̰̗̼̘̗͙̼͍̉̐̌̔͆̋̓͘̕͝ĉ̷̢̗͚̺͎͐͆̇̀͢͡h̳͖̤̙̉̔͌̍̀̃̕͜͟͞ͅ ǫ̶͙̩̦̲͍̾̇̈́͆̊̈́̔̄͌͛͢͟ͅv̷͖̖̯̯̙̼̝͉̺̒̽̄͑̀̐͌͘͠e̸̢̙͍̜͈̯͓̤̬̞͌́͗̔̃́́́̚͠ŗ̺͚̰̞̈̎̒̀̓ å̠̰͉̦̰͈̜̭͔͐͌̂̎̐ṋ͇̱͓̗̲̙̒̃͂̀́̚͟͠d̶̥͕͈̱͊̂̈́͑̄̊͜͝͡ n̢̨̠̳̹͈͉̺͙̂̑̔̀̃͜͝ơ̢͇̪̹̟͔̙͓͊̾͂̔͌̔́͟͜͝w̸̡͓̺̖̆͂̂̈̐̄ͅ h̪̞͙̜͚͈͐́̄̃̎̈̐͜͞e̢̛̫͖̪͔̘̩͎̩͇͌̚͝͞'̶̺͖̰̣͔̈͒̉́̆͡͝ş̖͇̥̲́̔̍́͌̚ g̸̭͇͇̘̘̪̒͛͗̎̒̉͝͝ọ̧͔̦͔͓͓̜̝͐́̾̈͘͟ǹ̴̙͉͍͖̤̫̳̈̑̆̋̓́̇̄ͅͅẽ̡͉̼̟̙̲͕͊͐̈́͒̇̽̓̚͢͝!̸̡̡̛̫̳̮̹͖͊̀̓̿̂̎͟͠
Right, father?
I̵̛̛̬͔̺̝̫͇̓́̂ d̶͙̯̞̳̑̈́͆̈̓͘͠ͅỉ̴̟̲͉̯̻̝̜̫̪͊̿͊͛̌͂͋̾̍d̗̥̰͙̬̤͛̒̓̇͊̊̎͟͡n̘͍̖̝̼͕͛̀̋̆̈͞'̷̫͖̖̙͓͔̞̻̇̒́̆̍̽͑̏ţ̺͉̻͉͈̟̜̩̒̅̾͑̈́̽̾͢ ơ̶̺̤̞͙̂̈̎̄̏͘͜͠r̷͈̹̦̩͕̣̫͙̋̊̄́͐̃͜͢d̷̜͙̻̆́̓̊̑͂̑̈́̚͢͟͝ḛ̡̡̩̟͖̬͙̮̒̿̂̄̀ͅr̵̡̺̥̼̞̰̬̉͆́̅̓̾̃̍̇ ţ͈͖͓̺͖̖̾̑͋̏̄̈́̌͆̕ḧ̷̥͈̬̠͖͔͍͗̐̄̽͟͠͝ͅe̡̬̠͉̖̅̍͗̃̓͠ p̴̡̙̳͍͙̬̣̞̜̦̓̊̽͒͊̚ṵ̧̩͚̗̰̤̼̃͑̾͗̂p̢̧̧̝̜̊̏̓̀͆̉̓͋͋p̵̳̞͕̝͕̊̐͗͂̾͢e̢̨̹̘̹̗̪̍͌͆́͒̾͐̿̎̆͜͟ṫ̸̨̖̠̱͕͂̄͑̊͛̒š̬̩̟̮̰̻̽̌̀́̌̑̚̕͟͞ͅ ť̻̘̱̬̗̭̱̋̑͊́͡ỏ̶̧̢͙̫̥̼͙͚̂́̍̅͛̂̍͜͡ k̦̜̖̘̠̔̀̿̊̍̚͘͠͞i̟̘̟͎̩̜͇̮̱͆̀̒͋̿̊͛̒͝͞l͇̥̩̜͉̈̀̒̈́̆l̢̢̻̹̲̹͖̻̺̱̅̎̎͆́̒͘͞ ă̴̧͈̺̫̦̣͙͚̏̇̂̄͋̀̈͝͠n̨̛̪̦̲̦̦̐̿̊̕͝y̶̢̛͖͙͕͓͌̽̽͗̕͞ͅͅȯ̼̣̺̝̝̯̦̟͍͎͋͌͊͌͞n̡̛̟̳̼̦̪̖̲̳͍̅̉̈̎̊͌e̡̬̞̗͔͒̈͌̽̀̾̋̓̕!̡̬͍̼̤̼̣̲̈̋̓͡͝ͅ Į̫̣͉̺͚͖̤̋̿̋͊̉͟͝ c̛͎̰̦̗̮̒̀͑͂̚a̵̛͉̲̩͙̻̫̝͙̳͗́͑̓̂̍̚ļ̺̖͎͉̑̾͛͊̌l̶̹͍̞͙̓̅̊̋̌͗͗̅̑̾͟e̸̺̗̗̱͇̟̺͛̉̉̀͊̔̈̑͛d̸̲̲̥̫̥̦̓̾̅͛͗͌̏́͟͞ ţ̵̰̤̪̯̮̙͍͓̉͂͊̽̌͜h̠͓͇̻̺̻̑́̀͑̍́̄͐͠͡é̶̡̳̬̗͓͙͕̃̍̇̕̕ͅͅm͕͖̰̻̗̩̳̣͓̅̋̎́͐͆͑͟ t̨̪͚̩̊̅̀̆͌͢͞ơ̖̙̥͇̯̜̥̎̐̽̚͟͝ f̷̼̣̟̝̭̉̅̓͘͠͝͝i̷̛̪̼̼̺̪̓͐̊̓̚͡͡ģ̨̳̪͒̾̓̇͊̍̕͢h̸̙̪͕̞̯͉̿̑͑̂̈̀͒̾͡t̶͕̬̳̠͖̺͈͍͓̏̐̂̈́̌̆̑ t̥̣͉͙̯̞͖̟̆͂̏́͋͠ĥ̛͓̜̖͍̖̌̅͆͡ȩ͙̳͖͙̺͚̺̥͂̀̓̄̕ a̡̫̭̹̝͗̉̒͗̾̒̚̚ḻ̷̛͕̪͙̙͎͐̈͋̐̈́̌͠͡c̡̯̞̖͐̀͊̐̅̆́́̋͟͠h͚̯̰̥̥͖̣̪̆̎̇̒̄̌͘̕͠e̷̡̝̱̘͓̥͎̬̿̎̽͆̚ḿ̷̨͈̥̞̠̋̐̑͂͛ͅį̴̧̡͓̩̺̼̟̮̼̄̒̏̀͐͆̎̃s̩̥͖̝͕̟̘̽̂̓͘͞͝͝ṱ̨̧̛̣̩̣̻́͌̏̃̚͜s̷̛̻͓̫̣͙͔̿̊͆͑̌͘͡.̺̭̹̠͓̈́̒́̈̄̿̀̀̐͞ I̵͈̼̼̘̙̙̣̒̓͋͐͊͢͞ ț͕̼̠̮̈́̍́͘͢͡͝ͅơ̯͚̪̹̻͍̘͎͚̏̏͘͡ọ̵̰̤̭̤̝̓̓̔͐́̈ķ̛̲͔̞̯̥̯̰̇̓̎̅̾̍̕͞ͅ a̢̧̘̲̱̲̘͕̲͗̈́̐̽̿͟ s̸̲̬̩̙̥̆̂̋̓̀͟t̵̨͙͕̙̱̺̻̖̰̐͒́͌͒̔͞ȃ̴̢̺͈̳̪̘̊̄̽͐͟͜͝͞ǹ̵̝̬̩̺͍͚̱̦̌͒͐͆̓̔͊̀̕d̢̤̹̙̙̰̳͍̣͈̎̓̓͂͂̔̔̉̄̔ ǎ̶̢̡̖̱͕̝́̄̈́̀͊̃͝ͅg̴̱̹͓̠̮̟̹̈̎̾́̐a̟͕̘̮͚̙̲̻̅̎̇̌̋̊̆͟͜͠i͕̪̙̲̮̻͎͐͋̉̈̓͗̕͢͢n̠̗̱͕̟̮͖̻̾̈͊͐̑͟͞ͅs̛͇̻̱͎͍̃̇̿̈́̍̕̕ţ̵̡̪̰̯͍̎͂͂̓͆̾̚͘͡ d̸̻͔̦̩͍͉͈̝̿̉̃̿͠͠ë̬̬̘̤͎̟̉̃̀̅̕a̛̺͍̥̮̻̯͉͊̅̉͆̆͡t̡̝̭̥͉̮̱̮͍͂̂͌̾̚͢h̨͉̩͎̘̤̰̯͚͉̐̆̍̎͌͆ ì̡̱̱̦͖͕̠̙̈́́̿̌̅̽̓̕͢t̸̗̠̠̤̲̓͊̇͐͘͟s͓̫͍̲͕͇͐̒̍̓̒͜ḛ̛̝̥͔̖͔͑̈́́͌͆̋̕͢ľ̹̼͚̲̑̇̑̌̄͘͢͝͞f̷̗̩͎͙͍̠͓͒̾̈́́̕ ť̡̘̪͈̱̤͎̝̦͗̎̍̿̾̔ő̶̤̭͔̘̯̥̔͐͂͛̐͗̐̍͝ b̴̧̮̺̱̹͖̳̝͕̓̽̀̒̚͟u̶̡̬̙̩̱͉̫͌̈́̃͐͆͋̐͢ȳ̷̦̭̼̹̠͕͐͗̀͞͠ t̴͖̬̩͇̹̾̽̿̊͒ï̧̮̝̦̬͍̮͉̀̒͡͠m̢̫̙̠̪̦̫̂͆͐͛͂̇̚͝͠ȩ̛̱̳͚̤̺́̂͗̀̋͒̅̌͟͞ f̵̢͖͍̫͙̳̲̼̋̽̋̾̕͝͝o̷̰̗̜̳͕̺̳̞͙̝̾̌̀͌͡ŗ̷̻̩̲̺̙̖̲̫̐̾̀͢͠͝ s͔̩͔̘͓̎̆̑͊̽͐̔͆ō̵̤̗͓̼̹̲̃͗͒̕͘͘͢͝m̬͙̖̣̟̀͊̔̾̃̎̚͝ẻ̴̮͕̰̥̗̺̙̲͐̀̈́̏͟o̵̭͓͗̅̉̅̕͢͢ͅń̸̡̡̤̬̬̺̬̹̞̫͊̃̋̉͆͠e̹̻̭̫͍͎̅͂͂̚͘͞ͅ,̴̥͕͕̲͍͕̖̲̄͒̓̈̓ â̸̛̮͕̭͚̬̟̬̠͂͂͌̐̾̽͝n̡̛͎͖̻̱̪͇̆̓̆̿̕͠y̸̡̫̘̺̩̎̽̆̀͜͞͡o̹̲͙̲̠͕͚͂͑̑́͂͐̈́̋͘n̳͎̭̤̭̖͑̂̀̾͑̾͛̏ͅè̢̛̦̠̙̝̆̃̒̃̌͘͝ͅ,̪̮̼̗̭͖̼́͗̎͑͋̕ t̗̺̯̪̰̺͈̭́̔̍͌̋̎̅͂͟͡ȯ̳̯̹͇̜̟̯̱̇̋̇͂ n̵̢͉͇̝͙̤͚̳͕̒́̉̈́̔̃ǒ̶̡̰̙͙͓͖̆̅̆̎͋͜͡t̨͔̮͍̘́͋̎̅̕͘̕͟͟ï̜͇͎̤̣̙͕͕̋̔̇͂͝ͅc̸̻͖͕̟͆͂̋̈͗̾͘͠͠͞ͅe̮̼͉̜̺̗̩͌̇̄͐͢͠͡ w̧̟̝̲̘͕̋̾͗͛͐̒͞h̷͇̹͎̦͍͈̤͓̳̀͂̌̒̍͘͢͝͠à̷̛̖͕̳̟̱̭͊͑͒ţ̧̣̹̯̙̪̮̩̩͐͑͗̀͒̔̀̚ t̖͖͈͇̤͎͓͔̑̆͆̊̓́̌͜ͅẖ̶̩̞̟́͑͒͐́̐̒͒̉̏͢ę̗̳̜̣̃̓̀̈̔͢ŷ̶̧̹̥̰̪͓̟̺̮͋́̅̋̍̽́͞ w̡̢̛̮͇̼̦̱͂́́̈̌̌̉̏̚e͈̜̩̟̻͍̓̊̽̔̆͂͒̔̑͘r͈̱͈͔̞͙̜͚̲͛́̑͂̈́̄͟e̵̜̤̗͉̜͇̣̺̣͑̅̆͐̉̾́́̀͢ d̴̛̬͔͈̮͉̰̘͍̲͋̏̍͠ó̧͎͎̞̥͕͖̘̱̫͌̐̿̓į̷͖̼̖̤̜̤̗͊̓̓̽̓̈͟ǹ̸̡̳̘̼̥̩͔͌́͋͑̃̔̀͟͜ͅg̢̭͖̯͎̎̆́̎̉̎̕͘͝.͙͎̖̅͆̈̾̈́̈́̕͘͟͟͠͞ Į̸̨̬̦̱̝́̋̒̊͐̿̚̕͟ͅ n̨̩̣͙̺̤̯͖̈́̔̊͐͟͜͞ĕ̴̢͙̹̭̻̙̦̀̀̏͋̔̕͝͠v͖̜̤̞̙͍̖͂͗̃̋̇e̵̢̛̦̳̙̖̩̞͂͋͆́͗ŕ̴̯͈̟̥̞̿̅̾̃̇͝ ẅ̡̘̹͕̘̞́̀̆̚͜͡͝a̷̗̗̝͙͚̅͒̽̎̎͠ͅͅn̢̳͈̍́̃̄͛͗͆̒͘͟ͅt̷͕̲̖̰̞͕͍̉̒͐̽̈́͜ͅę̶̧͔̠͕͍̭̀͌̐̿̋͘ͅd̸͓̤̙͈̈́̿͒́̕͘͢͜…̶͔͖̤̝̮̩͎̱͂́͐̕͝ ṱ̸̨̨̨̱̖̤̦͔̲̂̌̽̕͞h̵̢̳͖̲̗͖̃̑̋̐͂́̀͜i̵̛̛̱̼̰̳̭̘͒̍́̕̚͜͞ͅs̛̘̱̻̩͓̝̤̍̋̿̓̽̕͞.̛̰͓̪̝̩͔͑̃͂͐̔͑͂͡͠
He'd never been able to understand how or why humans slept, but he was starting to get an idea. If they felt like this all the time, so weak and slow, he'd like to forget it too for a little while at least.
O̳͔͈̙̠͔̬̱͐̑̑͗̑͆̇̚͘ͅh̢̡͉̹͔̱͓̎͋̀̐̽͗̽̅̕͜͞ m̢̛̫͈̼̼̜̿̆͑̈́̐̚͞͞y̷̜̖͓͚̻̯̞̦͇̞͊̏͗͗̿͂͡ c̢̘̣͕̳̩͖̱̤̏̏̄͘̚ḣ̶̢͖̣̞͚͒̇̌̊̌̑̎̑͡e̶̢͎͖̻͓̗̟̎͊͋̀̀͝͡r͇͍͙̳̪͖̹̦̺͌̉͋̓͆͝ a̷̦͕̯̹̠̝̜̗̓̋͑̍́̅͜͝ͅm̸̲̘͓̜̐̓͆̉͋̎̕̕͟ĭ̡̤͓͍̲̼͆́̿͂͋̊͠.̷̧̧͈̲͓͗̂͐̚͠ Ẁ͍̬̤̖̺̃̽̉̈́̏̂h̠̣̯͍̪̩̥̗̦̓̾͗́͋͟a̧̧̪̪̞̦̦̐͛̒͆͐͜ͅt̶̢̡̯͈̥͚͎̒̒̐̊̐͝ h͙̞̬̣̹̓̓͊̈̈́̃̎̉̀ą̷̫̖̮͛͑͛̉́̒͟͟͠s̶̟̲̘̩͕̺̎̏͑͌̚͟ ḇ̧͕̼̖̖͉̊̋̉̾͂̋̑ẹ̸̢̹̪̫̞̞̑̎̓͗̕͝c̵͖͚͔̱͎̃͗̅̑̈͑̚͞ō̴̪̫̣̮̙̺̙̥̓͗̓̅̀͟m̨̲̞̘̻̹̋̅͑̇̀̓̔̅̕͡ͅẹ͔̳̬̬̼̗̞̙̄̂̓̑̅̈́͆̕̕͜ ô̡̜̟̩͕̜͚̝̍̈́͂̅̐̿͠f̡̭̻̹̥͉͕͚͕̥͊͗̒̔͋ y̨̭̥͇̘͈͈͖̭̽͌̔́̽͘ǒ̜̜̺͕̲̱͕͑͒͑̃͑̉̾͠͡ǔ̡̧̻̥͔̞̈́̏̎̚,̷̥̗͓͔̲̋̂͒̅͂͛͊͌̊͘ j̸̗͇̥͈̱̀̑̍͊̎̅̐̅̈́̕ẹ̛̳̟̱͚͉̊̀͆̈́̀ų̢̣̤̺͉͉͒͌̉̓̔͡ͅn̶̡̧̢̳̯̤͔̘̝̔̃̽̏̏͐̆̚̕̕ͅẹ̞̥͒̍̌̀̈̃̽̄͟͢͟͠ s̴̭̲̲̼̟̤̺͂͐̒́̆̋͝a̼̲̫̙̱͎͋̃͌́͢͠ű̲͎̮̜̩͈͕̅͑͋͋̐̑̕̕̚͜ͅv̡̼̩̰̳͙͊̿̏̎̑͞͠ȩ̵̝̖̻̳̪̩̻̃̔͑͊̾u̧̮͇̣͖͍̔̔̆̎̽̉͞r̶̢̘̙̙̖̦̱̿̾̊̋̆͌́̒̕͘ͅ?
That sounded nice. Just drifting off. Letting go of what he couldn't feel anymore.
Y͕̳͕͓̮̣͓͈͙̊̓̀̆̀͒͝͡ͅo̼͍̺̗͙̠̾̈́̍̓̂̀ų̟̗̮̣̌̈́̌̓͒́̃͊̾n̡̺̹̱̝̆̽̂̕͜͠͞ḡ̞͎̰̓͋̈́͂̿͛͗̂̚͟ͅ m̛̩̩͉͙̥̖̳̾͌̇͋͆͝á̴͍̙͙̘̤̭͋͛̇͒ͅs̸̡͚̱͈̻̈́̈́̀͆̽̃̒ţ͔̻͔̗̳͎̐̊͆͗̐ͅè̟͔̼̺̙̮͗̌̉̎r̛̘͓̤̠̰̾̏̔͋̓̕͞͝…̣̬͖̙̦͈̳̝̘̂̌̈̓̄̊͒̕̚͟ Į̡͚̳̪̽̆̄́̉̕'̴̛͙̫͖͖͐̈̈̐̎́́͜m̷̳̹̘͖̩̳̭͋̏̍̈́̎̏̕ s̨̧̝͍̼̤̟̬͙̞͋̓͆̅̀̇̿ò̧̨̪̥͙̩̘͖̎̅̇͆͐̃̂̽ s̶͍͍̰̥̣̝͍͙͆͌̀̄̽̈͐̇̓͟ͅȯ̯͖̳͓̠̺̓̎́̎r̸̬͉̤̺̱̘̓͑͑̑̽r̷̖̥̠̥̣̎̍͒̚͡y̛̤̼͙͚͎̬̤̪̪̞͆̓͛̚͞.̷̢̧̹̝͔͉͙͍̺͇̅̾̀̉̽͗̃͑̏͞ L̷̻̱̘͈̺̔̔̾̄͝͠͞͝a̸͚̱͉̱͉̘̙͙̬̋̽̏̾̉̈̎͑̇̀d̨̢̲̞̱̤̎͗̉͆͊̕͢͝y̸̡̡̢̛͇͈̏̄̉̓̏̌̂͛ A̢̛͓͔̺͙̞͛̒̂͘͡n̸̡̧̰̘͎̾͂̾̏͘ṭ̡̧̛̻̼̦̃͒͊̇͡͝õ̙͇͈͔̗̃̓̃̆̂̔͛͜͡͝ṅ̗̺͙̣̭̮̟̘͋̀͋̃̊̎͘͜͠í̴̜̤̠͎̹̅͛̅͒̔̇̕ͅa̸̢̱̲̙̖̻̅̓̓̎͟͟͝ ẇ̨̘͈̘̝̘̓̌͂͒̈́͒̚̕͜ő̮̥̣̗͖͈͕͉͈͋̎̌̐̔̔͂̐͘ų̛̼͙̤͖͙̪̖̺̱̋́̋̈́̓̚͞l̸͚̲̟̫͐̄͋̑̒͜͠͡d̶̡͙̗̣̫̓̌̀͒͆̔̅̓ ñ̶̮̜̘͚̱͇̋̌͌̏̂̓̌̚͢ȩ̧̟̣͎͉͕̙͛͑̐͊̂͞v̵̜̱͓̤̾̉̊̔͌̅̌͟ḛ̢̛̜͍̱̃̊̐̑̃̂͝r̢̨̝̫͚̹̿̍̎̓̑͡ f̨̪͉͙̠̝͈̼̥͒̈́͛̇͌͑̂̀̕ͅȯ̸̧̡̜̀̂͘͘̚͢͡͝ͅř̡̠̻̗̠͍͐̀͗̿͝͝ͅg̨̜̟͇͇̱̜̃̋̚̚͜͞ḭ̙̩͙̱̻̇̑͐́̎́͡v͉̺̳̙̟͓̫̌́̄̆̉̀̈͡e̸͔̼̲̮̭͍͙̟̿̎̓̈̔͌̽̓͝ ť̴̡͉̣̘̥̭̹̅̿̿͐̏͞h̢̰̠̣͚̗͙̫͋̀̃̀̓̈̄̀͘͢͠ȋ̶̡̛̮̥͙̤͑́̌s̴̭͍̩͖̫͓̣̘̾̓͐̊͘.̸̪̯̼̗̖̘͕̟̪͂̄̄̈̀͘
And resting, for once in his ultimately short memory of the last week of endless battles.
F̵̺͓͓͚̙̦̬̲̠͂́̄̏̿̕͟o̸͕͖̫̰͆̊͆͛̐͐̚͜͟͞ͅŗ̧̤̲̱̯̙̭̒̓̓͛̕͟͝͞ y̴̝͍͖̠͕̜̤̤̋̏̀͑̂͆̿ḛ̤͚̟̣̗̤͔̘̌̀̂͊̾̔̈́̋͡͡ͅt̗̞̤̗̺̼̼̼̟̎̓̀̋̋ͅ å̧̨̺̗͕͕̈́̍̓̊́̓̔̌͞n̢͈̦͈̜̜͓̮̣̞̎̓͠͡͝o̢̙̻̟͚̠̙͓͛̀̓̐̍̀̄̈́͜͡ͅt̳͓̬̙̜͔̠̣̀̽̽̏͋͒̕͝h̡̼̠̭̦̘̖͚́̾̒̾̀ẽ̵̡̖̮̠̬͇̋͑̔͐͑͂r̵̢͎̖̋̅̂͂̉̔͜͟͡͡ f̸̨̛̘̭̹̗̼̺̽͂̔͊̐̚͢͜ͅȑ̨̧͙̖̭͓̤͖̣̃̑͑͛i͈̙͕͙͎̖̬̊̅͂̿̀̾̃͒̑̕͟ë̸̥͚̜́̎̅̕͘͢͜n͓̖͎͇̺̺̩̙̙͓̈́͗͑̆͑͝͝͝d̸͇͈͖̳̮̮̐́͑̓̾̃͂͟ o̶̦̬̩̩̗̙͙̱̙͇͆̈́̋͛͝f̸̨̱̩͚̪͆͛̓̅́͊̂̚ H̟͍̘̩̗̯̫̼̯̀̈́́̽͂̊̓̋͒͜ò͍̦̱̙͑̔͛̐̌͑͛̈́͜͡u̴̲͔͓͔̪̿̂̈̌̈́͑͞s̸̩͔̳͓̦̍́͛͊̍̃̕͡ę̟̤̝̗͕̦̑͛̃̌͋̾̓̌͝ V̧͓͎͇̮̭̻͕̬̄͐̈́̄͘e̤͎̪̭̠̼̐̅̋͊̓͐̄̃̓͜͡n̶̟̰̯̹̙̙͛̒́͌͊̄̒͂̚͡í̢̨͔͍̰̈́̽́͛̚g̢̨̳̘̭̤̲̑̾͊̉̎̔̚ǹ̛̲̩͎͇͓̈́̈́̂̇̃̊̿͢i͕̙̞̫͚̐͌͛̽͂̀͆̀͢͞ t̥͔͕̦̠͙͈̀͊͐͆͋̐̕ǫ̛̛̫͔̖͓̩͉̙̲͋̎̓͌̊̋̃̿͟ p̸̨͈͙̙̰̒̏͋̉̚͝͠a̶̢͇̗̝͚̤̪̲̽̄̒̂̏͘s̟̮͉̣̉͛̈́͛͑̉͌̈͘͟͠s̳̹̰͇͓̈̐̔̅̊̏̈͞ ò̶̡͚̤͕͎̬̲̜̉̀̒̑̇̂̇͂͢͞n̴̨̪̯̝̻̙̪̩̪̙̈́͌͗́͘͘͡…̢̛͚̠̦̗̟̻͐̆͗̓̈̓̚͟ͅ y̨̧̛̭̘̜̏͋̎͛͗ó̷͉͙̥̟͍͕͊̍̋̔̎͘͟͞u̴̜̼̹̙̞̩̮͙͔͕̅̽̐̎̂̆̕ ẉ̢̧̘͇̹̬͎̇̏̋̾̅́̐͢͞͝͞ì̴͉͖̝̞͋͛̊̐͌͟ḷ̷̨̨̢̨͍͔̜̰̃̅̊͊̀͗͗͘̕͝l̢̫͍͙̙̪̥̉̈̈́̋̎́̌̑͋̕ ǹ̶͈̥̝̳̯̓͛̈́͝e̷̲̰̪͈̘̔̀̇͐͗̕͠ͅv̥̫̯̗̱͔͙͖͒̎̒̑̍́͗̚͝͞e̸̠̼͚͇̟͂̓̊̄̄̀r̡̠̦̠̱͉͖͛̊͛̎̌͑̾͟ b̧̳͍̳̹̣̰̞̅͛̈́̆̽͗̃͘͝ȩ̛̞̙͓̘͕̳̩̜̯̂̓͊͘ f̸̧̳̗͙̳̱̮̅̄̈́̃͐͢o̸͎͇͎͇̜̼̜̺͗͛̀̀͞͞ŗ̧̡̥̝̳̞͔̹͈̐̿̊̿̃̽̌͝g̴̡̪̗̻̹̬̿̽͑̓͑͟͜͠ǫ̷̨̨̙̳͓͚̞̺͖͛̆́̈̋t͉̱̝̗̳̃̓̾̈̃͘͢t̶̪̗̙̫͔̗̪̯̽͂̊̒̋̊̆͜͠e̵̛̳̘͎̝̳̔̔͗́̑̍̽͜͞ñ̬̹̱̯͖̯͆̅́̒̽̓͘͡͡,̷̺̲̖̬̘͙̀̔̒͐̿̆̐͂͢͝ y̙̼̯͔̠̦͂̎̓̀́͐̓̕͠͡ô̧͕͖͈̞̤̮̖̈͒̌͐͛͊̚͜͜u̶̧͙͍̱̣͉̤̥̱̝̅́̈̌̒̋͊̕̕ṅ̴̡̥͕̙̬̙̱͓̯̲̀̽͆̎̓̕͝g͖̺͕̼̖̎̏̎̑̄͝ͅ p̛͍̻͕̠̯̼̰͇̟̄͂̎͛́̏̚͟͡r̵͎̼̥̞̬͓̣̾̓̍͛́͝ợ̘̬͓̮͉̞͉̉̃̈̃̐̈́̃͂͞ͅť̙̤̤͉̬̬̥͚̹̔̐͋̚e̵̬̠̲̥̩̒̉́̑͑̓̉̑͠ć̡̫͙͔͎̜̟͇̻̎͐̆͑̃̓̈́̔t̰̰̠͉̓̅̾́͐̃̕̚͟͠ỏ̷̩̠̭̝̹̩̤̼̿͛̎̃͊̏̕͜͝r̵͔͓̫̣͓̯̜̱͚̿̈́͊̒́̚͝.̗̱͍͍̜͍͗̈́̂̎͒͂͠͝͠
…
…
…
'Don't give up just yet, clever one.'
Tha-thunk
His chest lurched in pain, along with his head. He could feel the emptiness inside dull, if only just as he was roused.
Tha-thunk
'You are not alone. You will never be alone again.'
Tha-thunk Tha-thunk
'You've brought me peace beyond anything I've ever dreamed of, and in turn given me a new life. One I wish to share in with you until eternity.'
Tha-thunk Tha-thunk Tha-thunk
'I'm coming, clever one. Our reunion shall be soon, but until then, you must awaken. They will not survive without you.'
B̞̻͔̼̪̼̀̂̆̒̽͂̑̂̃̇͜a̡̬̫͖̮̞͍͔̠͒͌͌̆͊̆̌̐͘͡r̵̛̟̺̗̫͖͈̿̅̋͛̐́̇̿̽r̝͍̗͔̹͉̦̱͔͙͐̏̾͑͊i̺̰̜̫̪̋̾̏̕͠c̴̘̫̦̘̣̯̜͑̃̈̈̓͜͟ͅa̷̩̹̰͍̣͚̰̋̋̒̌̑̊̓̕͢͡d̨̢̧̳̟͔͕̻̍͌̂̎̈́͘e̶̹͍̰͈̦̜̗͎̓̍͑̏̃̀̋̚ ṱ̢̛̗̠̪̘͉͎̦̆̈́̇͌̓̒͋̋ͅh̷̡̫̪̝͉̘̄́͑͑́̿͐̚͝e̶̠͇͇̗̝̩̞̼̺͆͑͒͂͞ d̨͎̖̪̼̗̉̽̄́̇́͝a̧̺̠͔͙̻̔͒͊̋̾́̇m̸̛̭̤̖̹͕̒̓̄͞͞ͅņ̸͉̝̱̫̥̤͌͛̕͜͞͡͠ ḑ͇̥͎̯̤̋̒̎́̏̇͡ő̪̖̘̞̯̱̋̅̃̓̃̓͋͐̚or,̢̢̙̠͇͇̙͔̤̃̍͊̽͘̕͞͠͠ L͖̞̻̖̝͆̈́̂͋̚͢͡a̵̠̳̼̭̦͛̇̐́͋̆̐͡m͉̦̰̯͇̆̆́̃̂͋p̨̧̹̥͉̍͑̋̋͜͜͠ͅẁ̢̰̩̥̫͕̙̀̍̄͆͜͝i̶̯̼̺͙̩̱͚̝̔̀͂͗̓͘͢͡c͙̘̗̳̟̦͖̓̎̀̚̚͟͢k͙̜͎̩̦͈̔̓̽̿̌͒̀͒!͚̥͙͍͓̩̀̎̊̈́̚͜ͅ
̧̡̛̘̩̣͍̗̾̓̑͌͂̅̕͡ͅ
̴̦͕͇͎̥̭͌͗̎̊́̐͘͝͡͞
̴̢̹̰̝̥̲̤̻́̄̒̄͗̉̀̑̕͟ͅÌ̢̭͕̬͎̯͍̽͒̏͞'̧̢͔̫̻͈̱̳́̀͆̅̑͢͞m͎̻͙͚̦͆͗͋͑͘̚ t̺̦̫͇̝̏̔̑̂̋͂̔̇͟͟͞͞r̝̩̯̫̤̫̮̫̖̓͊̂̍̚͝y̶̨̡͉̤̤̞͖̋̍̀̾̄̾͝͠ͅi̵̘̰̦̠̦̞͇͌̀̈́͛͢͝͠͝͝͠n͙̹̬̹̱̮͛̒͂́̎̅͊̔ǵ̮̗̪͎̦̈́̌̃̚͢͝!̸̨̯͈̤̰̈͆͒͂͗̏͜ Ť͕̪͔̖͙̩͆̋̾̑̚h̘̗̖̗͉͙͙͌̽̋́̕͢ͅe̸̺͎̻̻̪̯͙̯̗͒̎̑̉̚͟ṙ͕͚̱̯̞͂̓̓̈́͛̽̓̏͜ͅȅ̶̡̳̜͉̼̑̾̒͌͛͊̑͂͞'̡̧̗̳͓̫̜̿͐̍͘̕͘͟͡ͅṣ̶͈͖̝͎̌̏̾͌͐̚ t̴̛͈͈̬̰̣̣͍͌͐͑̌̈̽̏̾͜ő̡͙͙͚͉̤̋͛̽̚͠o̢̡̗͙̪͙̺̪͗͊̎͊̿́̏͡͡ ṁ̴̪̰͕̱̺̬͇͕̀̂̓͗͢͡a̧͖̩̙̣̬̬̠̍̆͐̓̍ņ̴̫̫͖̙͕̇̑̽̍̽͟y̝͚̹̭̼̻̯͇͌̃̽̐̋͗́̐̈́ ỏ̷̝̯̪͇͕͙̽̐̅̐̌͊͘f̥͈̳͙̜͋͒̑̀̀̌͆͘ ţ̷̢̛̹̖̝̖͍̥̠́͑̊̃̄͒̚͡h̶̨̲̪̠͙̦̯̐͂̋͛̃͂͟ẹ̩̞̠̝͈͙̤͎̈́̍̏̂̋̌̍͟͝m̵̛̩͔̱̺̱̮̜̪̄̄̉̊͘͜͢͡͞.̨̛͖͎͍̮̍́͐́̔͜͜͠
'Your heart may have been taken, but your body remembers. Your ergo will give you a second chance at life.'
His body ached.
'Wake up…'
His chest hurt.
'Wake up…'
His legion arm was gone, leaving an empty socket in its place.
'Wake up…'
Pieces of his left leg were still missing from his battle with the false god Simon Manus.
'Wake up…'
He could fight.
'… My dear Pinocchio.'
So he would.
THA-THUNK
Luminescent eyes the color of crystallized ergo snapped open to meet the wide hazel pupils of Gepetto's true son barricading a shattered door frame beside the tall frame of the King of Puppets.
Eugenie cradled the Two Dragons away from the half broken door, her eyes shut tight as she muttered under her breath in her native tongue. Belle kneeled at the blacksmith's back, armed with two revolving pistols and afflicted by a gash spanning half her right calf.
Polendina stood beside Pulcinella and Venigni before the door, each armed with but a simple Puppet Saber and covered in the blue blood of the carcasses. It seemed the inventor had found his courage at last.
The door finally gave out, sending the two former dead humans sprawling as monstrous blue wolves covered in bladed tendrils half the size of a healthy horse forced their way in.
The Two Dragons sang as Pinocchio threw himself forward past the people, jumping to his hand as strings erupted from his numb fingers to wrap around its hilt and glowing with fable and his own ergo.
A half spin as his busted leg sent him stumbling launched waves of moonlight forward, mincing the carcasses lined up behind the wolves and granting them all some breathing room.
His eyes shut once more, his breathing (why was he breathing, how?) evened out and he tried to find an even tempo for, his heart(?), the thing in his chest to move to and failing.
"Pinocchio?" A small tentative voice broke the silence, his eyes open and met the tear stricken face of Eugenie as she took a step towards him still cradling Two Dragons sheath. "You're… alive?"
He didn't know how to answer the question, but she was teetering between shock and terror. She needed something to focus on and the lie came easily.
"I'm… here…" His voice was raspy, once again impossible for a mere puppet. And more pain erupted in his throat as he spoke but it was enough for the bespectacled woman. She launched herself forward and buried her face into his bare chest, opposite from where his(Carlo's) heart once resided.
The young woman who cared for his weapons and ensured Pinocchio was always at his best before heading off to slay the next monster in his way. The woman who forced him to take care of himself, who called him family in her native tongue when she thought he wasn't paying attention or couldn't understand.
She was shaking, nearly incoherent with tears as she held on tight to him.
It made the dull throb somewhere deep inside since Fath-… Gepetto tore out his heart come into sharp focus once more. Pinocchio forced himself back into the present, actually seeing her for the first time since he'd awoken.
And what he saw took whatever control he had over himself away.
There, just beside Eugenie's head as she sobbed into him was a crystal blue heart where steel once resided. It was small and nearly transparent, but it was unquestionably Pinocchio's. His own ergo rather than his enemies now pumped through him with every beat.
No longer was he forced to carry the weight of someone else's memories inside him, his own admittedly short experiences would fill the emptiness within.
Pinocchio didn't know what to make of the new discovery, and so chose to shelf it for later. He had more important things to worry about at the moment like the snarling he could hear outside of his father's study in the hotel.
"Stay… inside…" He patted the girl's knotted locks as he placed her boneless body on the bed he'd woken up in. He locked eyes with Venigni and the service puppets for a moment before turning around and limping his way to the door, nodding at the frozen Belle on his way.
The poor newly widowed woman only watched him with wide eyes, propped up on the wall as she was.
A hand stopped him before he could leave, and spun him around right into the solid embrace of the disheveled Venigni himself. Pinocchio hesitated for a moment as the inventor held onto him desperately, eventually pulling himself together enough to press his only arm awkwardly into the small of the French man's back in an approximation of a hug.
"Bon retour, mon ami." The French man said quietly, squeezing the former puppet tight. "Vos nous avez manqué."
It was… nice, he supposed. The only thing he could compare it to was when Fath-… Gepetto had held him by the shoulders during some of their conversations.
All good things end, usually long before Pinocchio was ready so he gently pulled the exhausted inventor away from him and stiffly pet him on the shoulder before taking his first step out the door.
He could hear two more sets of footsteps behind him, every bit as unnaturally heavy as his own and didn't bother to look. There would be time for questions after, when Sophia came back and made things better like she always did.
XXXXXXXXXX
Ergo blue eyes fluttered open, set deep in a pale white face. Dozens of glowing blue butterflies departed from the still form of a white haired young woman, her joints groaning in relief from finally serving their purpose as she stood on unsteady steps and looked out from the broken balcony she resided in.
Warm eyes locked onto the horizon, her mouth twitching into a small delighted smile, past the rising moon and the empty skyline. Into a city of dreams and death. The small twitch grew into a true smile, her flawless inhuman lips wide enough to almost hurt. Her eyes fluttered shut as her body began to dissolve and transform into a swarm of blue butterflies.
The woman steadied herself as she prepared for the long journey ahead, to reunite with the only other being who could comprehend her existence and accept her entirely. Butterflies of every color came from within the castle, cradling a relic of ages long past only fit now for one purpose as far as she was concerned.
"I'm on my way…"
Blue eyes flashed gold as the swarm flew away from the lonely prison Simon and his followers had made of her father's island, dragging with her every bit of ergo Manus' monolith had collected for a much different purpose than to become a (false)god.
"…My Pinocchio."
XXXXXXXX
A hand rose, and a blade fell. Lopping off the head of yet another corrupted puppet lost to the mutations of the petrification disease, joining its hundreds of brethren in a mountain of destroyed puppets and corpses straight from the illegal dumping grounds the barren swamps had become.
Pinocchio stumbled back on uneven legs and caught his breath as his new heart stopped glowing so brightly and beating so erratically in response to a lack of enemies. One of the carcasses with the shield arm had gotten lucky and almost tore off his bad leg with a well timed hit so it was just hanging by a thread now.
He really needed to find a shirt, Carlo was wearing his favorite white one. Maybe Venigni had a spare undershirt somewhere?
He allowed himself to sit down against the remains of one of the third story balconies that once overlooked the hotel entrance, and tried to learn how to even out his breathing.
The king of puppets, (Romeo, he's Romeo) and Carlo ended up just across from him every bit as exhausted as Pinocchio himself and plopped themselves across from him atop one of the smaller corpse piles. Romeo cradling his scythe blade to his chest like a newborn and Carlo all but dropped his own strange blade that split in half sometimes.
All three were exhausted and running on fumes, this had been the only break in fighting they'd had since Pinocchio's awakening near midnight, and the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. They weren't as ragged as he was, but then again neither of them had fought through hordes of puppets and monsters for an entire week and then fought a demigod before having their hearts torn out by their creator.
The young… being(?), a puppet didn't have a heart and a human couldn't survive without one,decided to take that as the small victory it was and focus on resting for the next fight sure to come.
"How is this possible?" The taller boy, Romeo, asked as he ran his gunk covered fingers through his platinum blonde hair with a grimace before focusing on the gray haired former puppet of Gepetto. "You were dead."
Good question.
"Ergo is… the crystallization… of memories." Or something along those lines was the best theory he had at the moment. "I'm not… Carlo. I… have my… own memories." A puppet body needed ergo to power itself, after all.
Pinocchio shakily set the Two Dragons across his lap and reached up to cup his much dimmer 'heart' through his ripped open chest, and chose to ignore the sharp inhale from Gepetto's true son and luxuriated in having his own heart.
Tha-thunk
Tha-thunk
Tha-THUNK
Blue eyes snapped open as the newborn lunged behind the two former humans and gutted the invisible wolf monster about to tear into their backs with its tendrils.
Low snarls heralded the arrival of yet more wolves, bigger even than the bears he'd killed on his way to the Malum District.
He felt more than heard the other two puppet boys move to his side, the ringing in his ears as his heart/core/thing(?) once more pounded against the remains of his ribcage. Not for the first time since awakening, Pinocchio lamented the loss of the Puppet String and the rest of his legion arms.
Maybe Venigni had a spare somewhere?
The largest leapt forward with no hesitation and was split in half with a downward strike. String wrapped around his blade's hilt and waves of moonlight tore the legs off of the next three mutated wolves.
Another invisible wolf appeared with its teeth inches away from his throat and was nearly instantly torn in half by Romeo, before the blonde shoved the blade tipped handle through the next one. His hand snapped out to snatch a smaller one mid lunge and crushed its skull.
Carlo jumped above them both and came down spinning, splitting the last two beasts in half and running through anything that remained.
Their combined labored breathing was all that Pinocchio could hear for some time, he focused on the exposed organ in his chest, trying and failing to understand it and why it was reacting this way yet again.
He'd once been capable of storing his enemies ergo within Carlo's heart. He hadn't seen any ergo flow into the older boy so perhaps that ability still lied with Pinocchio? Or maybe he had changed once more, grown yet again beyond his intended purpose and could 'sense' over abundances of ergo?
It didn't matter. The next wave would be soon. They needed to be ready.
The reborn puppet took a step forwar-
SNAP
Pinocchio fell to the ground, only just managing to catch himself with his only arm without dropping the blade Eugenie had entrusted to him before his face met the asphalt. He looked down with a hiss at the new sensation of loss and pain his busted limb had become below the knee, only to catch sight of it a small way behind him.
Oh…
Venigni can fix this.
He makes puppets, he has to have some kind of replacement for Pulcinella. The old butler meant too much to the social elite for him not to be prepared just in case. Eugenie could work her craft, make it strong enough for him to fight with and he'd keep everyone safe again.
Just gotta get inside.
Pinocchio planted the blade into the ground and forced himself up to balance on his last leg, slowly turning and hobbling past the piles of carcasses littering the ruined hotel front and busted doors.
Thunk-ting
Just gotta be careful with where he planted his blade, this concrete had been reduced to powder in some places. The young boy wasn't too sure he could make it back up if he fell before he made it to Eugenie and Venigni.
Thunk-ting
They'd fix this. Make it better
Thunk-ting
They always made things better.
Thu-
THA-THUNK
Bright blue flashed before his eyes, his organ hammered against the air and lit up the small square as it responded to something behind the boy. The other two boys who had been following behind Pinocchio slowly spun around and readied their weapons as the ground began to shake under them.
"Lampwick!" Gepetto's son hissed as he split his sword, the ground beneath the three shifting and shaking as they readied themselves once more. His blade halves ground against one another, honing the edge to a razor.
"I know…" The dethroned boy said with a grimace, his scythe once more bursting into flame, the edge rapidly vibrating.
The other boy wouldn't be of much help anymore, this next fight would be one for them to win.
BAM!
"RAAAAAAAAAGH!" The walls surrounding the hotel crumbled as something slammed against it, sending dust and debri all over the three boys.
Dust obscured Pinocchio's vision for a brief time, leaving only the things silhouette visible. His organ began to beat furiously in his chest, lighting up the area and revealing a hint of the abomination that had found its way to them.
It towered over them all in a way only the Door Guardian of the Isle of Alchemists had ever truly done. Its body looked like it was made of marble, and was a dull white, with strange blue cracks all over its torso. A long scorpion's tail dangled over its head, leaking an obnoxious golden fluid all over its head, and claws thicker than his own arm protruded directly from its knuckles.
It was wrong, an affront to nature and god in every way. What stood before Hotel Kratt was undoubtedly what had once been called a bear.
"AROOOOOOOO!" The abomination howled in strange delight as it peered at the boys hungrily, licking its distorted chops with a mangled green and blue tongue as Romeo and Carlo stepped closer to him, blocking his view of the newest enemy.
CORRUPTED PYRENEES BEAR- Last of It's Brothers
From this moment forward, this was Rome and Carlo's fight, Pinocchio had no way to aid them. Not without destroying himself.
Eugenie and Venigni would never forgive him then. He just hoped the older boys could survive…
XXXXXXXXXXX
A swarm of colors danced across the ocean, riding the breezes currents like they were the waves themselves. Butterflies danced around each other, every color mixing and fluttering against and around each other. All of the creatures guided by the abnormally large blue butterflies.
A pulse of a different shade of blue halted the swarm in place, a woman appearing as if floating among them.
"How peculiar…" A small smile ghosted across the enigmatic woman's lips as the relic she held began to dissolve in her arms. Quickly losing the shape of an arm, and shrinking to the size of her fist, a blue ball floated just beyond her reach.
"To the victor, the spoils…" A deep voice whispered across the breeze with a second echoing its words, drawing a startled snarl out of the normally composed woman as she recognized one of the voices.
"You…" She hissed, all of the ergo she'd stored away for another purpose shook the fabric of the world around her as she shuddered in rage.
BOOM
The water was split, the air was rent, and the ball shot off into the distance, fast enough to break the sound barrier and leave her disoriented.
"Goodbye, Sophia…" And then it was gone from sight, both the voices and the relic.
The woman narrowed her vivid eyes, a snarl desperately trying to burst free from her lips, only held back by decades of patience.
"There's no more time." The swarm gathered tight around her once more, obscuring her from any view.
It followed the same path the orb did, albeit much slower.
"Hold on, clever one. I'm coming."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Author's Notes: Ho-kay guys. I'm not going to lie to you, I have no idea where this came from. I have had absolutely no motivation or energy to write since Christmas last year, and then this came out of nowhere.
No idea how to feel about the chapter, let me know what you guys think. I'm trying to find inspiration for just about anything right now and this is what I've got so far.