Chapter Text
Mob chewed through his overcooked steak without tasting it. It was as dry as it gets…this is what happens when you use a campfire instead of a furnace.
The sun was sinking in the horizon. The sky bled orange over the trees, shadows stretching long across the forest floor until everything below his watchtower darkens.
His legs hung over the edge of the balcony, boots knocking lightly against the wood.
Wind brushed cold against his skin.
His stone sword sat silently across his lap, hues of the sunset caught on its dull surface.
The words hadn’t left him since yesterday.
YOU ARE MINE.
Yesterday, he’d asked Verity the question that has been gnawing at him since Verity mentioned the countdown.
“Are you the thing that’s coming?” He remembered he tried to keep his voice steady, he was hoping so much for a no, or anything that will reassure him his friend is not a monster.
Verity didn't answer.
Instead, that stupid music had started playing, soft warped piano and lively notes, but it was wrong in a way Mob couldn’t explain. It was like hearing something beautiful played backwards. The same music he'd complimented before which only feels eerie now the more he thinks about it.
But together with that creepy gummy smile, it was enough of an answer.
He was sure Verity was the “thing” that's coming in 3 days, and he's sure Verity was the one who wiped out the village...
So he ran ...and trapped Verity in that cursed house. In his defense, he was scared (and for a good reason)
The last words he heard from Verity since was its creepy YOU ARE MINE.
Mob pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind them, he wondered if trapping Verity had only made it angrier.
But he was not staying to find out.
Mob finished the last bite of his steak and checked his inventory again for the fifth time since leaving his base.
Food. Blocks. Weapons.
He's prepared for tomorrow.
Worst comes to worst he'll fight till his death.
His fingers tightened around the stone sword's hilt.
.
Night came silently. The forest swallowed the last of the light until all that remained beyond the watchtower was a wall of black, thick and endless.
Mob is lying flat on his bed with the blanket twisted around his legs—sleep wouldn’t come.
Every time his eyes shut, his mind dragged him back to Verity’s creepy smile.
Mob groaned, dragging both hands down his face. His skin felt hot. His chest felt tight. Something sat wrong in him. Like there was a splinter beneath his skin which he couldn’t reach.
The room was still and quiet.
No wind.
No creaking.
Nothing. And that somehow made it worse for his nerves.
His ears were ringing in the silence, a sharp, thin noise, and his thoughts wouldn’t stop.
What if Verity got out?
Should he have stayed in the house?
What if—
Mob sat up so fast the bed creaked beneath him. “Jesus christ…stop it Mob.” His voice came out rough.
He rubbed his eyes hard, trying to force the tension out of his skull.
He needs some fresh air.
Mob rolled off his bed, the mattress letting out groans of protest. He grabbed the flashlight beside the bed and headed for the stairs.
The cold hit him immediately when he stepped outside. By the time he reached the bottom, his skin was prickling.
He exhaled slowly, scanning the dark tree line.
There is nothing out of the ordinary, just trees, wind and music.
Music.
Music?
Mob froze. His stomach dropped so fast it hurt.
He hadn't heard it wrong, it was music.
An off key piano, notes bending, warping into each other.
Verity's music.
Mob’s fingers tightened so hard around the flashlight his knuckles ached. The beam shook as he turned toward the sound. At first there was nothing.
Then—
A shape. Standing at the edge of the woods. It was humanoid, but disproportionately tall and slender.
Mob lifted the flashlight higher.
Pale skin.
Long limbs.
And that face.
That stupid yellow smile.
His breath caught. “...Verity?” His voice sounded thin, it broke somewhere but he couldn't care less.
That thing didn’t answer.
Then—it twitched.
Its head jerked violently to the side. Its shoulders snapped forward. Its spine bent at an angle no spine should.
Sick, mechanical cracks echoed through the trees.
Mob’s entire body went cold.
Every nerve in him lit up at once.
SHIT. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT—
The thing screeched, it was high-pitched like metal being dragged across a chalkboard.
It slammed into him like a physical force. Pain shot through his ears instantly, sharp enough to make his eyes water.
And then it charged towards him at an inhumane speed.
Mob ran. His boots slammed against wood as he threw himself at the stairs, nearly missing the first step.
Go.
Go.
Go. Go go go go go.
His breath tore itself from his throat in broken gasps.
Behind him that screech was getting closer and louder.
His vision blurred from panic.
His hands shook violently as he ripped blocks from his inventory and threw them behind him, barely aiming.
One. Two. Three. Anything. Anything to slow it down.
His heart pounded so hard it felt like it was bruising his chest from the inside.
The music kept playing underneath the screeching. That stupid fucking song. Like Verity was chasing him to its own lullaby.
Mob nearly tripped.
Caught himself. Kept climbing.
His legs felt weak and heavy, like fear had turned his bones into mercury and was poisoning his limbs.
Finally, the top platform came into view. Mob threw his body against the iron door, slamming his hand against the button—
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” The screech came from right below him. Finally, the door groaned open. Mob threw himself inside so hard he slammed shoulder first into the floor. Pain shot through his arm but it didn’t matter. He scrambled up and started stacking blocks against the entrance.
One. Two. Three. Four.
His hands shaked so badly he almost dropped them. “GET AWAY GET AWAY!” His voice cracked. His whole body was trembling now. Sweat dripped cold down his back. His pulse roared in his ears.
Outside—the screeching scratched against the walls. The music kept playing. Mob stumbled backward, eyes locked on the blocked door.
WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo