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scarletsaphire · 4 months

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This is the first @phandomholidaytruce I've done, and I got @darthfrodophantom! They gave some incredible prompts, with this one being for: "After a reveal goes poorly with his parents, Danny can't hide out with Tucker or Sam because they'd find him. He finds refuge from an unlikely source (surprise me on who that is!)" I hope you like who I chose! (Also there is something else for you in the end notes. Just something else I wanted to say. So. Be aware of that.)

Danny's life could be a lot worse. After all, he was still somewhat alive. Sure, he couldn't leave the house, and his parents were keeping a close eye on him after… what had happened. But it was fine. He was fine. He just needed to sleep it off.

It could be worse. That had been Danny's silent mantra for the past three years now, even if it didn't help much. If nothing else, it was always proved true. After the accident, it had been followed by "At least I'm not dead!" and then they figured out that no, he very much was dead, if not completely. That revelation had come along with the ghost attacks, where the mantra was completed with "At least no one's getting hurt!" Sam promptly got kidnapped by the Lunch Lady. She may have made it out largely unscathed, but that didn't mean it didn't count. Then the saying moved to "at least its only other ghosts I have to worry about." Then "at least its people who can defend themselves." Then "at least most people are supporting me." Then... well. It didn't stay on one concluding phrase for long.

Right now, Danny repeated the new phrase in his head, just like he'd been doing for the better part of a week. "It could be worse. At least they noticed my heart was still beating. At least they stopped cutting before they could stop it. At least they haven't turned me in."

It was true. Danny was sitting at the table in Fentonworks, with a spoon gripped in one hand and a bowl of cereal in front of him. His mother was by the counter, pouring herself a bowl. His father was at the couch behind him. They only looked at him when they thought he wasn't looking, with hands resting a bit too close to holsters to be natural. They talked at him, not to him, and it was always stilted half baked conversations, the things they felt they were supposed to say.

None of them had talked about it. Danny was beginning to doubt that they ever would.

It could have been worse. At least Danny still had a place to stay, even if he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to the basement stairs every time he could see them, couldn't stop the feeling of his skin crawling along the lines where it had been peeled back and pinned down. He was still here, and he had to stay here, no matter how much his stomach churned just being inside these walls. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

He couldn't leave Amity Park. He'd figured that out ages ago, had come to terms with it through many unwilling discussions with Jazz. It was too dangerous for him to leave while the portal still stood, and the portal wasn't going to close. Probably ever, if he understood the science correctly. He wasn't old enough to move out yet, and even if he was, he didn't have the money or time to be able to support him with. Mr. and Mrs. Foley might let him stay for a little while, but they wouldn't be able to accommodate him forever, and while Sam's parents could accommodate him, they would leave him on the streets the moment they thought Sam wasn't looking. Or maybe sooner.

Danny had no where else to go. But that was fine because he didn't need anywhere else to go. He was allowed to stay here, and he was fine with staying here, and-

There was a flash of metal in Maddie's hand. A scalpel, pristine and sharpened, glinting in the lights of the operating table. He couldn't see her face, hidden under a medical mask and the goggles she always wore, a face so alien that he couldn't quite compute that it was his mother slicing him open, his mother peeling his skin back, his mother removing his innards, his mother-

His mother dropped the spoon into her bowl of cereal and turned to face him. She wasn't wearing a mask, or goggles, and the hood of her jumpsuit was pulled down. She was getting breakfast. Danny was eating breakfast.

Or he was. The spoon he'd been holding was crushed in his hand, a mangled mass of unidentifiable metal. Danny shoved it in his pocket before either of his parents could notice.

Standing up was a painful endeavor. You didn't need to be a doctor to know that standing uses a lot of muscles in the stomach, and while Danny's stomach was no longer gaping open, it was being held together by sloppy stitches he'd done himself. It took every ounce of strength to pull himself up without crying, and the shambled half steps he started taking to the stairs brought tears to his eyes.

He mumbled something unintelligible. He knew by now that his parents wouldn't listen to him, but him saying something had them take their hands off of their blasters. Danny could feel their eyes burning into the back of his skull as he shambled to the stairs. They made no sounds of concern, no moves to help him.

A week ago, he would've described climbing the stairs as hell. He could feel his skin puckering as the stitches holding him together tore. He wouldn't call it hell now. Hell was the table in the basement. This wasn't even close.

Danny collapsed into his bed, trying to gulp down air without moving. It didn't work. It never worked. He tried anyway.

The handful of minutes it took for Danny's torso to go from burning, pulsating agony to only just below unbearable seemed to stretch out for hours. He didn't dare move, couldn't even think through the haze of pain clouding his mind. When it cleared enough for him to hear his own thoughts, they carried nothing good.

He wasn't getting any better. It wasn't surprising; he hadn't done anything to get better. He couldn't. He needed food and rest and ectoplasm, and he couldn't get any of that without giving up something of the other. Maybe if Jazz was still home, he'd be able to get her to cover for him. She'd always brought him the supplies he needed, no complaining or questions. At least, not until after he'd felt better.

Jazz wasn't here anymore. She was off in some other state, living her dreams of becoming a psychologists, and Danny was left here, with his parents, who wouldn't let him within 10 feet of the basement door, meaning he didn't have access to ectoplasm like he normally did. They wouldn't bring food to him, or even let him bring food to his room despite never caring before, meaning he needed to go up and down the stairs to eat anything. They would wake him up and insist on him coming down to eat three times a day, meaning he couldn't even lay there in misery.

Sam and Tucker had noticed his radio silence a few days ago. Sam had snuck in through his bedroom window to check on him. Danny had barely been able to get a word out, hadn't been able to decide whether he wanted to show her what had happened or not, before his parents were in the room.

"Danny's just feeling a little under the weather the past few days," his mom had said with a smile. It felt more like she was baring her teeth.

"I'm sure he'll be right as rain soon enough kiddo!" his dad had said. He wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders and guided her out of the room. She'd wanted to argue. Danny saw it on her face. Danny also saw how Jack's hand tightened just enough to draw her gaze back to him, just enough that even Sam bit her tongue.

At least they weren't making him go to school. He didn't think he'd make it five steps out the door before collapsing. Maybe that was why they weren't making him; it would raise too many red flags.

Danny was trying very hard to not think of himself as a prisoner. He wasn't a prisoner. His parents were just concerned, and showing it in a... less than ideal way. It was fine. Everything was fine. He wasn't trapped. Even though he couldn't leave, and could barely move, he wasn't trapped. He'd spent his whole life in this house, he couldn't be trapped.

Danny pushed the train of thought to the side, just like he'd done the other dozens of times he'd started to think that. It wasn't any good to dwell on things that weren't real. He needed to focus on doing something to help, which in this case meant getting better. He just needed to sleep.

That was easier said than done. The pain was still terrible, and the incision on his chest meant that he only had one option to try and get comfortable in. It didn't help that he already knew what was awaiting for him when he finally got tired or bored enough to fall asleep. He didn't think it was fair that he had already lived through that once, and his prize was getting to live through it over and over again every time he closed his eyes.

He didn't bother keeping track of how long passed before he slipped into sleep, but he knew instantly when he did. That was odd. Most of the time, he wasn't able to figure out he was dreaming until he was sitting upright, panting and grasping at torn stitches in a mixture of pain and desperation to feel his own, still beating heart. This time however, he knew he was dreaming immediately.

He wasn't on the operating table either, like he had been at the start of all of his other dreams. He wouldn't really describe himself as being anywhere, actually; he was surrounded by nothing but blackness.

Danny pushed himself up with his arms, and the world shifted with him. It was as if he hadn't moved it all, but the world had moved to make it seem like he had, interspersing spots of white that seemed to come out from behind nothing. It made his stomach churn and his head spin, and he brought one free arm to rub at his now aching temples.

"It seems as if I was correct. It is the little hero that needs saving this time." The voice was horribly familiar, and seemed to come from every direction at once. He should've known this was Nocturne's doing; the entire ordeal was covered in signs.

Danny stood to his feet in a flash whirling around to try and find where exactly this other ghost was, but he was only met with more of the void around him, shifting in that same unfamiliar way. He pushed the nausea down further; he couldn't worry about that now. "What do you want, Nocturne?" He called into the abyss. "I've beaten you once and I will do it again."

"You have," the voice focused on the spot in front of him, and the abyss seemed to gather in front of Danny, coming together to form Nocturne. "That is part of the reason why I'm here."

"Why, you looking for a rematch? Needed to wait until the odds were stacked in your favorite?" Danny spit out. He didn't bother trying to transform, or to fight Nocturne as he was; it wouldn't do him much good. Instead, he focused all his energy on waking up.

Nocturne floated closer, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "You will not wake up until I let you. It's a waste of energy to try."

"I've done it before," Danny pointed out.

"When I was busy with the rest of your town, yes," Nocturne agreed. "I am not spread so thin this time."

Danny knew he was telling the truth. He could feel the power threading through the air, reinforcing the barriers of the dream even as he strained against it. It was comforting, in a weird way. At least now Danny knew that, when he did wake up, he wouldn't be met with a city wide sleep epidemic. Again. It didn't bode well for him right now though. "So you're what, trapping me here?"

"No," Nocturne replied. "Nor am I looking for a fight. I am here to offer you a deal, nothing more. Once I receive my answer, you will be free to go, if you wish."

Danny set his jaw and crossed his arms. "Fine. But if you don't let me out after, I’ll kick your ass here, and then I’ll kick you ass when I wake up too.”

“I suppose that is a fair trade,” Nocturne replied. “You are not safe in your home. You have not felt safe in your home for years.”

“Hey, that’s not-“ Danny protested.

“You cannot lie to me here, child.” Nocturne shut him down immediately. “Even if you can lie to yourself.”

Danny snapped his mouth shut.

“I have come with an option. A way for you to turn back the clock on your... situation and return to the way things were before. Or better, if that is what you'd wish.”

"...how would you do that?" Danny asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I will create it for you. Your town, your friends, your family. Whatever it is you wish, in your own world. You wouldn't even be able to tell the difference."

Danny rolled his eyes and snorted. "Yeah, cause that's not something I've heard before. Lock me in some imperfectly perfect make believe so you can take over the world or whatever, or so I can waste away without even realizing. No thanks."

Nocturne moved closer, the surrounding starscape moving with him. "Your town would be safe from me, and while I will be the first to admit I can do nothing for your body, I'd have hoped that by now you would have realized that you are far more than just the skin you wear. I am promising you more than just a reprieve from your current predicament. I am offering you an eternity with those you love, where you are certain to keep them safe and protected. The real them, tied to the same dream as you, in the same way. That is not the kind of safety you will ever be able to offer on your own. Is that not what you desire?"

Danny hated just how right Nocturne was. He hated how tempting the offer was even more. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't worried about the state of his friends once they'd moved away from Amity, that he hadn't paced his room worried about Jazz when she'd moved away to college, forcing himself to not run to the phone and try to call her again.

He shook his head anyway. "I can't just leave everyone else. I can't just live in a fantasy while who knows who does who knows what to Amity Park. I need to keep it safe, not whatever replica you're promising."

Nocturne floated closer, until he was barely a foot away from Danny, and lowered his mask to look Danny in the eyes. Nocturne's expression did not change. "You are a fascinating creature," he said, before pulling away.

"You're going to let me go now, right?" Danny asked, as Nocturne pulled away. "You said-"

"I am aware, child," Nocturne interrupted. "And I will keep my word. But I have something else to offer you, though this will require something from you in return."

"Why?" Danny asked. "Why do you care so much?"

"As I said, you are a fascinating creature," Nocturne said. Danny didn't like the way he said it. It made him feel like an insect to be studied.

He decided that thought was better left unsaid. "Well, if you're just going to try and trap me in some other dream, I'm going to pass."

Nocturne pulled away, moving around Danny in a slow circle. "It will be nothing of that sort. You have made your stance on that clear, and I respect your wishes. But my powers can extend to the waking world. I can help you protect your little town far better than you are able to now."

That had Danny's interest, and his suspicion. He narrowed his eyes, rotating to keep Nocturne in his sights. "And how would you do that?"

"I can make the... recent events the dream, in your mind and your parents."

"What, so I won't remember it?" Danny asked. "That's not going to do anyone any good when I have this mess to deal with." Danny gestured to his chest.

"Tell me, child. How does 'that mess,' as you so eloquently put it, feel?"

It took Danny a second to figure out what exactly Nocturne meant. And then it dawned on him; it took him a second to figure out how the wound felt. He'd been hyper aware of it for a week now, constantly in pain, constantly tiptoeing around it. He'd spent every moment, awake and asleep, trying to do whatever he could to make it better. Now, he could barely feel it.

He still could. It still hurt. But it was a dull throb, the kind of pain he'd learned to push aside and ignore with years of practice.

"You will feel like this once you wake up. You will be able to return to your place as protector of your town. The wound will not be healed. You will still need to tend to it. But it will not interfere, and you should heal."

"And... my parents?" Danny asked.

"Their memories of the event, and yours will grow distant. You will all know that it happened, but become difficult to recall."

"Like trying to remember a dream?" Danny asked.

Nocturne tilted his head in affirmative, and raised his hand out towards Danny. "So tell me, little dreamer. Do we have a deal?"

Danny stared down at it. "You said there would be a price," Danny said slowly. "I'm not agreeing to anything until I've heard this price."

"Does it matter?" Nocturne's mask didn't move, just as static as it had been the whole time, but Danny couldn't help but feel like the smile was mocking him now. "If I was to tell you that the price was to serve me for an eternity, after you have no town left to protect, would you say no? If I gave you the ability to keep fighting, is there any price you wouldn't be willing to pay?"

Danny's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say no. He wanted to deny it. But he couldn't. It was true. Nocturne didn't wait for his answer. Danny couldn't shake the feeling that it was because he already knew.

"I have no interest in any of that." Nocturne pulled away, and Danny could breathe again. "All I am interested in is another set of hands with a brain attached. My sleepwalkers are helpful, but they cannot do much with my more delicate work."

"And... and you won't make me leave?"

Nocturne tilted his head. "I am more than capable of collecting your side of the bargain while you sleep."

Danny hesitated for only a moment. He knew he couldn't be locked inside as he had been for much longer; he refused to leave the town in Valerie's hands alone. He just couldn't.

Danny tried to shake Nocturne's hand, but when he tried to tighten his grip, he met no resistance. It felt like he had plunged his hand into a jar of jello straight out of the fridge, with nothing underneath it. He tried to pull his hand away, only to find that it was stuck. He watched as the tar continued to move past his wrist, and then up his arm.

He looked up at Nocturne in horror. He was still smiling. Of course he was. "What's happening?"

Nocturne tilted his head. "You truly are a fascinating creature." His voice was distorted, as if Danny was underwater. "Even I cannot keep the nightmares from finding you."

—

Danny awoke gasping for air, sitting up in bed suddenly. Despite his rude awakening, he felt... good. Better than he had in the past week, for certain. He wouldn’t quite describe himself as well rested, but he was certainly less tired that he was before. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table and blinked in surprise. It was late afternoon. He'd slept for six hours. A full six hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep. That was more than Danny could ask on any regular day.

The fact that he was sitting up took a moment to dawn on him, and then hit him all at once. His hand went to his chest. His pajama shirt was damp, though he wasn't sure if it was from blood or sweat. Despite this, he didn't hurt; at least, not as much as he should. There was still a dull throb through his abdomen, like he was pressing on a bruise, but no where near the pain it had been only a few hours previously.

The dream came rushing back to Danny all at once, bringing with it a sense of relief. He hadn't trusted Nocturne at any point in the dream. The fact that he was awake at all was surprising, but the fact that Nocturne had actually withheld his part of the bargain was even more so. Hopefully that meant that Danny could get back to his "normal" half-life quickly.

He reached over and switched on his bedside lamp. The dampness had been a mixture of both sweat and blood, which was better than just blood but still meant he had yet another shirt to burn. He changed quickly, faster than he had since everything had happened, and went downstairs.

Danny could hear the sound of his parents in the lab. He remembered how his heart would race when he would hear that, or even so much as look at the door. Now, he felt... maybe a little nervous, distantly, but nothing like the sheer, gripping panic he'd had to fight off before.

Going down the stairs was harder, but he needed to do it. He needed to prove to himself that Nocturne had followed through on every part of the bargain, not just where Danny was concerned. The metal was cold underneath his feet, a familiar feeling that helped to ground him. He peaked his head around the corner, taking in the lab.

His mother was standing at one of the workbenches, hammering away at a lump of something that Danny couldn't identify. His father sat at one of the desks, squinting at a piece of paper and mumbling to himself. They were working on normal projects, just like they always did. Danny cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Oh, there you are Danny boy!" Jack said, looking up from his papers with a wide smile. "We were beginning to get worried about you! Feeling any better, son?"

"Uh, yea, Dad," Danny said, fumbling over his words.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Maddie said. "If you're hungry, there's some cans of soup in the cupboard, or you can order yourself takeout. You know how. Hopefully, you'll be feeling good enough to go to school tomorrow. Don't want you to fall any further behind, isn't that right young man?" Her tone was playful. Teasing. Something she hadn't done since figuring it out.

Danny stifled his sigh of relief, and shot her a smile, though she hadn't turned around from the table she was working at. "Thanks mom. I hope so too."

He turned around and made his way out of the basement slowly. Clearly, Nocturne had followed through on his deal, just like he said he would.

Let's just hope Danny didn't regret it when he had to do the same.

---

I am now talking directly to darthfrodophantom. Hello, I hope you enjoyed it, when I said you gave some really good prompts, I meant it. Your prompts have inspired me with two other fics that I would like to do at some point down the line, both gray ghost, one of them being a multichapter thing. If you are interested in me tagging you and saying "hey this was inspired by their truce prompts!" I can, if not, they'll be getting written anyway. I just wanted to make you aware of that fact.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #nocturne dp #dp nocturne #starry eyed dreamer #tw dissection #tw gore #tw manipulation #phandom holiday truce 2023

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bubblegumbeech · 1 year

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We Interrupt Your Scheduled Programming.

Nocturn and Clockworks friendship stands on a sturdy foundation built on gray morals and dark secrets, trust formed through mischief and misdirections—as well as frequently helping each other out of situations of various kinds. Unfortunately for both of them, Clockworks latest problem has become a rescue mission scenario

For @ravenatural (Enjoy my beloved.)

AO3

“You’re joking.”

“If I am, it’s in poor taste.”

Nocturne was leaning back in his chair—a comfortable amalgamation of pillowy soft aspirations for the cushions with a sturdy frame of hope holding it together underneath. His chin was balanced on the palm of his hand, one sharp nail tapping impatiently on the wood of his mask.

“How long do I have?” he asked, giving up on any attempt at gauging the urgency in his brother's demeanor.

Clockwork was aloof as ever, despite the circumstance he had just described. “Not long. But I cannot stay—”

“Naturally.”

“As the result is fundamentally up to your decisions.” Clockwork tipped his head slightly, the mischief in his eyes no more hidden than the bitter twist of his lips.

Yes, the result would be up to Nocturne, but he had no doubt at all that it would also be to Clockwork’s taste. And while the thought of playing into the bastard's hands went against every fiber of his being, dating back to when they were more concept in their mother’s shadow than full entities themselves… the thought of missing out on such an interesting opportunity left a sour taste in his mouth.

Oh well.

He’d have to be one step ahead next time. Pride was such a killjoy in situations such as these. Perhaps if great and powerful ghosts, such as the likes of Pariah Dark or Erinyes, had a looser grip on their pride, they too might have found themselves less acquainted with repeated defeat.

“So you’ll do it?” Clockwork asked, knowing full well what Nocturne’s answer would be.

What a bother this whole thing was bound to be. “Of course, as annoying as you are, I hardly want to lose my favorite brother.” Nocturne leaned to the side, balancing his chin in the back of a loosely curled fist. “Well, at least of the ones left.”

There wasn’t even an exasperated eyeroll. Things must truly be dire.

“It’s… dangerous,” Clockwork warned, quite uncharacteristically.

Nocturne barked out a laugh. “Oh you know me, I won’t be getting involved directly.”

“Of course.” If Nocturne hadn’t known better he’d say Clockwork sounded relieved.

What a worrying thought. Perhaps his new young charge had made him overly cautious, in a way Clockwork never had been in his youth.

“You do know you will owe me quite the favor?”

“...Of course.”

Nocturne sighed and stood from his chair as Clockwork disappeared into nothingness. It truly was going to be a tedious task. Well, it didn’t necessarily have to be as tedious as Nocturne was going to make it, but he was not nearly as fond of consequences as his brother and would at least try and prevent them wherever possible.

Especially given his strange reticence.

It would have been easier, of course, if Clockwork had given him any kind of deadline. Nocturne was half tempted to take his time, leave his brother waiting and suffering both before swooping in just to prove a point.

But if anyone was well versed in petty retribution for petty transgressions it was the Master of Time.

He readied himself to leave his Lair, sealing his mask properly over his features and styling his hair so that it blended seamlessly with the rest of the endless night sky he garbed himself in.

Once he was presentable, he started to think about what exactly it was he was going to do. If he wanted to keep true to his word, that he would be careful (and hopefully unseen) there would need to be a not insignificant amount of planning.

The Clockwork that had visited him just now was from four rotations past—and had seen the possibility of the future Nocturne currently occupied.

It was the current Clockwork that needed his help.

Well, at the very least he needed something resembling help. Though it was more in the line of holding up a painting as Clockwork nailed it into the wall. Nocturne would hardly be necessary, but he’d help keep everything straight.

First… was a trip to Clockwork’s Lair. If his visitor was to be believed, Long Now would be abandoned, but Nocturne should still be able to gather at least a few clues.

His brother may be a cryptic bastard, but even he would let down his guard in his own home.

Nocturne stepped over the threshold—the lair accepted his presence easily with the bond between them as strong and often reaffirmed as it was.

There was something though, leading him away from one of the wings of the tower. Nocturne mostly ignored it. He wasn’t here for his brother’s secrets, or to break his trust. And if his Lair had something it did not want Nocturne to see, he would simply not see it.

Besides, he was here for a reason.

He mostly needed to know how long Clockwork had been gone. The time, frozen on the main screen in Clockwork’s viewing room, hinted that it had been only a moment since he’d been taken. Almost a breath between his captors dragging him away and Nocturne stepping foot inside.

It was a wonder he missed them.

Nocturne kicked away some of the mess that had been left in the struggle. Leave it to his brother to time things so perfectly.

Did it not occur to the bastard that Nocturne’s presence might have prevented this outcome entirely!?

He tapped at the edge of his mask, taking another look around before leaving to explore some of the other rooms.

Clockwork’s Lair was… strangely organized, outside of the viewing room where the recent struggle had destroyed almost everything short of the screens themselves.

He had never known Clockwork to be organized. It was…

Well, Nocturne was hardly going to start digging. His goal this time was his brother’s favor—not his displeasure. It would be just his luck if Clockwork decided whatever secrets he might uncover would count to even their score.

Next stop was setting the scene.

As powerful as Nocturne was, he didn’t particularly like his chances against the mass of Eyes That Minded Everyone’s Business But Their Own. But he did have a few tricks he could use to thin their ranks.

Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity. After all, Clockwork wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good scheme. And he had learned many of his tricks from Nocturne himself.

He stopped by Clockwork’s kitchen, grabbing some of the supplies he had left behind on one of his previous visits. There was a surprising amount of Coraleander Tea left, but Nocturne did not dare attempt to partake.

It was Clockwork’s favorite and he had been lamenting for the past few centuries that there were too few gardeners left patient enough to cultivate it.

Instead, he made a simple glass of Sweet Dreams and allowed it to try and evoke some modicum of creativity.

There were very few ways to create a distraction catastrophic enough that it would actually get Those Who Watch But Rarely Act to… well, act.

He could start a rebellion in some of their territories, but it would take time. And upon reaching out his tendrils to read the underlying thoughts and desires of the District of Jurisdiction or the Dictator’s Ship, he found them amidst rebellion already—and planning revolt.

Observants and Sympathizers were already stalking the streets (and the passageways) to keep their disobedient subjects in line and under Control.

It certainly made Nocturne’s job easier. He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever paved the way and nearly severed the Collective in half.

Even if it was… conveniently timed.

With such a large-scale operation already clearly underway and under someone’s control, Nocturne could make some more pointed attacks to start spreading what was left even thinner.

Yes, rather than trying for the tedious task of collecting the masses, he’d grab a few powerful ghosts that could get the Watching Eyes moving. It was more his style besides, and significantly less effort.

Convincing one or two… or three ghosts to do something was as simple as reading their nature and granting them a genie’s wish. Convincing an entire Realm… well, that took something far more dangerous than simple power.

Nocturne slipped away, his first target already in mind.

Of course, thoughts of powerful, dangerous ghosts and slow rising revolutions and revolts—only one ghost truly came to mind.

Pariah’s right hand. He certainly had no love lost for the bastards that had attacked Nocturne’s brother. Not since Pariah had turned against them during his first reign, and especially not in the eons after as they chased after him only to seal him away over and over again.

It was a simple matter to seek out Fright Knight’s specific flavor of fear and where it left its trails in the greater subconscious. Even simpler still, to use it to find where exactly the spirit was last seen.

It didn’t take long.

Fright Knight was spending his time, as he often did since his unfortunate curse, in a pumpkin. If Nocturne read it correctly, the pumpkin he was currently sealed inside had been left floating—lost in the thinner regions of the drowned quarter, just outside one of the smaller civilizations.

Nocturne was not personally a fan of visiting that particular region. Call it a character flaw, but he preferred the soft sweetness of happy dreams over the heavy cloying taste of fear and nightmares.

And if the deep inspired anything at all, it was fear of the unknown.

Either way, it was easier to travel in a different form through the thick ectoplasmic mimicry of ocean water. It was only mildly annoying to keep his mask fixed in place, but his hair ran completely wild and out of his control.

He wrapped his coat around him, twisting it into the vague shape of a selkie’s tail before relaxing and letting himself merge back into it. The entire visage was rather romantic, an ink colored night sky in the shape of an ocean dweller.

This particular trip would have to be quick—there was no way of knowing which of his siblings might catch him like this, and it was not something he wanted to risk for long.

They had disgustingly long memories, after all.

The search would be tedious, and Nocturne found himself fighting with an unfamiliar bitterness—oh how convenient it would be to have an ability like Sojourn’s in moments like this? Even Clockwork would know where the exact thing he was looking for awaited him.

This was exactly why Nocturne was very rarely one to get out and ‘join the fun.’

Oh well. They say to play to your strengths.

Nocturne let himself sink, just slightly, into the subconscious thread of thought all around him. Plucking at the different strings, until he found one so saturated in fear it was positively dripping with it.

Ah… he opened his eyes and swam towards the feeling—pulling at the string to guide him as if it were Ariadne’s and the open ocean around him a twisted labyrinth. It led him, successfully, to a young mermaid-like ghost that had found the floating pumpkin accidentally.

They did not dare get close to it, their subconscious thick with stories of the Spirit of Halloween and his Dimension of Fear. They had made at least three or four laps around some internalized perimeter, curious but wary. Unwilling to take their eyes off of it but even more unwilling to swim closer.

Nocturne paid the spirit no mind and simply collected the pumpkin, sword and all.

He began to swim away, thoughts clouded by future plans and possibilities.

The mermaid reached out, claws just barely missing the edges of Nocturne’s cloak. He did not know if they were trying to stop him—it did not matter. He had what he came for.

He kept Fright Knight sealed as they traveled towards Verification City, the Observants’ controlled little pet metropolis where their rules were law and weak orderly-obsessed ghosts collected like hive insects.

It was important as a display of their authority, and Nocturne had no doubt they would deploy a number of their slimy little congregants to try and ‘protect’ it. Especially when, as far as Nocturne had managed to observe, it was one of the few Realms left to them not showing open Revolt.

So Nocturne set the pumpkin down, the delicately carved swan facing the lights of the city, and drew the sword. Then, as the storm raged, summoning its captive in a blaze of terrifying glory, Nocturne took the sword and threw it into the middle of the Market Square. It pierced into the ground and buried itself—even the power of Pariah’s Knight would struggle a moment to dig it from the ground.

A moment enough to sow the chaos Nocturne desired.

He felt the gaze of the Watchers turn towards them the next moment and hid quickly in the shadows of the curious and confused residents. It was easy to hide amongst the sudden commotion, but Nocturne was careful nonetheless. Fright Knight was truly, as his name implied, a ghost to be feared.

Nocturne, like any other spirit, had dreams he did not wish to visit, even if it would be but a brief struggle. (Nocturne’s own Realm was so very similar to the power of Fright Knight’s sword after all. And Nocturne was much, much older.) So he kept his distance and slipped away, the buzzing hive-like thoughts of the Observants growing closer as they deployed yet another battalion to keep their precious Order.

Tedious.

He’d only gotten one done so far, and it had been a terrible amount of work.

Nocturne let himself take a proper breath once he was away from it all. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his neck and shoulders. The feeling was uncomfortable at best, and even as he combed his claws through his hair to untangle it—wetness clung stubbornly.

Well. He shook his head. There was someone he could visit that might help.

The trick was finding out where Vortex had last rampaged.

That should be easier than finding Fright Knight, as Vortex’s rampages were often calamities of their own—leaving destruction and victims in equal measure.

But theory was often simple until reality introduced itself.

He followed the muted screams to the nearest disaster but found it a wasted trip. This one, despite Nocturne’s hopes, had been entirely natural. (As natural as something in the Infinite Realms could possibly be.)

The Voidcano had erupted recently, leaving many ghosts damaged, disfigured, or trapped. But there was no sign of meddling from Vortex.

If his wayward little brother had ever been here at all, it was long enough ago to be useless. And certainly had nothing to do with the thick frosting of tragedy that coated the entire Realm.

Nocturne tapped his nail rhythmically against the wooden edge of his mask, trying to think. It had been mostly quiet in the Realms recently…other than some passing rumors Nocturne didn’t really bother to pay attention to.

Ghosts would always be fond of ghost stories after all.

It would be easy, he lamented once again, if Sojourn had not disappeared. He was by far the most friendly and easygoing of their siblings. Nocturne wouldn’t need to bend over backwards or sell his soul to get help doing things like finding where Vortex decided to hide or hunting down a single pumpkin.

He cast another glance out, only to find the repercussions of the Voidcano’s recent eruption acting as a blanket to smother all similar thoughts. Nocturne would have to leave the vicinity if he wanted to seek out another disaster of this magnitude.

Quiet was what he needed now. So naturally, his next stop was outside of Ghost Writer’s library. If only to get a moment of peace before trying to dive once more into the collective unconscious.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a book?” Another young ghost broke his concentration. This one was slightly more familiar to Nocturne, if only because she had the clear mark of his Sister stitched delicately around her core. A niece of his then.

“No, just a moment of respite, Spiderling.”

Her expression twisted slightly at the nickname, and Nocturne could taste a small, mostly suppressed, wave of bitterness before she smiled and said, “Then if you don’t mind…?”

Nocturne raised an eyebrow.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Ah. He turned behind him—the door had shifted from just beside him to immediately behind him. Either acting to try and invite him in, or simply attracted to Nocturne’s own connection to creativity and thought.

He turned back to the girl and stepped aside. “So I am.”

Waiting until she stepped through the doorway, Nocturne turned to ask, “What is someone like you doing at a library?”

Misery’s children were hardly known for being studious, and this girl’s obsession was hardly scholarly either. Books, in the Infinite Realms, often came at quite the price, and few were willing to risk paying for little to no reason.

There was a moment Nocturne thought he might be ignored. Misery’s children often had spines of steel, even among ghosts stronger than them. But it was still irritating—

“I need the history…” the girl said. “I need to know why—”

Nocturne felt a wave of grief hit then. Something had happened to this child—no, to someone this child cared for. He almost reached out, if only to offer sweet dreams. But that wouldn’t help, not when she had already given herself a task in her grief and when Nocturne was busy with a task of his own.

Instead he read her obsession, cultivating flowers (How sweet. How soft.) and created a Blinking Bloom to gift her. It would do nothing for her loss, but when—if— she decided to sleep, it would bring her dreams of the softest and kindest caliber.

She took it, suspicious but obedient, and turned away to continue walking into the library.

Nocturne did not watch her form disappear behind the haphazard stacks and poorly managed shelves of books. He had his own task, so that he might avoid feeling grief of his own. It was truly so terribly sour, one of the worst flavors he’d ever had to suffer.

And one he’d not like to suffer again.

The respite had been helpful though, as he was able to quickly find exactly what it was he was looking for. The grief he felt from the young Spiderling was a clue: many of the tragedies he felt in the collective unconscious held tenuous connections to it (were either grieving the same loss, or losses indistinguishable from hers), and once he filtered it out, there was only really one massive trail of disaster left.

Vortex was outside of the Acropolis of Athens and Nocturne was just in time to stop him before he decided to get into a fight with Pandora.

All this travel was really starting to catch up to him. He took a moment, upon finding his little brother, before trying to say anything. But the ticking clock in the back of his mind reminded him there was a time limit. Even if he was not personally savvy to it.

He floated closer and reached out a hand.

“Not that I would begrudge you picking fights normally—” Nocturne sidestepped a flash of lightning as Vortex turned around, instincts striking when his senses failed to pick up a possible threat.

The attack was vicious, instinctual, and cruel. Something that had become a recent hallmark of Vortex’s travels. It left Nocturne discontent, still, to see their youngest so taken apart.

“Nocturne?” His little brother looked surprised, even through his half-madness. He stopped his attack, but the ambient ectoplasm around them was still charged with static. “Why are you—?”

It was a calculated risk, what was he willing to give Vortex versus what he might be able to collect from Clockwork. Though, even without the reward of having his most troublesome sibling owe him a favor, he would not like to see this particular fate played out.

Not again.

“There’s some trouble with the Observants.”

Vortex stiffened, his form fizzling into a chaotic mess, already fuzzy edges growing fuzzier and undefined. When was the last time Nocturne had seen Vortex as he was meant to be seen? Instead of the indistinct and haywired lines of plasma and lightning that he had managed to shape himself into?

“I…” Frustration bled into the ambient ectoplasm around them, curdled and spoiled by fear.

Nocturne picked through it, searching for a reason, a balance he could strike… Ah. There it was.

“I will protect you,” he said, using his power to sooth his little brother’s fears, “and you can take out some of your anger, your frustration.” Perhaps it would be cathartic.

Red eyes turned to him, interested but not convinced.

“I am laying other traps, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to fight against the mass of the Collective on your own.” He took off his mask, shaving a sliver of the wood from it and folding it into a ring. He placed it on what was left of Vortex’s left ear and watched as it burrowed deeper, growing small roots to take hold. “It’s risk free brother. Go crazy.”

Vortex reached up to the gift he had been given, unwilling to dislodge it. “Did you lose a bet?”

Nocturne laughed. “Yes. You could say that.”

His smile was vicious as he explained the circumstances that had led them here, and before long Vortex had one to match.

There wasn’t even a moment to blink before Vortex had sped off towards the Observants’ Center for Detention and Confinement. It was in the opposite direction from their precious Metropolis at Verification City and would do well to split their forces.

Once more, Nocturne had spent far too much time and energy on what would only amount to a simple distraction. He was beginning to think this endeavor would not be worth the favor owed.

At least his hair had dried.

Now… to split the Observants’ attention once more.

There were only so many things they could keep watch over (despite their name), and Nocturne knew one little thing in particular that would make an excellent distraction.

Along with a small, harmless, bit of payback towards Clockwork for dragging him into this.

Well, if he didn’t want the child involved, he should have said so directly, right?

Nocturne replaced his mask and began his journey back. One more stop before the finale, and then he could leave all of this traveling to Sojourn. Wherever he was.

He made his way to the outskirts, where the Barrens had settled.

The permanent portal the child’s mortal parents had created was still there—a garish and painful looking wound torn into the fabric of the Infinite Realms.

Nocturne wasn’t here for the portal itself though; he needed what lay sleeping on the other side.

The boy was indeed asleep in his bed, thankfully. (Nocturne hadn’t been sure that he would be—he was often kept awake beyond what was reasonable. Whether it be due to his obsession or teenage whims was a matter for Clockwork and not of any particular interest to Nocturne.)

He used a touch of sand to weave—not a dream, per se—but a suggestion. He needed the boy to do this unsuspiciously if he was going to do this. Daniel had already met and been in conflict with him. He knew at least the bare breadth of Nocturne’s power and if he showed his hand in any way in this dream, the boy would seek out him rather than those Nocturne needed him to distract.

Besides, the last thing Nocturne wanted was the Observants’ interest reaching toward him just because he was a little lazy . Clockwork pushed his luck with his mischief and hands-on interventions. Nocturne preferred a position behind the curtain so to say. Pushing things along in the shadows to enjoy the performance and the audience while being party to neither.

Idea implanted, Nocturne slipped away—only to be stopped at the portal by a mortal girl.

It was the Halfa’s sister, long red hair unmanaged as if she had crawled straight from bed to place herself annoyingly in his path. She was holding a weapon. One of the ones that actually worked, and that Nocturne was certain the two adults had not managed to complete before it had been hidden away and out of their reach.

“What did you do to Danny?”

Quite the protective older sister she was. It reminded him of his own sister—though he doubted Misery Vex would resort to threats over implementation. She was always a ghost of action like that.

Nocturne was in a hurry though, and as fun as it might have been to play a little longer with the foolishly brave little mortal… he had his own brother to save. So he sent her into a dream with a wave of his hand. In less than the time it took to blink, he watched as she fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the ground. It was easy enough after that to step over her and through the portal to get back into the Infinite Realms.

Now, he could have washed his hands of it here, gone back to his own Lair to relax and watch what happened next…

But he had promised to help, and so that was what he was going to do.

The journey to the Observants’ Main Observatory was just as tedious as the rest of the errands he’d had to run since his brother’s unwelcome visit. Keeping out of sight, and in the shadows (and occasionally hiding entirely in the subconscious of another ghost) so that he himself did not attract attention and become another distraction for the Ever Watching, was a miserable way to travel.

And one he would not have chosen had he been given much of a choice in the matter at all. As it was, the Observatory was quite well situated in one of the more popular Realms, and Nocturne was not as unknown as he would have desired since Pariah’s fall.

There was only so much of himself he could scrape from another ghost’s thoughts and memories after all. He existed half in and half outside of a collective subconscious—everyone knew some piece of him in some way. It was only when they could match that piece to a face that it became troublesome.

He fiddled with the fit of his mask, making sure it settled properly and hid his features.

His arrival at the Observatory was quiet, thank Chaos, and there were none who noticed. Though, as he looked around, it also seemed there were quite close to none left to notice anyways.

Normally, Nocturne would have started his search in the bowels of the Observants’ shared Lair—Digging through a twisting labyrinth of under tunnels and cellars and working his way up to the highest tower—but it turned out there was no need.

Someone had already made short work of large swaths of the Observatory: the under tunnels and the dungeons were ripped apart and filled with shattered cores and spatters of ectoplasm along with the occasional unconscious (and badly damaged) spirit.

Nocturne was reminded, rather bitterly, of a certain familiar someone’s handiwork and forced himself to continue to ignore it. He was here for exactly one reason and one reason alone.

That reason was trouble enough without adding an investigation.

His brother would be where he felt the buzzing collective of the Observants’ minds, as disgusting as they were.

In their hubris, the pathetic things—at least the ones left behind—had crowded into the central hall where they had Clockwork paralyzed and on display on top of an altar in the middle of the room. He was surrounded on all sides, Observants packed like sardines in a tin can with the bloodlust of piranhas.

How absolutely disgusting. Nocturne didn’t step fully into the room, not yet.

The shadows hid him easily, though there was little point to it. Those Who Watched and Rarely Acted were quite focused on their macabre task. Voyeurs, the lot of them.

Clockwork’s chest had been carved open. Some form of magic keeping it parted as the edges bubbled, the gaping wound fighting back against reaching hands and sharp scalpels as if it were attempting to close—to heal—and failing. His core, a vibrant shining light that even Nocturne had difficulty looking directly at, thrummed at a slower beat than what was generally considered healthy (though Nocturne wasn’t sure if things like thrum-rates were nearly as important to the time-keeper’s functions.)

One of the Observants held something in its hand, a small scalpel-like device, and was using it to slowly chip away at the exposed core; but every severed sliver fell like drops of rain through its hands. Nocturne felt something akin to nausea at the sight—how long would it take to heal a wound like that? Was it… was that how they had damaged Vortex that time long ago?

Would the Clockwork he saved be the same one that asked for his help? Was this enough to damage him permanently, or was Nocturne in time to prevent the worst of it?

Newly anxious, Nocturne studied the room. He hadn’t run into anyone in the halls or corridors when he first snuck in—though he did watch entire battalions worth leave the Observatory before he had made his move to enter. It was like watching bees flee a Queenless hive once word had reached them of the different little gifts Nocturne had gone out of his way to prepare.

Apparently the Fright Knight had destroyed the the entire Market Square and started rampaging around some of the Communal Plots once he manage to dig his sword back out from where Nocturne had planted it. Vortex was wreaking havoc the likes of which he was generally known to wreak, and the young Halfa was ‘asking questions’ those who Watched would never answer… and was getting increasingly, dangerously, irritated as well.

All in all it was all going very well to plan, and Nocturne had nothing to worry about so long as he wasn’t too late. And knowing Clockwork, that was unlikely to be the case.

Clockwork, when he was awake, would probably be angry Nocturne had involved his young charge. He had been very overprotective since the adoption, and Nocturne remembered just what had happened to Undergrowth when he admitted to trying to jumpstart the boy’s juvenile core-formation.

It wasn’t pleasant for anyone.

Nocturne stepped back, deeper into the shadows when he noticed one of the younger Observants cast its gaze about the room. It then raised a hand and volunteered itself for some macabre task or another, one of the others handing it pliers and a clamp.

Disgusting.

Tedious.

Annoying.

It felt stuffy, in his chest, some ugly foul-tasting emotion building in the void he called his core. He did not like seeing his brother like this, trapped-frozen-taken apart by those weaker than him for the sake of their curiosity–no.

This wasn’t about curiosity at all. Nocturne could taste it, saturated in the ambient ectoplasm around them. There was a thin thread of curiosity, sure, from the younger, more newly formed Observants mostly. But what the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating with, was the Watchers’ desire for complete, uncontested control .

It was a pipe-dream. One they had long since attempted to wage war over.

They did not like that power reigned supreme in the Infinite Realms. They did not like that their collective was so pathetically weak, that any attempt to control those Ancient Enough To Have Come Before was merely laughed off as the paltry inconvenience it was.

Nocturne felt his scar itch.

They had long been a tedious thorn—painful and irritating but unable to truly hinder.

Maybe that was why the sight before him, of his kin—Ancient and Powerful—torn apart as if on an operating table, left his chest smoldering.

It didn’t really matter…

No, it shouldn’t really matter.

Nocturne had already long decided on his next course of action. He stepped forward, and let loose the writhing dark hidden in his Core to surround him. A growing, thriving mass of night-dark tendrils slithered into the auditorium, slinking between green transparent tails and trailing capes.

The exclamations started quickly after.

Like a song, building to crescendo.

It began with startled confusion. Questions like, “What?” and “Where did these come from?”

Then it was indignation. “Who dares?!”

That was when Nocturne smiled behind his mask. He was in the middle of it all now, having walked towards the center stage where his brother laid while his tendrils covered the rest of the chamber.

The Observants who had just been elbow deep in Clockwork’s chest were stumbling back, tripping over tendrils. Some even tried to fly away. He did not let them.

“You—?!”

Nocturne ripped the last Observant away from his brother’s body and turned to address the class.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he said smoothly, stealing his sister’s favorite words. “Allow me to teach you.”

It took less than a thought for every single entity inside the chamber to be absorbed entirely. They would not stay long—it was a struggle even for Nocturne to keep such a large collective contained in this way, and he was grateful he had thinned it as thoroughly as he had.

Once the room was quiet, he turned to the frozen fool laid out like a sacrifice before him.

There was nothing obvious holding him there, and Nocturne pinched the wooden bridge between the carved eyes of his mask. Tedious. This entire thing was dreadfully tedious.

Would it truly have been such a disservice to have given Nocturne some infinitesimal clue beyond: “The Watchers have grown beyond themselves and I fear I shall be the first they seek to reap.”

He reached down, careful not to brush against his brother’s exposed core. He was uncharacteristically cold to the touch—and Nocturne drew his hand back quickly.

Had the Observants truly been capable… It seemed so unrealistic. A possibility that even Clockwork would have written off as a fraying thread in the tapestry of timelines he weaved.

But the proof was before him.

What could have had their sister so distracted? That these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm could get their hands on one of her heartstrings?

He sighed.

There was little that could be done in this exact moment other than freeing Clockwork from the constraints and allowing his time to tick once more. The utter freeze of his features was likely more due to his own abilities backfiring against him than the restraint itself.

Nocturne just needed to find where these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm had sewn the thread. He followed the chill of it with the edge of his nail, unwilling to touch it properly until he found where it stitched into the back of his brother’s left retina.

He held back a flinch. His brother had sown this for himself, and was reaping the rewards of his rebellious nature.

Still. Nocturne’s hands remained gentle and steady as he began to unweave some of the knots tied into the Heartstring.

His mind wandered as his hands went about their work, thinking back to what actions his brother had taken to end up here, vulnerable in a way he had very rarely allowed.

There had been secrets, beyond the hints and clues scattered around Long Now and the Infinite Realms that led to a correspondence Nocturne had no desire to know anything about.

But there had always been secrets. Clockwork did not think it necessary to tell anyone the in depth details of the possible futures and long forgotten pasts that stretched out around him.

Not anymore than Nocturne found it necessary to share the thoughts of those around him when they themselves did not dare.

Thoughts meant nothing against actions—and possible futures meant nothing against the choices of the present.

That said…

There was little Nocturne could think of that would have set the Observants into such a desperate fervor. Such that they would storm the Realm of an Ancient and steal him away to dissect in an attempt to collect his power for their own.

The simple fact they had even achieved this much was frankly ridiculous.

And those rebellions—did this have something to do with that?

It was hardly Clockwork’s Modus operandi—he preferred cryptic one on one intervention. Dominoes lined up perfectly to fall into the picture he desired.

But he knew one ghost that was very very good at building a following. Especially a violent one.

And if he was the one pulling the strings, it made sense that Clockwork would be the one to take the fall.

Nocturne shook his head, shaking the thought clear before it blinded him. It would do no good to assume, and more rumination on the thought would only blind him with fury.

He focused once more on the task at hand.

The work was long and tedious—even before he was interrupted.

The whine of an ecto-gun alerted him to her presence, well before he tuned in to the familiar waft of her dreams, muted by her conscious mind. He stopped, but did not turn around. Not yet.

“And what are you going to do with that little thing?” He asked, feigning a disinterested and absolutely not at all irritated countenance.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” The girl’s voice was casual, but with a sharp, thin edge to it that had Nocturne looking up from his work.

She was standing a few feet away—far enough that a human would have to lunge to attack and she would have time to pull the trigger.

A sign she had been well trained, but that her training was limited to fighting humans. Or at least, the training she focused on was against humans.

He turned back to his brother, sure that she would not shoot him until he was finished.

The gun was a bluff. There was no internal struggle between the options nor a pre-made decision to fire at a given moment. Only a loud, static-like anxiety that he might not take kindly to her threat and retaliate against her instead.

Luckily for her, he had more important things to do.

“You chose a bad time,” Nocturne said with a forced casualness that did not betray the strain he felt with his brother’s sight in his very hands. “My attention is rather split at the moment.”

“I can tell.” Her voice wavered for a moment before hardening again. “You missed a few of those creepy little green guys watching the main entryway. I got them, though. You're welcome.”

“...Thank you.” He returned to his task. The gun she was holding was unlikely to damage him permanently, even if she fired at him now distracted as he was. But even if it were to do so… Well, it was certainly going to be something to hold over his brother’s head once they got out of this mess.

Ignoring her didn’t get him shot at, thankfully. But it did invite her to continue her line of questioning. “What did you do to Danny last night?”

There was a knot, tangled just beneath what would have been a major artery had Clockwork been human. It made Nocturne wonder just what methods the spineless green blobs were using to restrain him.

Ghosts usually went with non-traditional bondage—almost all of them could manipulate their form at will after all—but as with all magics, there was strength in grounding tools and tasks to reality. Though Nocturne would have expected them to use pressure points or even acupuncture or Qi points to restrain a ghost.

Instead they threaded it through major arteries… that did not exist. Were they trying to give him a weakness to exploit later on? It was worrisome, but they had not gotten far enough to bury the thread properly.

Luckily Clockwork had asked for Nocturne’s help. He would have awoken on his own—a thread this thin would not be able to keep his power contained, especially not when it was cannibalizing him like this—but the Observants would have also long accomplished their task and…

It gave Nocturne an idea. He thread an additional suggestion into the nightmare he had weaved for the Collective he currently had contained.

The mortal girl growled in frustration.

She was in front of him, close enough to touch—no—she was touching. Clockwork. Her hand had phased partially underneath his skin and she slowly and carefully began removing the Heartstring that had been threaded and tied so thoroughly through his body.

Nocturne watched closely, an analytical eye on her movements just in case she decided she wasn’t actually going to help. He was frustrated enough that the Observants had taken his brother as some kind of experiment. He would not stand for some mortal taking him as a hostage.

His vigilance was wasted though. She simply and perfunctorily slipped the entire thread out and set it aside in a matter of seconds before turning back to Nocturne.

“Is your attention still split?” she asked with a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nocturne gathered his sister’s Heartstring from where the girl had set it. With his luck, he’d get distracted and forget it, or something else could happen and leave it once again in the hands of those who would seek to abuse power that was not their own.

#Danny Phantom #Nocturne DP #Nocturn DP #Clockwork DP #Jazz Fenton #Vortex DP #Gore #Ghost Gore #mild body Horror #phic phight 2023 #phic phight #Bee’s writing

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