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grim-faux · 4 months

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3 _ 44 _ Tomorrow and Beyond the Horizon

First – An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

A minor TRIGGER WARNING for animal death. It's not a super graphic scene, but tread with caution and remember this is Little Nightmares.

Thick dust wheezed from between the two books as he set aside another volume. Seeping through the multitudes of tomes piled between the shelves had proved the most tedious errand, but simplified by degrees with the repeated titles layered in the heap he sifted through. Duplicates benefited this search, many of the tomes on the surface took the brunt of damage but with some digging and scouring through pages he found sections of text still legible. This did not save him from accumulating a large mound of nothing useful.

Currently, the Thin Man was held up on some terminology he was working through. Though he had improved in literary comprehension since abandoning the Tower, some terms persisted elude him with the meaning and purpose. He knew speek from the symbols he compiled and fabricated meaning from, but it was anything but perfect. He did his best to recognize errors and correct them, but his source was a speek which was in all intent and purpose dead.

One perplexity was that of the difference between the ‘fiction’ and ‘nonfiction’ parallels; in the case of one ‘being’ and the other ‘not being’ of the term. Well, that was obvious. He managed to secure a book that did aid in his quest for answers to simple inquiries on basic terminology, thus consulted the pages on the distinction he failed to grasp.

For a topic to qualify as nonfiction, the concepts or ‘truths’ must be of proven documentation, or a cluster of factors generally accepted by scientifically certified methodology. More terms lost to his fleeting grasp, but all that for later. In case of fictional segments, it was a purposeful deceit or story designed by falsities that could not be proven nor accepted as probability. Did this mean that he was a believer in fiction? In his pursuit to disrupt the Tower and seek an end to the monstrous beast – if not reach its end, then he would pursue any history of its origins. That might be the key to discovering the nature of its weaknesses –whatever feat might have nullified a monster in its conception. Even he did not know a way to detach the Broadcaster’s fate from the tether of the Tower. As far as he knew the cycle spanned into infinity. That was the truths of his situation.

Glitching up from the musty and tattered couch, the Thin Man stretched his arms above his hat and stretched; a trailing wisp of static flashed across his outline as the threads and crinkles of his suit fixed themselves. The building was at best an inhospitable mess, the roof caved in at one end and anything not subjected to the elements was tussled or crumpled. This must be the work of some geographic upheaval, if the misshapen floor was any indication. Either the structure rested above a growing sinkhole, or the foundation was crowded by the broken roads and allies buckling around. It was a shame, as the location had proven much value in the materials he perused through.

Yet, none of the volumes had any merit or indication of the information he sought. The notion of which only came to him when he realized he had sifted through at least half the piles with no noteworthy progress, aside from shifting the massive heaps around. Book-by-book. At another time he would return and peruse the volumes, but with no insight to his investigation it was time to move on and seek new regions.

He elected two volumes to review later, one geared to construction and another centered on “hot air” flight ships. The ship book included images of aircraft with the Eye, an artifact that appeared in any tome from common signs to bulk goods and crates. The inclusion of the Eye was commonplace in the typical world, yet its recurrence in remedial imagery from the time before did interest him a great deal. It was the Eye that observed him from the front of the door, when he was a child and seeking that which called.

Residents of the Pale City slapped the eye onto any significant landmark or location. It was the only tie between the city and the horrendous Tower at its core, yet it was a dead end. What did a restaurant have to do with the Eye?

It took some navigation around the ruined innards of the building, but he located a viable entrance through a utility closet cluttered by the bodies of Viewers and furniture from some ancient cataclysm. The proximity to the street allowed for an easy relocation with a swirl of static, and once he was beneath the wilting skyrises he renewed his silent march through the city. The lamps blazed, cutting through the heavy drapery of mist and night; in the shattered window of a nearby shop, a television crooned to a vacant road.

While the coast was clear, he set his palms onto the screen and let the transmission sweep him into the nearest available transmitter.

The familiar trace of the child remained absent. At some point, the boy grew bored and wandered off as was typical. He did not recall when or what last the child was up to, but it was likely most obnoxious. What sympathetic gleam of the cycle permitted him the pause which allowed the prolonged opportunity to search those books? Who could say?

A faint whisper of caution slipped through his elated musing as he passed beneath a blazing streetlamp, as if a light bulb had flashed. But went out instead of beamed.

Standing in the shadow, the Thin Man turned his gaze and searched the reaching horizon for the searing wink of the tallest spire.

It was not an impossible assessment to suspect, and he would have no way of ever knowing. He might wander the streets blissful and ignorant to where the boy may have relocated himself. The Thin Man doubted, there was not a chance that the child might return to stare at those doors and entertain the thought of entering when there was no longer need to.

“It calls to me.”

Trails of rain slipped off his hat as he turned his head away and resumed his languid pace. The rain glossed alley chattered with the symphony of icy pellets, serenading him with its company the way it did during his boyhood journey when he and Her braved the deep city, hurtling toward unwavering eventuals. Sharp gales snapped at his suit and cut across the waterlogged furniture crammed into the buildings side, among heaps of ruble from crumbling walls. He adjusted his hat, though the faithful headpiece would go nowhere with the driving gale – it was habit. The child was always losing his hats, abandoning them after a tussle. Never looking back. Hats could be replaced.

The books were getting soaked. He tucked them under his arm and turned into an alley, glitching and passing the scattered fragments of obscure debris and rusted fences. Moving out into the next road, he discovered another television partially buried under layers of brick. This time, he did test the transmission for tears or tampering.

This whole fiasco was a deplorable nuisance.

No sign or trace of the shared transmission anywhere. Usually the child made his appearance, and always at the most inopportune moment. They were drawn to the other and nothing would ever change that; save for, if the Thin Man himself decided to challenge the Tower. Take his chances. At least he would know where he would wind up, or he supposed… well, the child would not be along to witness the aftermath. Eventually, those truths would discover the child.

Countless evenings and days of wandering, rainfall and fog, across rooftops, or through gutted building interiors – none of it produced a trance of the shared transmission. Somewhere in his endless wanderings, he gave pause in one of the obscure sections of decrepit halls. He located a large room on one of the upper floors, the space harbored a secluded television, along with a long table and many scattered pairs of shirts with pants. He discarded the dusty clothing draped across one chair and sat, slouching forward; a cigarette stub between his fingers, and the forgotten books set beside his elbow. With a scratchy breath, he turned his focus to the television.

Nothing displayed but snow and vague outlines squirming behind the glass, of shapes resembling sacks or grotesque bodies twitching. The occasional image of the city landscape winked through, or the emergency broadcast (one of his temper tantrums still echoing decades later). The silhouettes of adults flashed, followed by some program of a creature doing a hokey demonstration with an electric device and bathtub. Uninteresting patches of scenery swelled beneath the vertical lines, trying to imitate a fictional state he would never comprehend. He did not grow up drinking the Signal, and never became intoxicated by the poison of its lies. He was not a child enamored by distractions, he sought something else behind the screen, at the end of a long hall. The beckoning of something waiting, of someone anticipating the door….

To….

W̷͖̦̍̔̂̎͠Ẹ̷̪̾̿̚

̴̟̌̽̓Ŏ̵̤̙̤́̌̔ͅF̷͖̟̽ͅ ̵͉̩͉͕̖̿Ț̵̥̈̍͠ͅH̵̰̙̖͐͂Ë̸̡͚̞̗̎̀͘͜ ̴̘͍̣̉͝

̶̝̩̣̂̊Ķ̴̞̣̎̇Ň̴̼̖̲̣̗Ȯ̷͇̦̈́͑̏͜Ŵ̵̛̲̖̥̣̺͆̇̆ ̶͕͚̖̅Y̵͔͊̀͒͊O̷̝̲̗̪͔͛͝U̴̯̼͊̆͌

̴̨̣̭̝̑͌̑̎

̴̟̌̽̓Ŏ̵̤̙̤́̌̔ͅF̷͖̟̽ͅ ̵͉̩͉͕̖̿Ț̵̥̈̍͠ͅH̵̰̙̖͐͂Ë̸̡͚̞̗̎̀͘͜ ̴̘͍̣̉͝

̶̺̯̭̉̅̽́̒B̶͉̮̻̉͌R̴̛͇̈́̂͘Ǫ̶̖͗̾̋̽A̵̯͕̫͐̑̏̚D̴͙̖̤͈̥̿͘Ĉ̸̰̥̰̬̉͘A̴̼̺̩̼̩͑́̀̎S̷̩̥̙̑̔T̵͎̱̻̞̂̉̋̒͊Ȩ̶̙͔̣̮́̌̆Ŗ̵̠̯̀́̂̕

S̶̮̞̙̺̲͊̑̊Ȋ̸͇͊̀͝͝G̶̲̐̓͠N̶̖͚̦̔̚A̵͇̣̼̣̙͌̀̉L̵̻̾

̵̪̞̰̞̼̍̐̚C̴̭̠͎̀͂H̵̰͔͕̓͋̂̿A̵̧̫̲̺̥̾͝M̷̡̩̣͎͑́͝ͅP̸̳̱̻̍͌̓Ĭ̸̺̺͖̪̌̅̈́Ǫ̵̿̊̅̚Ṉ̷̢̥̿̅̎͌

̶͉͊̄͝͝

The child knotted up against the back of the chair, making himself as small as possible while huddled beneath the edges of his coat. The walls reverberated, not booming or overpowering, but rattled through his bones and nerves like a pulsing current. The noise of it grated within his skull, pressing against his thoughts. His head filled with the gurgling croon of gnashing skin and squirming folds, undulating as he cowered further into the sheltering embrace of his scrawny arms.

“Shut up.”

P̵͎͔̬̺̋̈̋A̶̞̰̅͛T̶̠͎͑͒Ḯ̵̠̝̚E̸̮͕̭̘̺͛͌̐̈́͠Ň̶̢͎̭̄͛͗C̸̤̦͋̀̈͝Ę̴̛̺͕̹̍̊͝

̶̢̲̜͔̱͒̑̋̄

̴̮͙̐I̸̘̲̹̺͖͑̃͗̚N̶͓͎̑̄͆͠͝ ̵͍͚̯̊̒̽ͅD̵̞́̅̊̏̃U̴̘̙̼̤̪̒͘̚E̵̘̓͐ ̶̨̖͈̜͋́̽ͅT̴̡̡̪̬̹̈́I̸̢͖͖̞͇͋̈́̄M̴̼̄̌E̵̝̟͑̈͌̀

̷̠͈̺̾

̵̡̢̠̥̩̉̈

̴̣̩͚̟͉̿̊͒F̸̢̫͚̗́͋̿̂Ä̶͍͚͉́͌I̵̩̲͒̽͊̿T̶̺̣͕͌̀H̴̳̖̯̝̍́F̶̘̞͙͚͋͗̊͝U̴̯̔̽Ḷ̶̪̓

̵̯̣̠̻̎

̴͈̜͋̐̅̇

̷̖̪̱͂͌̊̓͜Y̶̥̹̬͆̽̊̃̏O̴̱̊͌̒͂͘U̷̫̙̜̒̏̂͠

“Hate you.” He sniffled, gulping down thick breaths before he wheezed. “Let me alone.” The shivering of his shoulders was pathetic, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to see the walls oozing closer.

Ẇ̴̡̠̳͈E̸͔̼͕͋̀̑̈́͋ ̷̧̟͕̊́́S̷͈̫̹͎̃̑͒̕͠H̸̢̟̾̀̐͛̏Ḁ̶̣̝̣̺̏L̴̞̙̉Ļ̵̥̽̌̀̚ͅ

̵͔̟̞̇̆͐͜Ă̴̊̾̕̚ͅW̴͓͎̠̏̌̔̓ͅA̸̬̲̣̓İ̷̱͍͉͐̈̇T̴̪̱͚͍̄̈́

̷̞̤̼̈́͂̾

̵̨̼͕̳̃̇̃̒́A̸̛͖͋͛̉͊S̷̝̜͍̺̐̃̑͘ ̷̮̪̊͛̏̄̌A̷̠̙͍̹͑͌̀͝L̵͚̱̮̪̾͆W̴͈̙̖̤̊́͗͝Ä̸͔̘̠̦͎́̎̓̀̔Y̶̳̝̋̌̈̕ͅS̴̡̛̼̯̖͑͌́

̶̪̼̥͇͇̈́

̴̝͇̹̇͒̑̏͒

̵̣̀̽̍̄Ì̷͙͈͒̾͜Ň̴̝̀̈͘͠E̶͇͇̭̦̾V̶̪̩͇̯̏͐͑I̷̧͍͇̭̖̿T̶̝͍̹̏͒̓̍A̵̩̦̟̣͋͒̌̏B̶͈̲͗̂̎L̵̛̫̥̭̒̐̃̕Ĕ̵͓̰̞͛͠

When the scratching sounds vacated his mind, and his head turned calm, he waited still. He waited for such a long while, forever almost, until his toes ached, and his shoulder buzzed. Only then would the child risk uncoiling by a fraction. Enough to poke his head up from his folded arms, and check the walls over, search the distant and shrouded door; all to ensure no eyes remained. Usually. Usually. The beast was good about collecting all its wriggly pieces. He remained fully bundled inside his coat, while he slipped his head far back to elevate his gaze with the ceiling, and the light suspended high above. The only light he ever saw, that he could bask in. The only source of radiance he wanted to risk in this room. The less he knew about the walls, the better.

This is where he belonged. No one would find him here. No one could hurt him. Not anymore. Never again.

He shut his eyes and let the warmth of colors melt through his eyelids. It was so reminiscent of something he had seen somewhere, though he couldn’t pinpoint from where. It was… familiar, and that felt good. Even something only a little familiar felt… happy.

Snorting and hoisting his head up, the Thin Man addressed the slightly more tolerable present. Was he dreaming? No. A memory he loathed. They snuck up on him when he least expected it. The walls within the Tower, festering with a vile creature. That had been the least of his worries, the recollection of that and certain inevitables, sent a shiver through him.

He uncoiled from his hunched posture and pressed a hand against his eyes, massaging out the dread. His face was still wet from the storm. When he drew his hand away, he almost expected the child to be seated on the table in his typical fashion. Watching, like he was prone to. Creepy little brat.

Just to be certain, he cast his eyes around. Actively searching rather feel for if the child had somehow managed to find this place. For a spell the Thin Man was at a loss to where he-himself had secluded to, aside from some vague building with a room and a television. It was not an apartment with spare rooms, it appeared to be a place where residents once gathered.

In an era before the Tower.

He lit a cigarette, then, pushed out from his seat. In a casual glitch and flicker he bypassed the chairs encircling the table and approached the television. Some time ago, the child did use the transmission. The embedded frequency was still there, the static particles swirling deep within the snow. Tuning from this side to intercept the pathway was simple, the frequency was now connected and the buzzing snow dispersed, molding into a scenery of an unknown location. Shoving his hands against the warm glass he forced his way through.

Unsurprisingly, the child was not present when he emerged. The metal desk that held the television collapsed when pummeled by the volatile aura of skewered temporal space, and a nearby Viewer was repelled backwards. He managed to extract himself fully from the screen before the box erupted in glass and embers. On the other side of the room, the unfortunate Viewer gave a croaked wail before disintegrating. The clothing drifted to the floor, adding to another heap deflated on the patchy rug.

Smoke trailed the Thin Man’s hat as he clicked by the clothing, first exploring a room to the right. The whereabouts appeared to be some dwelling, going off of the windows in each room and the scenery of a tree and a road outside, along with a nearby structure of similar dimensions. Upon discovering the whereabouts of the kitchen, he is… a bit concerned.

Some event had occurred. Skimming across the shattered fronts of countertops, dishware and glass gleamed under a layer of water, and froth curdled everywhere – the entire story eluded him. One element was for certain, two Viewers lay as crooked islands within the bubbling swamp. Certified dead. The culprit was the sink cammed with dishes and sludge, the faucet continued to gush water and the surplus of floodwaters roamed across the floors, and out into the connecting corridors. He could not identify any electric devices hooked to an outlet, or lamps, or anything that may have set the water alight. Some other incident may have occurred, though whatever happened was not recent. As evident by the swollen bodies, the flesh already unraveling.

Exhaling a thick gray plume, he opted to search elsewhere and departed the perplexing scene.

After wasting his time with an exhaustive search of every room and closet, he flittered through the barricaded doorway and navigated the roads. The home sat clustered among numerous building copies, wedged tight together and sprouted somewhere on the outskirts of the city. For this hour the rain gave pause in its relentless drilling, the obscured distance was masked by curtains of fog that suffocated everything except the space he occupied. Without the repetitive pattering, the silence became unnerving with only his steps rebounding through the gray air. The only other sounds was the whisper of wind skipping across glassy puddles.

Crates and sunken trunks cluttered every patch of road or sidewalk, the miasma intermixed with mounds of furniture torn from the surrounding buildings. The roads themselves would be difficult to navigate for a living creature, the surfaces carved by pits and sections of the asphalt fissured. The Thin Man pulsed in swells of particles and glitched across gaps, or bypassed barricades of makeshift fences. He never dawdled long except to locate the next clearing. In the waterlogged dirt spread before one home, the curious arrangements of bones jutted from the clay. He nearly missed the scene, if not for the grinning skull with gravel jammed into one eye socket. He admitted the oddity of the sight, but continued to disperse and appear across the nearby yards and homes.

Only the few dwellings that remained intact (for the most part) had power, the battered windows flickered a frail light as if a lure for the desperate. A television and its cast of characters peered out of the screen, lost in another world while the realm beyond the wood and glass prison deteriorated. An uproar of laughter mocked the Thin Man, before the saturated roof at last caved in.

At last or by a whim? Who could say, the Thin Man did not mourn the loss.

While crossing a waterlogged yard, the tall thin man paused beneath a tree and lit a fresh cigarette. He took a moment to observe the deserted terrain and misty buildings hollowed of all presence, trying with some fleeting interest to imagine an obscure figment lifted from any of the books he browsed. He sought a world lost to a realm that no longer existed, but found even with his state of thought he was utterly lost to what such a world might have been. If it even existed once. These bleak dwellers were the obituary of dead world, inscribing the illusions of a dream the residents forsaken.

Hmm. He was one to talk.

Tilting his head back, he peered through the bare branches and watched the shifting dark clouds, the muted light and monochrome saturation. A low groan churned the dark water above, and a gust of wind sent a sheet of water from the tree to brush across his suit. He did not bother dismissing the droplets this time.

This area was not the worst to absentmindedly amble through. Aside from the one Viewer he dissolved upon arrival, the roads remained open and clear of hostility. His only companion was the hum of static bristling his suit, and the languid wind sweeping among the debris of makeshift fences and whatever else was cast into the yards. He explored through countless neighborhoods and dead end roads, sticking to the few segments of pavement that remained stable. In one side of the housing division, a massive chasm splint through the earth and three buildings along its edge, the cavernous grin melted into the distant fog leaving the imagination to ponder its end - if there was one. Though he could shift to the other side and continue through the next yard, the child would have been forced to seek another route. Thus, he departed the obstacle and the faint chitter of flaking rocks.

While browsing through a district of demolished and consisting of mostly inside out dwellings, he caught a tinge of the transmission. A mostly solid abode looked vacant, the large windows boarded up, and all the paneling nailed tight across the doors front. He flashed in through a shattered window on the lower floor and let the serenity of this derelict place settle around his form, mingle with the static curling off his shoulders and hat. No trace of sound and nothing to indicate what would be a draw, aside from utter abandonment. Abandonment could be the child’s most faithful ally.

He exhaled smoke and clicked towards a doorway. Around him the walls creaked and moaned, outside the wind was picking up. Within the corridors an assortment of desks and other furniture decorated the floors, all in disarray but still whole. The walls and tables catered to some pictures in frames, but whatever was displayed in a time before was no more. The glass was tarnished, and the frames twisted.

The backside of the home lay in ruin and scrubbed clean by the harsh elements. Still, a lone staircase was solid enough to deliver him to the upper floor—

Something fluttered between two doorways. Not far from where he materialized in a sweep of static on the top landing. The Thin Man crept over to the thing, only to discover it was a bit of tattered cloth. He was not quite fooled, the transmission prickled nearby though not this close.

Exploring to the end of the corridor revealed a corner, and then a few doors around the bend. He unlocked the one with a large break in the bottom.

Rickety furniture littered the room, and large windows to one side might have offered a view. Though boards now covered the patches of shattered glass, mostly. Erosion and constant storms tore some of the impromptu barriers clear of the opening, allowing the harsh weather to claw up the floor. He left the door open and crushed out his smoke, then, gave the space a brief examination. The room was the typical despondent style, all the rot in order. From a cursory glance, this area was long abandoned. Of course. Children recognized a threat before it appeared, before it was announced. Of course.

Some while ago, he had forgotten why he had come to this area. He had doubts - unfounded and foolish, but he had been.... The child would one day do away with him, and harassing the boy would expedite the eventual. As well, the child was the only force which could grant this retirement. For this reason, he held stakes in the boy's whereabouts. Such was the perpetuating cycle.

The child did not emerge as he normally would. He let all misgivings slide away and navigated among the furniture pieces, toppled or broken. To one side of the room, he located a low table.

“Child?” No response. “Hiding from me?” He did not expect a reply. Hearing his voice usually coaxed the child out. Then again, the boy only blundered into his presence while the Thin Man had other occupations. This was unusual, but that did not warrant such shyness.

Slowly, he eased all the way down, until his elbows supported his frame and allowed him to check under the bottom shelf of the coffee table. As he sensed, the child was there. He gawked out with a face much too puzzled to be the boy, some sort of stuffed toy crushed to his chest. No hat, not surprising.

“Why not come out?” he crooned. “Come here. Let me see you. I was waiting for you, wondering why this boy was avoiding me. Will you not come out?” It was likely best to let this be, the child looked all right. Filthy, as usual, covered in dust and everything else. The eyes remained fixed on him and unblinking. "Very well then."

Upon easing back on his arms, the child actually did emerge, but only enough to stay concealed by the front of the table's lowest shelf. The Thin Man scooted back further, avoiding distortions or glitching. The child looked utterly out of it. Now that he was closer, the Thin Man saw with a blow of dread what he was actually holding.

The child was covered in feathers, looking something like a downy chicken. This might have been endearing, if not for the bird he was chewing on. How very disgusting and heartbreaking.

“Mono.” What was he even doing? Why? When did this happen?

Briefly, the child seemed to ponder, clutching the ruined thing tighter to his chest. For an agonizing length of time the Thin Man gaped at the boy, unsure what to do or how to approach. He wanted to tear the child out and rip away the soggy ratty mess. This entire time he tried not to... and all those bones…

He could not handle this.

At last, the boy departed his shelter and inched his way closer, prompting the Thin Man to ease back further and perch on his knees. For a long time, the Thin Man uttered not a sound, aside from the steady bristle of static apart of his corporal form. Outside, the wind flapped across the crooked eaves of the home and teased at the gaps in the boards blotting out the world. After ages of the disquiet, the boy hoisted the limp creature up in his arms; the whole thing practically as big as him. The birds head sagged, and the tongue poked out from its slender beak.

“Eat?” rasped the child.

The Thin Man fought to rouse himself back to some awareness, but his spiraling thoughts could not find purchase in the tumult waves of panic. Where to begin with explaining this was not right? How long was... when did it all start? If the boy was gone enough to prey on animals, what might he chew on next? This was not mere hunger, it could not be. He did not know where to begin.

“You… d̴o̶ ̶n̷o̶t̴ ̵ need to d̴o̸ ̶t̸h̸i̶s̵,” the static grated in his voice, causing the child to withdraw. “I̴t̸ ̷i̴s̴ alright, no r̶u̴n̵n̴i̶n̸g̵.̴ We will find food. R̷e̶a̶l̵ ̸ f̵o̸o̶d̸.̶ This is n̶o̴t̵ ̷... g̵o̷o̵d̵ for you.” Very carefully, he reached out and snagged the crooked wing by a bent feather.

“Nuh. Sss'frecsh.” The boy tugged the bird away by a fraction and bit onto the chest. Thankfully, he only got a mouthful of feathers for the effort and sputtered at the sticky down. This did not deter the boy from fighting to hold on fast, while the Thin Man tugged the raggedy carcass along with the child, out from beneath the tables edge. The Thin Man finally snagged him by the wonderful coats backside and shook the floppy mess loose. With a flick, it’s gone. Mono looked so bewildered and ruined by the loss.

“Let us leave and f̵i̴n̴d̷ ̷s̷o̵m̶e̷t̸h̸i̴n̴g̵ better.” His sleeve was still damp from the trees benevolent misting, which allowed him to scrub off the dirt and… red. The boy stood with his feet planted, glossy eyes zeroed in on the direction the bird sailed off to.

“Nh… s’food.”

He had to hold the boy still, he was trying to shrug away. “No-no, child. That w̷a̴s̶ ̶ n̵o̵t̷… it was no good.” Though he did recall the times he-himself had to slain animals, the child did not need to do that anymore. The city had plenty of food, the stores and kitchens were always stocked. “We will find s̶o̷m̸e̸t̶h̸i̶n̵g̵ better. Something you like.” Undeterred, the boy was trying to detach from his grip. He tried giving the scruffy head a consoling pat, but the boy was not having it.

“S’food. T’mine. Wuz’frrr. Mine.” And direct himself, however futile, to the birds final resting place. Like a broken record. “Mine. T’s rr'mine. Long. B’t take. Did t’s. Mine. Food.”

Giving up on the remnants of the smudging and feathers, the Thin Man sighed and put his hands around the child. The singular focus would not be broken. Not for some time. “That will be e̵n̶o̴u̵g̴h̵. We are not starting a̸n̵o̷t̴h̷e̴r̶ ̴ d̴r̶a̵m̷a̵.̷ No is f̸i̷n̵a̸l̵.̴” This admission had no effect, and the boy fought and bit, even when lifted and pressed firmly against the Thin Man's suit. “Settle down, you will h̵u̸r̵t̴ ̵ y̶o̸u̷r̷s̵e̶l̴f̶.̴ Let us not do that.” He supplied gentle pressure to the rigid back, trying to restrain the clawing arms. Eventually, the boy would tire out. The Thin Man feared that would be too soon, given the state he had witnessedd. "Shh.... Hush your head."

Muffled, the boy muttered all the same, “N’food. Hard n’caught.”

“I a̷m̷ ̶c̴e̵r̶t̴a̴i̶n̸ it was.” The Thin Man stood to his full height and wove his way from the room, leaving behind all its horrible memories. Though not as terrible as his time within the Tower, lost in the familiar misery that soaked into each iteration of the Broadcaster. On his gradual trek through the drab corridor, he reframed from sudden movements and glitching, in spite of how he yearned to escape these walls. He wanted to ask the boy what they might seek for him to eat, but the child had a one-track mind and he needed to shift that away from the topic.

Even after the home was long abandoned and those cluttered roads fading far behind his steps; the neighborhoods dissolving into the distance, and the rain renewing its endless descent; the sky becoming inky, and the familiar city roads sprawling around the tall man and his hat; the boy would not relent on his single-minded desperation for racing away to who knows where. He grumbled about his tricked bird, struck with staying muted but also snarling about the injustice. Exhausting. Despairing. But the Thin Man should have anticipated this.

An ugly thought weeded through his recollections, about when he was dragged into the realm of the Pit. The Flesh was waiting, as it always was waiting for the arrival of the child. Consistent and inevitable. He did not want to think about what it promised him, or was it prophesied? The loathsome mass snickered at him and let him go; always crooned from beneath the concrete floor, always jeering during his tantrums. The Flesh saw no reason to disrupt nor restrain him. It knew him better than he knew himself. Somehow knew everything. The Mono before him, and then his-self, always repeating the same doomed script.

This cycle was not unique or broken. As always and as has been. The Flesh implied this much.

Ā̶̯̻̲̏L̶̖̯̪͉͌́̂W̴̨̠̙͉̣̐̐͂̎̊A̸̢̻͚̔̒̽́͗Y̸̹͊͂̏͝S̸̬͊͛͠

̵̹̯͊̑̃͐

̶̟̞̹̙̱́̽͝Ī̶̢͙̟̓̈́̎N̷͉̣̪̲̬̉ ̷̭̪͇̖͑ͅD̴͉͖̊̾Ŭ̶͚͙͔̺̩̿Ẽ̵͚̋͘ ̶̗̤̳̯̖͑̐͝Ť̶̨̓͆͊Ï̷͖̼̹̗̝̿M̴̝̺̣̀̂̿̍̕Ë̴̗̱͐̓͘͘

̵͍͙̉͒̓̃̕

̷̜͊̑͝Y̵̥̯̼͙͗̓̌͠O̸̤̿̅́̅̈́U̴̼̙͗̔̈̕ ̵̡̝͔̦̂̾̕S̷̪̃̽H̷̢̻͎̑̉̉͝Ă̴̻̜̣̦̠L̴̻̣͇̍̓L̴̡͂͝ ̶̦͐̃̅̇

̵̡̹̠͉̆

̵̻̙̜̓̔͝

̴̛̲͇̬͉̓̒C̷̘̦̔̔̐H̴̲͗̾͌͊Ḯ̸̱͔͇̏L̵̙̯̟̏͛D̴̝͈͕̹̀͆̆̓ͅ

̵̡̹̠̑̑́̑͌

̶͔͆̊̇̔̕Ọ̴̡͈͛̂̈́͐U̵̧̖̜͎̍́̂Ȑ̴̝̹̞͇͝ ̸̧̗̬̱̒̅͊̕͠C̵̡̫̍̈́̇̊͝H̵̯̯̬͌̏̊̏̕A̶̛̼̯͊̔̏M̸͖̥̟̫̌͛̓̊͘ͅP̵̢͋̓͂Ȋ̶̛̛͚̈͠Ǫ̸̬̳̍̊ͅN̸̡͇͉̓̾

̴̛̯̈́͋

̵̻̜͍͛̇̋̂̚B̸̙̾̏̚ͅR̵̡̨̘̖͌I̶̘̖̘͛̀N̵̛̟̺̅̾̂Ǵ̶͓̝̯̃ ̴͓͉͍̣̳̉͗͗Ḣ̸͚͒̾̐͠I̶͉͓͗̊Ḿ̷̛̛̬̃͝

̶͕͔̥̮̇̿̀

̶̦͌͒̕Y̶̧̖̌̏̏O̸̦͚̮̘͐̌̂U̶̖͐̎̇̕ ̶͇̮̻͚͇̏͋̔͝K̶͕̭̩͆̋N̵̠̬̱̎̀̌́O̸̱̗̥̻̓̕W̷̡͚͉͎͇̒̏͝

̷͈̞̝̘͕̎

̷̢̡̙͔̆̿̊̈́̚Ẉ̶̨̈́͑̈́A̵̢̘̺͆ͅŸ̶̘̪͕̝͓́͂͌̚̚

̷̨́̒̍͗̂

̴̞͓͗͌͠A̸̧͉̓͗N̵̟͕̪̊D̶͔̎ ̸̻̰̩̟̒́T̵̛͈̪̖̤̙̈́Ĥ̸̡̨̘̩͛̑͌E̸̟͂̇N̸̫̈̿̃

̷̡̯͈̲̀͝

̷̹̥͍͐̌̎͑͆͜Y̵̪͔̑̾̒͝O̸̤̒Ủ̶͚͇̤̜̬͐̿̂ ̴̙̤̪̫̈́̒͛̈́Ã̷͔͉̤̋̊R̵̡̖͕͔͎̄E̵̞̭͚͔͛ ̴̛̝̱̊͗̈́͝F̷̤̫̘̅̂̒R̴̝͉̄̿̓̂͜͠E̵̫̠̐̈́̌̑̕Ĕ̸̡̩̻̰̀̍̽͠

̴̢̡̬̋̀̆͗̕

̷̯͚̙̹̾B̷̯͔͔͙̽̽̕̕Ȑ̶̻̃͠O̵̡͓͕̪̾A̸̖͔̪̐̾̎͒͗D̴̢̢͌Ċ̵̫̘̭̇̏Ä̷̤́S̸̰̯̟̮̻͛̍͘͘Ť̷̡͓̟̀̂E̴̲̟̻͎̓͂̋͠R̴͎̥̗͎̐̚̕͝

̶̕͜D̵̙͕̅̾͑ͅỌ̸̀̀ ̵̻͎̎͜Ǎ̵͖͈̝̈́͒S̴̪̮̗͑̒̌

̴̖̩̝̼̍͜

̷͖̜͍͇͎͋̈́̊͠Y̴̡̦̥̪̥͋Ǫ̷̳͙̍U̶̡̥̬̒̑͐̾̕ ̷̱̦͌̏W̵͇̼̫̋̑͊͝Ị̶̭̲̒͜S̴͍̈̏H̴̬̟̄͊

Somewhere during his musing, the firm pressing on the boy's back at last weeded out the dwindling bit of fight from the wiry frame. A brief but all too familiar little tensing nullified the fragments of rowdiness, when the Thin Man clutched the child tighter to his chest. Only to ward off the lashing bullets breaking across his shoulders. He brushed some of the feathers from the most important coat, but they stuck like glue to his fingers. “It is alright, c̵h̸i̵l̵d̶,” he rumbled. Swollen droplets hammered against his hat bill, the storm was picking up and promised no mercy to stragglers. “S̴a̶v̶e̸ ̵ your s̷t̶r̷e̸n̴g̶t̸h̶. I will have you t̶a̸k̸e̸n̴ ̵c̷a̷r̶e̶ of ̴s̴o̸o̵n̵.̸”

That miniscule reassurance seemed to be all that was needed. The child gave a sigh and ceased the fighting, satisfied now to tuck his arms up under his chin and stay complacent. Vibrations still worked through the little body, like miniature earthquakes. The Thin Man checked if he was okay, but the child only gazed off and far away, across the roads watching nothing in particular. He would get over it. Once they located a suitable shelter with a kitchen filled with packaging and whatever else, the boy would forget all about the grotesque thing he had done. Until then, the Thin Man would reassure that the boy was found.

#little nightmares #lil nightmares #the thin man #mono #feral mono #thin dad #such a feral mono #fanfic #fanfiction #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #actually thin dadding for his feral boy #a breaking development #the thin man struggling with philosophy #a certified loser #his reading comprehension skills are lacking #but he's got the spirit

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sunderwight · 3 months

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SV fic where Shen Yuan's status as a body-snatching entity is revealed before the Immortal Alliance Conference can happen.

Maybe the system suffers a glitch while some unforeseen side quest is active, and suddenly Shen Yuan's status is revealed and some of the other peak lords he's with seize the opportunity to exorcise his spirit and put Shen Jiu back in his place.

Shen Yuan has mixed feelings about this development, needless to say. On the one hand, it's kind of not actually that bad? He got caught out like a week away from the IAC and the necessary Abyss plotline, so at least like this, he's managed to give Luo Binghe a slightly better time on Qing Jing for the past few years and equip him more capably to survive the Abyss, but he also doesn't have to personally throw him down there. That's the silver lining.

On the other hand, everything else about this situation sucks! He got attached to his life as Shen Qingqiu, dammit! And now he's been revealed and branded as some kind of horrible demonic spirit thing, and he was rather painfully expelled (even though he wasn't even there willingly in the first place), and so he's been reduced to some a kind of sparkly ghost light hovering on the fringes of existence, highly susceptible to being harmed if any more righteous cultivators get it in their heads to disperse him!

Which is better than just being catapulted back into his rotting corpse in the other world, but not by as big of a margin as he'd like.

Basically, in terms of his ability to influence the world Shen Yuan has been downgraded back to "read only" status. He finds that he can manifest himself in places that he's already been, or around people he has a particular affinity towards, but they can't perceive him and he can't communicate or even do much more than some minor poltergeist type activity. Which he is cautious about anyway, because if he gets caught around Shen Jiu, Shen Jiu is going to disperse him with extra prejudice.

Unfortunately, nearly everything Shen Yuan cares about is in Shen Jiu's orbit.

So he can only watch, metaphorically gritting his teeth as the newly-restored Shen Qingqiu kicks Luo Binghe out of the bamboo house, burns all the bridges that Shen Yuan painstakingly rebuilt for him, refuses point blank to let Liu Qingge help with Without-a-Cure, resumes and even begins taking more frequent trips to the nearest brothels, and neglects his duties to turn into a paranoid wreck as if he half-expects Shen Yuan to steal his body back from him the next time he lets his guard down. Corporal punishment spikes back up on Qing Jing Peak.

Shen Yuan is surprised to hear the whispers of dissent, even so. A spirit possessing a righteous cultivator is a pretty damning incident, and there's no way that he could come out of it smelling like roses. And yet, even though his -- Shen Qingqiu's disciples know enough to be circumspect about saying anything of the sort, there are still murmurs and rumblings about how things used to run, not too long ago.

Ming Fan quiets any such talk as soon as he hears it. Ning Yingying scarcely seems to know how to respond to the situation, except to sometimes plaintively insist that she hadn't even noticed much change between Shen Qingqiu's at all. But Luo Binghe...

Well.

Whenever there are mutterings, it often seems as though Binghe is there. Nodding. Whispering. Carefully putting forth suggestions that others barely seem to recognize as suggestions. Shen Yuan only notices because he knows what Binghe's capable of when he decides to be manipulative, and even he finds himself wondering if it's not just a coincidence, something he's imagining, because Luo Binghe hasn't even blackened through his Abyss arc yet.

Even so, there he is, musing carefully on how strange it was that he's heard that Hong Jing hadn't identified any untoward presence in Shen Qingqiu before, how Shizun had never done anything bad to the peak despite all the claims that he'd supposedly been possessed by a malicious entity for years, and wasn't this new Shen Qingqiu acting much more suspicious? Much more malicious? Isn't is the new Shizun who jumps at shadows and talks to people who aren't there, and seems so uneasy in his own skin?

If one had to guess which version was an unstable monster possessing a human's body, and which was the righteous and noble peak lord... ah, well. It's just surprising, isn't it? Luo Binghe would of course never suggest that this new Shen Qingqiu was in actuality the being that had stolen someone else's place. He's surely never second guess the judgment of the peak lords, who claim to have let an interloper among them for YEARS in total ignorance. It's just something to think about.

Alas for Binghe, though a lot of the peak seems inclined to agree with him, he can't win over enough to inspire anything worse than discontent. The "new" Shen Qingqiu does behave a lot more like the one that most of the Qing Jing knew prior to his qi deviation, after all, and it's no mystery why Luo Binghe -- spurned former favorite, now back to being at the bottom of the pecking order -- would be unhappy with the change. Shen Yuan appreciates that this is at least doing a good job of setting up Luo Binghe's altered opinion on his shizun, and he's touched that he made a good enough impression for Binghe to be mad about the sudden regression, but he wishes he could tell Binghe that there's simply nothing to be done about it. That is the real Shen Qingqiu, and Binghe ought to concern himself more with the upcoming conference!

At least, despite being kicked out of the bamboo house, Luo Binghe managed to farm enough good opinion with some of the other disciples during his tenure as Favorite that he doesn't go back to sleeping in the woodshed. Without Shen Qingqiu expressly demanding it, no one would dare, just in case Luo Binghe might regain his status one day. There seems to be an awareness that "evil" Shizun would have made them run laps, but "good" Shizun would now probably whip them half to death in a fit of temper. No one wants to take chances.

Finally, the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around. Shen Yuan can only watch and cheer Binghe on as best as he's able to, even knowing the probable outcome. And Binghe does so well! He fights bravely but also smartly. When Shen Qingqiu arrives, Binghe doesn't lose an ounce of his caution, though he does still nobly defend his master even though the good feelings between them have dried up. He correctly identifies Without-a-Cure's flare up and silently helps compensate for Shen Jiu's weakness, and sticks by him even though the Original Goods is hardly appreciative.

When the Abyss opens up, and Luo Binghe's demonic seal is broken, Shen Qingqiu seems almost relieved to have this information brought to light. He accuses Luo Binghe not only of orchestrating the invasion of demons at the conference, but of arranging fro Shen Jiu to be replaced too.

"Of course, for a demon like you, summoning some wicked force into this master's body would be easy!" he spits.

Luo Binghe looks bowled over by the accusation. But rather than defending himself, he latches onto it as if it might be some kind of lifeline.

"For a demon like this one... it would be possible?" he echoes.

Shen Jiu hurls more accusations. Of course it is. Luo Binghe is not just any demon, but the most powerful, dangerous, and destructive sort there is. Little is beyond the scope of a Heavenly Demon's power, or wretchedness. Luo Binghe must have uncovered his heritage and seen a convenient means of ridding himself of an inconvenient master. Wherever that horrid spirit is now, it's probably just waiting for the next chance to leap back in at Luo Binghe's call!

"Shizun's spirit... that spirit from before, it still exists?" Luo Binghe catches.

"As if you don't know. Beast. Even the sect leader could not destroy your minion completely," Shen Jiu sneers.

"And it would be within my abilities to put it back in your body. Instead of you."

"You won't get the chance."

Shen Jiu stabs Luo Binghe before throwing him into the Abyss. Binghe fights back, but he seems reluctant to injure his shizun, even now.

Shen Yuan supposes that such reluctance won't survive the Abyss. Still, it's emotional for him. That such a little kindness could cause Luo Binghe to hesitate, even at this point, it really speaks to the resilience of hope in Binghe's heart.

Shen Yuan's little ghost light almost follows him down. But the Abyss would be too dangerous for him, even as he is now. He'd be a little mote of spiritual energy, easily gobbled up by any number of creatures in that place, if he wasn't just swept up by the chaotic ambient energies themselves. So he can only stay behind and think some very colorful swear words in Shen Jiu's general direction, until the rift closes and leaves no trace of Luo Binghe behind, except for the shards of Zheng Yang.

The shards are left behind. Shen Yuan finds that he has a little bit of spiritual storage space. Just enough to maybe fit all of them, so he goes and painstakingly uses his limited powers to lift up each piece and drop it in. It takes him hours and hours, but luckily the clean-up of the whole disaster is something that will take months. No one seems inclined to go reclaim Luo Binghe's shattered blade or risk getting too close to the remnants of the rift, even closed. So, Shen Yuan manages.

The next few years prove difficult. Shen Yuan finds that it's hard to retain his presence in the world. His little spirit has dampened considerably, and few things seem to perk him back up. He has more troubles following anyone who isn't Shen Jiu now that Binghe is in the Abyss, and Shen Jiu is depressing as hell to spend time around. He's rotten with kids, sucks at teaching, he has no friends, his health is deteriorating, and Shen Yuan has no interest in seeing what he gets up to in the brothels.

But Binghe is definitely coming back, and Shen Yuan wants to see him again.

His patience is rewarded the first time he finds his consciousness drifting, only to snap back to awareness in a place that's not Qing Jing Peak. He instead finds that he's in an unfamiliar patch of wilderness along a river, watching as Luo Binghe fights a small pack of demonic beasts.

It's definitely not the Endless Abyss. Has it been five years already...? Shen Yuan hadn't thought so, but then again, he's not the best at keeping track of time in this state.

Luo Binghe defeats the beasts, but they land more hits and wound him worse than Shen Yuan would have anticipated. The wounds aren't healing as quick as they should either. Was Binghe poisoned? Or is this a remnant of Shen Yuan's own poor teaching, the clumsiness in sword practice he never totally managed to correct leading somehow to this?

He gets it when Qin Wanyue and several other Huan Hua cultivators show up, however, and Luo Binghe manages to play the righteous cultivator who just survived a harrowing battle role to the hilt. It takes him very little effort to get the Huan Hua disciples to take him back with them and help "patch him up", and soon enough Shen Yuan has front row seats to watch as Binghe ingratiates himself with the sect.

Mostly, Shen Yuan is just relieved to confirm that Binghe did indeed survive, and glad that he's out of the horrible Abyss and in a place where he can rest and eat decent meals and be fawned over by his well-deserved admirers. Though Luo Binghe seems colder even than Shen Yuan expected, especially in some places where a bit of charm would serve him better. He declines outright to address the Palace Master as "shizun", even though he accepts the offer to stay as a guest disciple at Huan Hua Palace, and he is abrupt and aloof towards both Qin Wanyue and the Little Palace Mistress, despite their obvious interest in him.

Binghe doesn't seem to sleep as soundly as he should either. At night he often brings out a dream stone, which Shen Yuan recognizes as an amplification tool from the novel, but it seems that whatever Binghe is trying to search for with it is beyond his reach. Sometimes Shen Yuan imagines he can hear his disciple's voice calling Shizun at night. But always, Binghe is asleep, and there's no one in Huan Hua Palace he has deigned to address like that anyway. It's a trick of his own imagination, missing the days when Luo Binghe could call out and he himself could answer.

Things go mostly according to the plot, with a few disruptions here and there. Luo Binghe seems to be lagging behind on the romantic subplots, but rushing ahead on the vendetta against his old teacher. The Trial of Shen Qingqiu takes place at Jinlan City, with demon instigators who work for Luo Binghe accusing the peak lord of colluding with demons and setting him up to seem like he was involved in the sower attack. Shen Yuan knows, from watching Binghe, that the sower thing was mostly taking advantage of an existing situation to frame Shen Qingqiu. Binghe himself didn't have anything to do with Jinlan's suffering, but is obviously not above using it to his advantage.

Combined with Qiu Haitang's testimony, Shen Qingqiu is arrested and locked up where Luo Binghe can torture and dismember him at will.

However, Binghe... doesn't do that?

Instead he swiftly relocates Shen Qingqiu to a prison in the demon realms, and seems to abandon his concerns with Huan Hua Palace and the righteous cultivation sects altogether. He just leaves them to fight it out amongst themselves, as if he's got no concern with who comes out on top, and in the meanwhile he keeps Shen Qingqiu locked up but surprisingly well-treated?

Despite Shen Qingqiu's obvious terror and vitriol towards him, Luo Binghe forces him to eat nutritious meals, and attends to his health problems, and makes no move to injure him at all. He has nothing good to say to Shen Jiu, but he doesn't hurt him. Yet there is something distinctly weird about the whole dynamic, not at all like someone who has decided to keep a prisoner under ethical conditions for moral reasons or something like that.

Shen Yuan's not sure what to make of it.

In the end, Shen Jiu himself illuminates the situation.

It happens after Shen Jiu has rejected food. Luo Binghe tuts and asks if Shen Jiu suspects it would be poisoned. Shen Jiu sneers at him.

"I know it isn't," he says. "You wouldn't poison this body. I know what you're after."

"Oh? Wise Master Shen figured out this much?" Binghe replies, dry as the fucking desert.

"You're keeping me in this condition because you want to put that thing back in my body!" Shen Jiu accuses.

It takes Shen Yuan a moment to realize that Shen Jiu is referring to him. That he thinks Luo Binghe is keeping him fit and healthy for Shen Yuan's sake.

Wouldn't that be going too far just for some old teacher who was nice?! Yes, he knows that he made an impact on Luo Binghe, but it wasn't hard! Shen Jiu set the bar at the earth's crust, clearing it hardly required the kind of effort or devotion that would inspire an entire elaborate scheme purely on Shen Yuan's behalf!

He can't believe it.

But, Binghe doesn't deny it.

In fact he smiles, his expression somehow conveying that Shen Jiu guessed perfectly correct, but also that there's no good it can do him. Binghe has never looked so much like a piece of PIDW fanart before, with some dark and potent rage simmering just beneath the veneer of his placid smile.

"Shizun should not be referred to so impolitely," Luo Binghe counters. "If anyone in this room is a thing, it is this usurper in front of me."

"Usurper?! In my own body? You're mad."

Binghe tuts.

Master Shen should understand that his claim is contested. After all, if one woman gives birth to a child but then casts it into a river to die, but another fishes the babe out and cradles it to her breast -- which woman deserves to be called that child's mother? Just because Shen Jiu was born into that body, doesn't mean he deserves it more than anyone else.

But even if he did, Luo Binghe wouldn't care. He would kill to get his Shizun back. This isn't really so different from that, is it? And there is no love lost between him and Shen Jiu to make him hesitate. If his Shizun disagrees, he may disciple Binghe as he sees fit once he returns.

Shen Jiu points out that Luo Binghe's machinations have ruined his reputation. Even if he gets that creature to possess his body again, there's no way that they could infiltrate Cang Qiong Sect a second time.

But Binghe waves off his concerns. He clearly has thought of this, and has plans for it, but is also not about to be stupid enough to monologue any more at Shen Jiu. Once he leaves, Shen Yuan lingers for a little while, and notices that Shen Jiu actually seems genuinely concerned about what might happen to the sect if Luo Binghe succeeds and gets Shen Yuan put back on Qing Jing Peak.

Of course, Shen Yuan knows he wouldn't actually do anything to harm Cang Qiong, but Shen Jiu doesn't. This is the first time Shen Yuan has seen him actually reveal shades of what might be called a noble impulse.

It's not much, but... sigh.

The thing is, Shen Yuan doesn't really want to steal anybody's body! No one consulted with him the first time it happened! And they sure aren't consulting with him now, either, although to be fair they can't. But he might just have enough ability as a little ghost light to stave off some of this whole process, and he's got to decide if he wants to try. Or if he'll let Binghe have his way, and succeed in pushing Shen Jiu back out and giving Shen Yuan his life again.

Because Binghe will definitely succeed if he really does try. That's how the world works.

And if he did... that might be the only way for Shen Yuan to get his life as Shen Qingqiu back. Which he does want, desperately! He misses it. He misses it both in the general sense of having a body at all, but also in the particular sense of all the things he managed to attain as Qing Jing Peak Lord. As Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Jiu, also, makes a very tempting sacrifice in all this. Shen Yuan frankly hates his guts. Maybe it could have been different, but the fact that Shen Yuan worked so hard to try and make that life better, only for Shen Jiu to just go right back to being an intractable asshole who, frankly, should never be in charge of children ever, rankles! He went right back to mistreating Luo Binghe as well, and threw him into the Abyss, and if Binghe's plan was to violently kill him again as revenge for that then Shen Yuan wouldn't fault him. He didn't fault him the first time. He wasn't going to fault him even when it seemed like he would be the one Binghe was destined to rip apart in justified vengeance.

This is different, though. Shen Yuan wants to fight for the life he longs to be living, especially now when the axe of the Abyss is no longer hanging over him.

But is he willing to actually become the thing everyone else decided he was in order to get it? A body-snatching, malicious spirit?

Shen Jiu is horribly unsuited to his life as Shen Qingqiu. But, it is still his life. Shen Yuan really just managed to borrow it for a while.

Deep down he knows that, even if he would like to ignore it.

So when Binghe finally sets up the ceremony, and Shen Yuan's soul is called back into Shen Qingqiu's body, he hesitates. Shen Jiu is poised like a snarling, wounded animal within the confines of his own body. Even the gentlest tap would knock him back out again. Shen Yuan gets the sense that the system is also there, just waiting and even eager for him to do it. Take back the body, resume whatever quests or directives are waiting for him there.

Shen Yuan, even as fragile as his own spirit is, could crush Shen Jiu's battered soul to dust.

Instead he withdraws.

Binghe tries the ritual again, and again, and each time Shen Yuan feels stronger. But it doesn't matter, because he doesn't want to be an evil body-stealing parasite! He wishes he could just tell Binghe to stop wasting valuable resources on this, especially when Binghe could be focusing on other, more important things! Like building up happy relationships or consolidating his rule of the demon realms or establishing an actual strong foothold in the human world, or something!

Somehow, Shen Jiu figures this out before Luo Binghe does. Of course, he conveys the information in the worst way possible, snidely wondering what Luo Binghe did to alienate "that creature" he's trying so hard to resurrect so badly that it will refuse even the open, glowing invitation he keeps writing for it!

Excuse you, you miserable old man, Shen Yuan isn't avoiding Binghe! He is facing a very difficult moral dilemma and handling it LIKE A CHAMP! Fuck you!

Unfortunately, even though Shen Jiu has decided that Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan were in cahoots about the first body snatch, Luo Binghe knows that they weren't. He also doesn't know that his old Shizun knew full well that he was a Heavenly Demon the whole time. So now he has a lot of doubts to wrestle with, especially give that, despite the consensus of the rest of the world, Luo Binghe is not convinced that Shen Yuan actually is some kind of demonic spirit.

Maybe he's a good spirit that has rejected Binghe for his wretched blood?

But Shizun always said that things like that didn't matter!

So... maybe it's not his blood. Maybe Binghe's actions are what has caused Shizun to forsake him. All the terrible things he did to survive the Abyss, and the machinations afterwards, framing Shen Qingqiu and imprisoning him, setting himself up as a demonic ruler... all of that.

Binghe entreats his Shizun to forgive him. Or even if he won't forgive him, to still come back. Binghe will... stay away, if that's what Shizun wants. Just so long as Shizun is alive, is somewhere in the world, safe and happy, then... then...

He can't quite get through lying to claim that it would be enough. But it would be better than the current situation, so he tries.

Shen Yuan, luckily, has been juiced up enough from all the failed summoning rituals that later that night, he finally recognizes the little whisper-calls as echoes of Luo Binghe's dreams. And he's strong enough to follow the invitations! He goes to visit Binghe in his dreams, and reassures him that he's not trying to reject him at all. He's very proud of Binghe, and wants him to be happy and successful. Binghe could rule the world and Shizun would just cheer him on!

It's just that Shen Yuan never willingly possessed Shen Qingqiu in the first place. He misses his life, but given the choice, he doesn't want to be that kind of entity.

So, new plan -- if Shen Yuan won't take a body off of an undeserving asshole, then Binghe will make him a new body! Luckily, Shen Yuan knows a way to grow one. They "borrow" some genetic materials from Shen Jiu to aid the process, and then Luo Binghe, surprisingly indifferent about the whole thing, cuts Shen Jiu loose at the border.

Shen Yuan is surprised. Binghe really doesn't care about that? Turns out no, not so much. Shen Jiu is awful, but he's nothing to Binghe in the long run. (Also it's a long shot but if nothing else does work Binghe might have to force Shen Yuan to take Shen Qingqiu's body back, though of course he's not about to say so, and anyway Shen Jiu is still going to have a hell of a time waiting for him back in the cultivation world. Luo Binghe wishes him luck and every pleasure of trying to clear his ruined name, living a life on the lamb with an insidious poison constantly eating away at him, or the full enjoyment of a second visit to the water prison, whichever ends up happening.)

With the help of Luo Binghe's blood parasites, the Sun and Moon Dew whatever mushroom body grows in record time. A summoning ritual isn't even required, Shen Yuan just scoots right in as soon as the body is ready and blinks his eyes open to see his anxious disciple's face peering back at him.

Happily ever after!

#bingqiu #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #long post #and I'm sure that nothing else subsequently goes awry or drags anyone into further dramatic plots #shen jiu absolutely got the system by the way #it's in that body #he was SO confused #but didn't want anyone to think he was still possessed or anything either so he didn't tell anyone about it #lbh downplays it but he is REALLY BIG MAD about how that whole possession plot/reveal went down #oh so everyone's just going to assume the spirit possessing the asshole peak lord was malicious?#yeah luo binghe's not letting that go any time soon

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