SWISHY [ACHED] ALL OVER.

It hurt in a lot of ways. He couldn’t name them all. Pain had variety. Nothing was more creative than strife, Swishy had come to learn. But that’s what made him stronger—though he really, really wished that strength wasn’t sure a base requirement of life. But the darkness was around him, it was in him, and in his guardian as well.

Straw Guardian rose with its arms outstretched, wearing its cape of wrathraven feathers. The atmospheric gloom slid over its body. It couldn’t become more corrupted than it already was. And yet Straw Guardian resisted transforming into the possessed guardian of old.

Because it was shadow-proof, shadow-tempered.

The darkness weighed nothing. The darkness could take its body, but not its spirit, its personality.

There were holes in its arms, mangled branches, frayed vines, and frequent bruises of corruption throughout the golden tendrils that characterized its hands.

But important sections of gold remained uncompromised, loving and secure homes for the znitches. Those glowing gold portions continued to hold fast to the birdcages, giving the znitches a home. The blue flock also remained within the intact portions of the body. Corruption crept toward them, wanting to possess their living souls, but swollen straw walls blocked its path.

Yet the guardian was torn all the way through, a sadly familiar sight to Swishy.

Swishy, though, knew that his time had come to help.

The giant’s head dropped in weakness, then rose, then dropped a gain.

Swishy’s body felt the sting from the [Ache] intent, the weakness advancing through him as well.

The guardian was corrupted, the znitches were defenseless, and Trey was restoring himself. Even Bristles struggled through battle—but like any bird that was far away, he looked like a vaporous V in the skyline, removed from the action while still embroiled in battle.

From afar, Bristles roared his promises, the fight still strong in him. “This is war, Lord Swishy! Do not be alarmed by the realm’s obscurity! Nothing ends until everyone hath DIED. DIED, I say!”

The hollow sounds of his Nevermore smashing through a wrathraven punctuated his statement.

As Swishy’s gaze drifted to the guardian’s slackened arms, its criss-crossed weaves lit vibrantly in the purest of gold-straw, Swishy’s choice was made for him. Onward, always onward.

Holding light, staving off the dark—that was the human way, wasn’t it?

It hurt, though. And it hurt loudly. His body cracked in snapping blackwheat with each minute shift of his body weight. He guessed that it was almost entirely from the [Ache], his modest share in Straw Guardian’s suffering.

Whatever Swishy felt had to have been a lessened, buffered version of the true damage, a kindness of the soul frequency.

No matter what, one could never get a direct line to someone’s pain. Swishy wished he knew what he’d subjected the guardian to. But no amount of guilt would change the fact that he had to do what he had to do. Everyone had to fight for their lives. Everyone had to shoulder their burdens.

Swishy resented this lesson in individuality, in the solitude of autonomy. He almost wished he hadn’t given birth.

He mourned for his torn-apart friend. He’d allowed it to happen again. As the wrathravens ushered the Straw Guardian into the skies, they steadily exhaled onto its straw, a dark fog that was filled with the [Hush] intent used to suppress the will of the birdcages.

With its drooping head and shadow-scorched straw, the colossus looked dead. Its stake was horrifically ripped. Straw shavings floated to the ground as the guardian ascended, drawn along by the chasm’s influence.

“I’ll fix you, friend! I’m coming!”

Swishy took off then, wing-jumping after Straw Guardian. He launched himself to the next platform up, rising parallel to the guardian. His goal was Trey. He was going to escalate his friend who’d [Dozed] enough. An emergency was at hand.

The darkness, though, was ready to greet him—and in not quite the way he expected.

The chasm morphed.

From the chasm’s core, two vents of shadow launched in opposite directions, twin hydrants of darkness. The miasma then stabilized into a pair of clawed hands. The palms faced upward in a grand gesture of divinity.

The boy suspected that the chasm was alive, it started to form verbal communication, something like words. Not real words, but a telepathic sign language from the hand gestures. Swishy compared it to the Swish-speak.

The clawed hands crunched into fists—and Swishy heard the domineering voice in his head.

SUBMIT!

“No!” The boy cried as he wing-jumped along, keeping time with the rising guardian.

But no matter where he looked or how he focused on his task, he could see the chasm’s hands. The scale and aura forced one’s acknowledgment of their presence. The hands opened, they extended, they caressed the trappings of its orbit. And it even gestured toward the guardian, summoning a wind upon its straw. Even through all that blackwheat, the gust blew the straw about in an attractive manner.

Anything will be mine. This is my domain. My nest. Once here, it is possessed.

“Life isn’t yours. It isn’t anybody’s.”

Life is a tool. I sense bird in you. Has the animal kingdom taught you nothing?

“It’s not about the lessons. I am what I can live with.” Swishy didn’t know where that came from but it sounded right to him. Those were words that made him happy to fight. Even the shivering znitches trapped in blackwheat-heavy zones nodded in agreement, calming for a second.

Then watch…

Words that were emitted by another fist gesture. Then the winds picked up, speeding the guardian’s ascension. Even the body part platforms of the sky cemetery hastened their cycles. The boomerangings attacks followed suit as well—a black blast had nearly clipped Swishy as he cleared a jump gap.

Swishy’s rhythm was thrown off, a distraction that the wrathravens seized. Several of the beasts made passes over the Straw Guardian’s chest, breathing miasma onto it.

A searing ache throbbed across Swishy’s chest. His body was buckling—and that meant the guardian was taking it double.

The [Trust] intent was caught in the heart chamber. It ebbed around that area, shuttered in by the corruption that’d taken over 90% of the guardian’s body. It was alive and well but with nowhere to go. The spell frayed at its edges just like the straw, but its base integrity was solid.

The guardian huffed weakly and Swishy felt the air rush through his spirit.

“We can do this still, can’t we?”

It wasn’t done—so Swishy wasn’t done.

“We can do anything.”

The chasm laughed.

The wrathravens laughed—on delay, in a strange deference and fear of the parent they’d created.

Weaves upon the guardian’s face shifted, a series of X’s and a single curved line through them: a snitched smile.

“That’s right, don’t give up!” Swishy ran and leaped, ran and leaped. He dodged accordingly. And when the chasm chuckled, he drowned the mockery with the image of the smiling giant, of that dark and beautiful resilience.

In a way, the wrathravens made it easy. They brought his crew up to the skies. Shadows took over everything as the stake leaked out the gold, its rooting decimated. But if the wrathravens could tear down their shine through force, then that worked the other way as well. If Swishy and crew defeated the monsters, they’d let in the light. Swishy was confident in his formula, his win condition.

Even up here, he could see the skies. Gold was within reach—and that meant gold was within a grand release. Swishy could see it now, a blast of light to interrupt the Ruby versus Myst madness, the real world shimmering for days and days.

Swishy leapt onward.

He was straw; he was wind.

(…)

Wrathravens started picking off the wing jumps—they refused to let Swishy have it easy. They settled into a sash formation, circling the guardian’s torso, glaring at the boy’s every move, his every twitch of straw.

He jumped, landed, and was assaulted.

A pair of wrathravens paused their flight to shoot Black Blasts and Wing Blades at him. The boy deflected with a mid-air [Swish Cyclone]. He shocked himself with his gold production, knowing he’d been significantly decayed.

The wrathravens just laughed, cutting their eyes with all the cockiness of the world. They even patted the guardian with their wings, showing it off like an expensive showpiece.

You want this? This right here? This is fine work, so large, so grand. If you wanted it so badly, why did you give it to us?

They’d started up on the gloating again, indulging in their horrible personalities now that their advantage was greatest. The wrathravens had dipped their talons back into their trademark sadism.

Swishy just kept jumping—and wrathravens kept attacking him. Somehow he’d managed [Swish Cyclone] deflections, though his progress didn’t feel like progress.

He'd gotten close to the guardian, a long series of jumps away, but he couldn’t reduce his enemies or the sprawling darkness.

The Straw Guardian passed before his eyes and Swishy reached longingly for it.

And the giant reciprocated with a meager flaring of arm gold.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The next wing jump was hasty, desperate, and without care for the wrathravens in his path. He mentally shrugged off the mistake. Not every action needed to be a good one, just decisive.

[Luminous Strike]—his rake enlarged into spears of light, tearing through the enemies.

The beasts dissolved into ash. And their wings, with no nucleus holding them together, joined the chasm’s infrastructure, creating a feathered stairway toward the corrupted guardian.

Luck shined upon Swishy as he rushed over the stairway of his enemies’ carcasses.

With each landing, he expected an ambush—but that didn’t happen this time. And not the next several times in fact. Swishy only received wary gazes from afar, the wrathravens pulling back after the boy’s latest act of violence. He took the chance to speed up his progression. The space wasn’t for free, though, because the patient beasts chose to hang close to Straw Guardian instead. They resumed wearing down the chest straw with gloom breath.

The guardian’s torso crackled with dark flames, its strands bending, breaking, reducing to ash. Some of its insides were beginning to be visible, the gaps appearing like a decayed ribcage.

Swishy watched it and felt it on his body in real-time, the infusing of blackwheat searing his soul. Beneath his parka, he could feel his stomach go concave, his once layered torso reducing and reducing.

The guardian and Swishy were losing themselves, going hungry in a way.

Except the guardian was full of one thing: Trey who stirred in his sleep.

“Trey!” Swishy called.

The Clayborne sleepily twisted and grumbled.

“Ugh.” Swishy was frustrated but also relieved that Trey seemed in good shape. The soulscape revealed a healthy spirit, newly renewed from [Doze] running its course.

Meanwhile, the chasm grew as the flock continuously offered themselves to it. The shadowy hands softly clapped.

Good show…excellent struggle.

Swishy kept running, kept jumping, and kept forcing steadiness into his soul. ENDURE was one of his oldest lessons, standard defense these days since every attack was a spiritual and emotional one. He held fast to that word now as he rushed.

Then he wing-jumped toward the floating guardian, several skyward platforms away.

The chasm raised its hands again. Come! I will show you true dominion! I am all you need. A message scoffed at by Swishy but taken to heart by the beasts. The wrathravens had created their god, a malicious consciousness from scratch, a primal version of care for them, of unchallengeable security.

Injured wrathravens had traveled toward the chasm, some carrying the anatomical debris in their talons—their own lost parts or those of others. They entered the hands, nuzzling them, wrapping themselves around those clawed fingers. They’d found healing and hell all in one package. And they all had the nerve to glare at Swishy, proud of their babysitter, of their yes-my-parent-will-get-you energy.

Swishy ignored the taunts and kept on his path to Trey.

The automated Wing Blades and Black Blasts were a pain. Though avoidable, the spells forced him to telegraph his jump trajectory each time.

At each landing, beasts lunged at Swishy.

He raised his rake—[Straw Shield]. A dome of wheat curled around him, normal colored, but when the beasts' talons started to penetrate it, strips of blackwheat lifted off his body and supplemented the barrier.

Blackness? There we are. You’re giving in already, The chasm called.

“I’m not.”

Embrace the dark. Embrace me.

Where had he heard those words before? He thought about Ruby. He thought about Myst. He’d managed, in ways, to resist both, and he’d do so again now.

But Myst…Mysty…another item that tugged at his those-that-I-love-those-that-I-care-for strings. He wouldn’t be shy about that now, and he wouldn’t be shy about that upon his escape.

“I embrace the life outside!”

With a full-bodied thrust, he aimed straight through his own shield, right between the claws penetrating the dome. And Swishy was on target, too. As the shield broke down, the straw from which flowing back into Swishy’s body, he found his rake jammed within the wrathraven’s torso.

The creature’s constitution faded from the brightness, swirling away. The second wrathraven’s eyes charged up an [Ultimatum], but Swishy gave it a homerun swing, searing crescent-shaped light the beast.

Both spirits exorcised, the remaining body parts fell away and settled into their chasm orbit.

Swishy moved on.

(…)

The guardian loomed over him, only one jump away—surrounded by several wrathravens.

Swishy eyed them carefully, making sure that no one made a break for the exposed Trey.

Another helpful development occurred, too: from this range he knew that the znitches were safe. They hid in the straw, emitting electrical current from all their fear. Honest birds—this flock was always honest—and Swishy felt each pop of static through the [Ache]. Annoying. But he was relieved to be annoyed.

Save us! Zone-Zeuce-Zhird called from the heart chamber, which caught the wrathravens’ attention. The trio retreated briefly, then found an un-patrolled ribcage to poke their heads out of. We’re in trouble, but you know that already! Your friend is fine, see? Now stop being so single-minded.

“The saving-your-second-lives thing is a work in progress, okay.”

Work faster! Progress now. That black hole is going to destroy us all.

“I’m not blind.”

You’re just SLOW. Hurry! Help a flockmate out!

“Then help me. Wake Trey for me yeah?”

I don’t know how!

“Be annoying!”

You say that as if that’s easy to do.

Swishy gave them a look—and the znitches were offended, beaks hanging out.

We’ll just wait for you. Deal with it.

The chasm above laughed, empowering its draw.

Swishy’s footing became awkward. He stumbled. Throughout his body, the straw shifted unnaturally. His weaves had less grip but he straightened his posture, faking toughness until he willed it so.

You okay? The znitches asked.

“No, I’m really bad I think.”

How’re you going to save us that way?

“I don’t know you tell me.”

Swishy stared at the znitches and the znitches stared back, daring each other to come up with a quick fix.

A wrathraven inhaled the chasm, drawing a store of shadows back into itself, then lunged at Swishy.

The shadows screamed, declaring the possession of Swishy and the birds. As the moments passed, the circumstances became more daunting. Doubt started to return to Swishy. Uncertainty. Pessimism. His blackwheat crawled along his skin, dark straw that he’d created himself combined with the [Ache], the contribution of Straw Guardian’s pain.

Swishy gazed across the one-jump clearing to the Straw Guardian, little more than a gloom effigy. Its arms still carried flames of gold, ones that the wrathravens closely watched, both out of surveillance and their pleasure. He stared at his wretched giant and tried to feel the pain that was theirs and theirs alone. He tried to put his pain aside, to feel most for that which he birthed and failed to protect.

But it wasn’t over. He couldn’t let things end here, in an unnamed, unknown wrath den.

Hurry! The znitches begged.

As his feather platform rose toward the guardian’s decaying chest, Swishy eyed the pair of wrathravens that Black-Blasted the wheat, wearing down the last layers of straw.

The scarecrow and the birds watched each other, knowing what was coming—but just not when.

Swishy leaped across, wielding the rake over his head like a madman. And the wrathravens weren’t ready. They flinched, then retreated, allowing Swishy passage into the heart. The boy landed, confused but relieved. Zone-Zeuce-Zhird were upon him, wing-dusting the dirt off his body.

You made it! Nice jump! Flying would be better but great technique!

“Gee, thanks guys.”

Trey was right there, ensconced in his wheat cast.

Swishy dragged Trey from his confines and did everything annoying to wake him. He slapped his cheeks. He used his frayed straw to scratch the top of his forehead. He tickled his chin. “Coochie coochie coo, Trey. Coochie coochie coo!”

Trey scrambled awake and slapped at Swishy’s gourd. “I’m back, okay! Stop that!”

Zone-Zeuce-Zhird still followed up by brushing around his face, static popping his forehead.

“What the hell!” Trey swatted them away.

Swishy smiled and then hoisted Trey over his shoulder.

“Strong now, huh?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the move strong man? Wrathraven’s still out there, huh?”

“Yes, and the biggest darkness you’ve ever seen.”

“Ever seen?”

“Ever.”

Then Swishy threw Trey out of the guardian.

“Aaaah!”

But several znitches left their nests to catch him.

“Meet us up top!” Swishy instructed the birds.

“Well certainly not going to the chasm!” Trey’s shouted, quickly adjusting to being flown.

On sight, the wrathravens attacked, charging darkness in their mouths. Once they turned toward Trey, he shot the budding blasts out with zap beams.

When multiple attacks came toward him, Trey summoned a voltage force field. He kept the barrier erected, a gloom-proof bubble. His soul strained and shrank from each second of pressure. Swishy monitored him carefully but was confident that his last [Doze] replenished him enough.

“He’ll be okay…” Swishy said to himself.

Will he, though? Zone-Zeuce-Zhird said at once.

“Whatever, I’m going up.” Swishy pressed his hand to the chest wall, greeting the guardian. “I’m back and here to help.”

The boy merged into the straw guardian and warped toward its damaged shoulder—and was instantly doused in terror. Never had the weaves appeared so…dark. Throughout the shocks of blackwheat, he was faced with DOOM, DECAY, DECIMATION. The most frequent intent was DEATH. It was in practically every weave. Swishy’s soul drowned, it went frantic with panic—but he reminded himself that this was a short trip, that if the guardian was dignified living like this, then so would he as a visitor.

When Swishy emerged onto the shoulder, he gasped for breath. He patted down his body, hoping that it was all his, both straw and psyche.

[Trust] rippled beneath his feet, caressing his soul like a massage. There was a rhythm to it, like getting his back patted, like being told that things would be okay.

“Thank you,” Swishy said.

Ripple-ripple, ripple ripple.

“Do you trust me?”

More trust ripples, then words. “I do,” the guardian gasped through its stitched mouth, no puppeteering from Swishy involved.

“Good.” Swishy jammed his rake into the guardian’s shoulder, twisting it in, and the wheat coiled around the gold prongs, rooting them. Cracks emerged in the surface through which the surging darkness was exposed, leaking outward, starting to release its stores of gloom.

There was so much darkness that the Straw Guardian didn’t know how to control—it wasn’t made for that—and so Swishy took the reins. From one scarecrow to another, Swishy refused to allow this one to turn into effigy.

The shadows vented out of the giant scarecrow.

However, the energy was all up for grabs—the wrathravens and the chasm absorbed everything released. Each enemy swelled in power.

Swishy knew the cost but kept paying tribute to the chasm anyway.

Bold of you to think you can escape now that you’ve empowered me.

“I’ll deal with one problem at a time.”

I am your problem ALL the time.

“Be quiet and eat, okay.”

Well, your corrupted friend is quite delicious.

The darkness spread to the monsters, to the chasm, and even to some of the sky cemetery platforms. Bodies once lost, had underwent a restoration.

A worthy cost to Swishy—because the Straw Guardian regained health, its browns and yellows returning. It looked like proper autumn again. The znitches inside were watched in relief as the blackwheat receded from their nesting spots.

But the znitches started to fade away.

One by one, then two by two, then many at a time.

Swishy wanted to say something but chose not to. The atmospheric aura advised him against it. The RESOLVE in the air was sheet metal thick. The DETERMINATION emitted from the birds tattooed the skies—it didn’t fade even as the bird spirits did.

FAITH seared through the bird torsos—the flock had finally learned.

Then the blue flock vanished, its vast majority at least.

“What’s happening?” Swishy finally asked, hoping that Zone-Zeuce-Zhird hovered somewhere around his body.

A long, long moment passed before they answered. Swishy thought they were gone. He wanted to hear them, just one last time. When they finally spoke, he was relieved.

We found a use for our spirits, the trio said, flying around the boy’s head.

“I see…but I don’t understand.”

Magic is for giving. Giving things shape. Giving just to give.

“That’s strange for you guys to say.”

SACRIFICE is the first card we learned. Go figure. It’s just in us. Even as a Ruby command, sacrifice is still a real thing.

“Then what’s this sacrifice for?”

That thing you’ve always wanted. It’s something the flock wanted you to have. They like you now, isn’t that crazy?

“It is, yeah.”

Straw Guardian, that blackwheat wraith that it’d become, glowed where it mattered: its arms, its branches, its various bird nests.

And its newest body parts.

A cracking frenzy resounded from its shoulder blades, revealing a wellspring of blue spirit. Then the energy sprouted.

First the left wing, blackwheat bleeding with blueness.

Then the second wing, gorgeous, angelic, and gold.

When the first wingbeats occurred, the magic of enormous.

“We can fly?” Swishy said in awe.

Zone-Zeuce-Zhird adopted different flavors of smirks as they perched upon Swishy’s body.

We’re birds, aren’t we?

That’s a thing that we do.

Flap-flap, straw genius, flap-flap.

“Why are you guys still here? Isn’t it crazy for the leaders to just let everyone sacrifice themselves?”

The birds started to fade away, seeping into Swishy’s body, shrinking and shrinking.

Don’t you want to be next, smart mouth?

If you don’t want a gift, then just say that.

Scarecrows sure talk themselves into ditches, now don’t they?

Swishy spread his arms apart and shut his mouth. The boy was ready.

So, so ready.