THE DARKNESS? RENEWED.

And Myst? She laughed.

Both Swishy and Sling couldn’t get to the villagers fast enough. The energy shifted all around, the dark woods suddenly gleaming. But despite their urge to hurry onward, they kept the same pace, afraid to progress, afraid to discover horror—and afraid, too, of the horrors discovering them.

Myst did what she did best: activating cursed energy and encouraging the darkness to up its game. Once she’d phased from Swishy’s head, flowing around the woods as a phantom, her sheer presence awakened the nighttime [Postcard] that Ruby had enforced. Swishy was reminded of his own ability to enliven wheat and organic material through touch, through his life mythic and bottomless wellspring of life force—except Myst did this for the darkness.

And as her spirit merged with the air itself, the dew on the bark, the black molasses held within the tree trunks, the [Midnight] curses that amassed underground, Myst functioned as a fertilizer for everything evil, everything that gave Swishy fear.

A valid sentiment—because the woods themselves were alive.

Everytrees. The woods were not only rubbery but reconstructed from the shadows. The everytree fruits that once littered the ground had slowly rolled along at the slightest breeze, then disappeared under the tree roots—eaten by shadow—only to regrow at the tips of empty branches. Swishy realized that a dark aura lifted off his body as well, his negativity escaping, flowing toward those same trees—also producing fruit. Even without the offering of a heart, his body was somehow farmable. The trees bent in candy-cane curvatures, their postures aimed at the straw boy, all their branches and trunks slightly curved toward him. Even the woods that he’d once passed seemed to follow his path, curving and cracking unnaturally in his direction.

Like sunflowers that sought the light, the everytrees sought all darkness, all trauma. And who embodied darkness most of all? Myst. She skittered inside of Swishy, returning to her spidery form, gleefully attracting the [Postcard]’s true monstrosity toward Swishy.

Lovely, isn’t it? The way Ruby shapes our element. You’ve made progress but can you catch up to her? Your test is soon, young straw.

“You could’ve just said that. You don’t have to be a jerk about it and do all this.”

A jerk? Me? No, no, no, I’m just a guide. Do not shoot the messenger…when the messenger is a curse! She cackled interminably, reducing to tiny laughter, before charging up her cackles once more.

The boy tried to remain calm, especially as the night vivified with hexes.

Sling kept asking what was bothering him. In the land of curses, something or other was always wrong.

He brushed her off with a repeated series of it’s-fine-it’s-fine.

“But—”

“It’s fine. I’m good.”

He wasn’t—anyone could see that. But Sling relented and eyed the boy as they walked.

Myst’s taunts continued as phantom fingers formed before Swishy’s eyes, pointing out reconstructing trees and gurgling roots. Do you see that? What about that? Surely, you see how incredible that over there is…Her silken, doom-saying voice echoed through the boy’s head.

Swishy wore his bravest face as Myst returned to being a spider in his head. All the while, Myst influenced the ambient night. As a final nail in the boy’s psyche, she increased the volume of the acquired heart in Swishy’s head. The thumping echos of Myst’s heartbeat kept the same beat of the pulsing darkness in the woods.

The voice must’ve inhabited Sling as well, judging from her disconcerted body language. She stepped forward, clutching the belt of kid crows close to her body. She tightened her grip over the bandage-wrapped Trey and readjusted the backpack straps that carried Bristles.

But both boy and mummy-crow shared the same sentiments: the darkness was here to steal whatever it was they had to offer.

The boy wanted to say something to Sling—anything, really. “It’s okay, we’re almost to the others.”

But Sling didn’t hear him, the empty platitude unable to pull her from the panic.

“Sling…Sling! Hey, say something real quick.”

“Oh! Yes, hello my little straw.”

“You good?”

“No, not quite.”

“Me neither…”

“But I’m back focused again. Thank you, Swishy.”

“Yes, Slingy, no problem.”

Both of them proceeded onward into the thickening woods, the environment feeling more cage-like with every inch traveled. Progress felt like another foot in the grave, like an act of serving themselves and their loved ones up for physical slaughter and soul slavery.

He wondered why Myst did what she did. Was there a point? Was there a sensible purpose?

But he knew the answer: just because. Myst was a just-because type of person. No surprises there. But with the onset of Myst’s energy came a renewed sensitivity to the environment.

Everything about Myst’s presence brought Swishy back to the little curse-wielder that’d taken down Sling’s wrathravens. Even now, the active wrath-chicks shivered against their mummy-mother’s neck, their spirits frosting, their feathers acquiring an icy shade of blue. Myst dispelled the notion that everything was decent. Swishy knew that this was a bad world—but he wasn’t giving it the credit that it so deserved. Myst turned misfortune into damnation, and captivity into slavery. And as Swishy took his steps toward the villagers, the weight of his actions—of inflicting cursed straw upon his followers—solidified within him in dark ingots of SHAME, DISAPPOINTMENT, SELF-HATE.

The blackwheat crinkled through his body, creating a playground for Myst’s arachnid form to crawl upon. Make more curses for me, she requested. Please give me a dark heart to try. The one you gave me is quartered of all your different straws, it’s pretty, and it’s the best thing I’ve felt in ages. But give me something that’s more…me? Will you? Won’t you? Pretty please with curses on top?

The boy had had enough. He was sick of Myst—and sick of anyone who’d continue to ask more from him without caring about the cost to himself. “So we aren’t friends, Mysty? What happened to working together? I made you a deal, so stop playing too much. What’s so fun about cruelty? You have a heart. Try to act like it, okay?”

Those with hearts are capable of many things, so forgive my…moral flexibility. And as for our last deal, what of it? That’s over and a new deal will be sprung between us, you’ll see. You’ll need me again in no time. When you see the way this world is alive, a truly cursed patch of Cearth, can you with confidence say that you won’t call upon me? I don’t see the harm in working things out beforehand. I’m not as cruel as you say, not by the remotest stretch of imagination. I’m opening the lines of communication, from big shadow to little straw, and from dark dweller to dark dweller.

“No more transactions. Stop trying to confuse me with words. All that talk won’t undo the chasm I felt. Maybe you can trick others. But my pain won’t be tricked.”

But it’s something you should consider, something that could be as good for you as it could be for me. Didn’t you like using the darkness? I taught you well, didn’t I? You have access to all those powers and more if you just embrace the dark.

“I’m embracing what I have. I pay the costs for everything inside me. I’m not dumb, okay.”

You’re not dumb, not by any means little Swishy. You’ve made so much progress! Myst curled a dark smoke around Sling’s body, a swimming vapor that indicated the kid-crows on her belt, the Trey in her hand, and the Bristles on her back. You have such a large community. People who love and want nothing from you—nothing at all. Trust me, I know, I can read the shadows like no other. So forgive me if I sound a little like Ruby but…

“But I’ll grow my heart back in no time. You want me to grow and spend myself just because I can?”

Bingo! You have a bandage mommy, and the faith of your followers. You’re a proper cult now. You’ve set up an efficient little heart farm—I mean, a village.

“I’m not a farm, I’m just Swishy. I’m not a possession, and the people in Straw Village aren’t possessions either. Nobody needs to spend their heart to grow the homes we want. Not all at once like I’ve been doing. That’s unreasonable and hurtful. I hurt, can’t you see?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I see, I know, and I assure you you’re being dramatic. The heart is where your strength lies. So use your strength. The world is your playground. This victim act isn’t cute, it isn’t fun, and it isn’t anything you aim to be. Listen to your dark sister. Growing heart is unique—but spending it is how you’ll create your new world.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll decide what I spend this heart on. I spent some on you, didn’t I?”

You did—and you should continue to spend on me. You’ll get the heart back in no time, especially with all that…[Nurture].

“One heart is enough for a person. So be a person. Live with the heart, you’ve got. Give up on having two.”

Two? I don’t want to stop at two. No, no, no, we can keep this going. I want to try different kinds. There’s so much a girl can be, so much exploration. Please, Swishy, let’s not be so…limited.

“That’s not how hearts work. You can’t just try different ones.”

Are you sure about that?

“I’m positive.”

How self-assured for a boy going on his third heart.

Swishy stopped listening. He traveled within, a haven usually, but Myst occupied every corner of his insides—except for the [Heart Armor] that glittered within his chest. Though Myst had left spider webs around Trey’s spell, a binding that secreted a corrosive agent. A burning smokiness rose around the golden prosthetic in an attempt to break it down. But the [Heart Armor] stayed strong, minimally damaged by Myst’s influence.

He’d seen enough to know that he could protect his insides. If the boy couldn’t stop Myst, he certainly couldn’t stop Ruby and her unseen army. Happy thoughts, golden thoughts, an aura to keep the shadow mistress at bay.

Sling sensed that something was up as well. She reached her slender fingers upon the boy’s shoulders and firmly pressed into him, an I’m-here sort of gesture. Sling didn’t know what was going on with him but she knew what to do. The woman always had a way of being the mother of the moment to those who most needed it.

The [Nurture] intent burrowed into Swishy, a calming energy that grounded him.

Swishy sat cross-legged on the ground as Sling stood above him, a faithful sentinel. He didn’t know if he had a heart to speak of but it was time to tap into it now. But as he searched inside for that much-longed-for presence in his chest, he could only hear Myst’s heartbeat—though his first instinct was to still call it his own. But it wasn’t his anymore. Myst had made it wholly her own, using dark magic to amplify the beat of her commandeered heart.

The image of a devilish grin popped into Swishy’s head, a beauty mark gracing the side of the lips. Myst knew what she was doing, running interference as Swishy mined himself for gold.

But his attempt didn’t stop. He blocked her out of his mind, ignoring the toxic shadows. There were good shadows inside, a positive darkness that guarded a trove of memories. The physical and auditory world slipped away from him as he blocked out the distractions. He didn’t need happy thoughts—he had everything he already needed in the vision he had for this world. Instead of looking to the past as he’d done for all his prior gold-straw conjuring, he looked now to the things he’d hoped for, the things he now fought for.

The soul realm opened to him—and there were more curses than ever, dark orbs floating inside the trees, the bushes, the boulders and the wind. There were cursed souls in the fruits. The clouds above were packed with souls, pushing against the foggy boundaries, creating the cottony appearance that so characterized them.

Cearth gleamed in all its wondrous and terrifying predation. The curses didn’t need to say a thing once Swishy had traipsed into their clutches.

Ruby’s night smiled down at Swishy, its sharp teeth glimmering.

The boy had grown used to negativity, having grown the relative ability to feel his feelings without converting them into blackwheat. The appearance of Myst, however, heightened simple dread into DREAD and tragedy into TRAGEDY and remorse into I WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN, I AM UNDESERVING, and worthlessness into…

No. He stopped himself then, refusing to play into Myst’s hands.

He pounded against his gourd, beating the hollowness out. All the swirling ghosts were chased from his head. And with his conscious efforts to clear his clouded mind, Sling’s [Nurture] beanie activated, her cool blue energy seeping into the crevices and fissures of the pumpkin.

He saw the village, though, as the source of his malcontent. The path to the village was paved in GUILT, the word proliferating hundreds of times over between the trees. But the sight of the village souls, a healthy and flaring blue, untouched by the blackwheat that surrounded it. Their spectral hands waved in a pure, joyous aura, happy for their survival, and happy to see their beloved Swishy.

The gold gleamed within his chest, pushing against the inside of the [Heart Armor]. The luminous power phased beyond the prosthetic and bathed his entire torso in line.

Myst’s noxious webbing melted, dripping through the straw weaves in a sickly wax.

And the shadow mistress herself shrank from the luminous blast. The image of her grin faulted slightly but the pride kept that smirk on her face, even as her darkness was incinerated within every corner of the boy.

Black smoke flumes streamed from Swishy’s pumpkin eyes and mouth, his disturbed emotions venting out. Vapor streams bled through in thin rivulets between the gaps in his chest and shoulders and arms. But the ghosts were tenacious. A twinge of guilt threatened to swell into its magical all-caps form as he remembered his impending meeting with the straw-bound. But he rejected the budding blackwheat through grit.

And yet the punishing ideas lingered: if he’d done this to himself, how would the villagers handle their inevitable brushes with their cursed thistles?

“You’re on fire,” Sling joked, knowing he’d won his battle. Her gaze followed the vapor lines and her eyes flickered in recognition. “Ah, the altar…this is the presence I sensed during my transformation.”

“It’s Myst,” Swishy said, opening his eyes again. He stood up and brushed himself off.

“Myst…” Sling tasted the sound, making a judgment. “Such a pretty name for the horrifying enigma she is.”

Myst is indeed what I’m called. The shadow mistress finally spoke out loud, her voice encompassing the air all around, yet she took no solid form. But please don’t say my name so meanly. That hurts me, you know.

She was everywhere and nowhere, though Swishy was just glad that she no longer inhabited him.“Do you even feel hurt? I thought you did but maybe that’s why they put you in an altar. To keep you away from all of us.”

It’s comments like that that let me know you have what it takes to make me my dark heart.

“Ugh, great.”

I just think you should consider it…for what you’ll go through next. And for what you’ll see about the nature of this world. You may be able to protect yourself. You’ve come so far…but what of your friend? There’s so much lovely darkness in here.

“Huh?” Sling said, staring the bandages that’d begun to unwind on their own.

“Wait, stop!” Swishy called, but Sling was already writhing.

Sling crumbled to the ground, resting on her forearms and knees. The splits within her bandages widened slightly as Myst empowered whatever it was that lay within. The same smoke that was expelled from Swishy had now billowed from Sling in tremendous plumes. The cursed smoke that escaped her wraps laughed as they rose into the night.

There were so many phantoms within her sealing bandages, so much cursed body for a hex to live within, yet Sling, in her anguished state, used her telekinetic control of the bandages to fortify her belt of kid-crows. She used both hands to cover Trey, who she still held. The wraps upon her shoulders even flew toward the Bristles backpack, wrapping around his head and neck. She desperately protected the others from the smoke.

“Swishy, run!”

“There’s no running from her!” Swishy knew it was a now-or-never moment. He removed a mitten and pressed his exposed hand to the ground. He begged himself for gold, holding tight to the image of his cultivated heart.

The boy summoned wheat from below the surface, the surging sprouts converging and twisting into a handle, and then pulled it upward.

The moment of truth.

“Yes!” He cried out as he stared at the golden rake he’d summoned, his first luminous weapon since losing his last heart. In the radiant glow of the Swish-rake, Sling’s escaped phantoms audibly whimpered, then shrunk. The smoke’s fear of the light forced them to retreat into Sling’s bandages. Confronted by radiance, the shades willfully returned to their sealed bindings.

Sling’s wraps tightened once again, a T-I-M-E-O-U-T pattern winding around her body from top to bottom, enchanting the mummification upon contact. [Timeout] was a sealing spell, a mystical act of Sling-like babysitting. As the letters absorbed into her body, her panic reduced. The woman panted on the ground and inspected her belt of children.

“Thank goodness, you’re okay…”

The wrathraven babies whimpered into her neck.

What a strong ally…and potent darkness. Myst appraised the groaning mummy-crow. Is she sure she wants to seal herself? Let the darkness loose. She’d be stronger that way.

“I swear you need an altar, one that no one will ever find. You need to be sealed just like those curses.”

Silence. Myst, who usually took every comment in stride, didn’t like that.

“What,” Swishy continued. “I thought you wanted an altar. Don’t tell me you want to run free now. You don’t deserve to.”

The quiet persisted. The boy tried to key into possible changes, swirling darkness, a soul-rending abyss—demonic tidings of the Myst variety.

Nothing.

Nothing for what felt like forever but had to be no more than fifteen or twenty seconds. The wait was interminable, and so too was Sling’s recovery. She was slow to her feet but made it.

The boy pressed an open palm to his chest, trying out a new intent, one that scared him.

“[Harvest],” he said, cringing at the irony of harvesting himself. His straw unwound from his heart, filtering through the [Heart Armor] casing. The strands pushed through his chest in a round knot, an apple of golden straw. “Here.”

Sling snatched the glowing mound and shoved it into her mouth, voraciously chewing.

Generous…Myst scoffed.

Swishy then felt her presence fading, the shades diluting, the atmosphere losing its weight, its pressure. “Where are you going?” Swishy demanded, brandishing the rake in her general direction.

“I’m a lady with my own plans,” she said out loud, giggling off into the ether.

He was used to her, knew that she did have her own plans, and the boy wondered where he fit into her schemes.

And then she disappeared—for now at least. He knew she was gone because the trees appeared a little less alive. The woods righted themselves into straighter postures, correcting their Swishy-orientated leaning.

“Thank you, sweet god.” She gasped out, crumbs of gold-straw dotting her chin.

Swishy stared at the sky, a place where he once dreamed of flying, and saw that amid the stars and moon was The High Chasm. It was closer now, perched almost directly above the woods.

And if the encounter with Myst was any indication of what’d soon come, it was that the shadows would, without delay, would bring the fight to him.

“Ready to go?” Swishy put his mitten back on and that held a hand toward Sling.

“Yes…” She offered a long finger that Swishy grasped. “Though that was tough.”

“Yeah, I never know what she’s up to.”

“Scary…is this what it feels like to be you?”

“I don’t know. Who's to say you don’t have it worse than me?” He looked her up and down, a woeful and gentle imprisonment of curses.

“I appreciate the concern, though I’m certain you have it worse.” She clutched her chest, gathering herself. “You endure so much my dear.”

“It is what it is,” Swishy shrugged.

Sling patted him on the head, each tap infused with the familiar [Nurture] and a bonus word, [Sympathy].

Swishy smiled, nuzzling against the motherly touch.

And then the pair moved on, lit by the glow of Swishy’s golden rake.