Gnaw Bone, Indiana
"Do you want to see a dead body?"
Tempest gazed at Daedalus through the eyehole of his mask, and Daedalus knew he was smirking underneath.
It was the middle of the night, and the sound of rain could be heard pelting the outside of the farmhouse. Tempest was lurching over Daedalus's bed, stretching at impossible lengths with his face inches in front of his leader's. Daedalus sighed and nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He knew that look in Tempest's eye.
Earlier That Night
It was sprinkling. Clouds had been rolling in above the fields and the trees. Tempest noticed but didn't seem to care.
He was off the property. wandering out where no one could see. He was alone (all one) with his thoughts. Since coming back, he wasn't the Spyder King...
He paused.
Spider King.
He wasn't the Spider King he was before. He knew that. The Arsonist had absolutely laid waste to him, in a match that was supposed to be Tempest's homecoming.
Welcome home, Tempest! The Coalition dubs you the King... of Chaos!
Except... he wasn't. Not now.
He both giggled and sobbed after the match with Sebastian Everett Bryce.
He giggled because he loved him. It was another chapter in the book of the Arsonist and the Spider King. It was another chapter in a book of many chapters yet to come. He expected the Arsonist to win some, of course. No amazing rivalry was one-sided. But, he didn't expect Sebastian to do to him what he did.
Sebastian made a statement. And Tempest loved him for it.
He sobbed because he felt he was abruptly dragged from the throne he once sat upon. And tossed aside like a piece of garbage. He felt like-
His foot struck something. He tripped over it and fell into the field he was walking. At this point, he was just at the edge of the trees beyond the farmhouse property. The farmhouse itself looked small from back here.
He rubbed the dirt off his hands as he rolled to his butt and investigated what he tripped over.
A pair of dead eyes stared up into the sky as Tempest leaned in closely.
"Arsonist?" he croaked. His voice broke a little and he cleared his throat, crawling and hovering over the body he tripped on. He studied the look of shock on its face, and he couldn't help but keep shifting his eyes to the eyes of the corpse below him. He had the eyes of Sebastian Everett Bryce.
The exact eyes of Sebastian Everett Bryce.
He knew because he gazed into them each time the Arsonist stood across from him. Even in the darkness, those haunting eyes were unmistakable.
His eyes shifted to the side of the corpse's head. And the exit wound from the bullet that killed him. The face of a feminine clown passed through Tempest's head briefly, like a specter, then disappeared. He bit at his lip behind his mask. A mask that he wore because he was uncomfortable. Ashamed.
He sometimes missed that clown.
A bird cawed from above the trees and Tempest slouched in defense. When it didn't come down to attack him, he relaxed and looked at the dead body once more. He gave it a pat on the cheek.
"Don't worry, Arsonist. I'll protect you."
He got to his feet and grabbed the body by its legs, and began dragging it across the field.
Gnaw Bone, Indiana
Daedalus studied the body sitting on the couch.
"Hmm..." he said, bringing a hand to his chin and scratching it with a look of unease on his face.
"He was definitely murdered. But this is also definitely not who you want it to be," he said, knowing that would follow.
"But..."
"I hate to disappoint you, but that is not Sebastian Everett Bryce. You'll see for yourself on Monday when he competes."
Tempest hung his head.
"He has his eyes..."
Daedalus studied the body and sighed.
"While that might be true, the eyes don't make him the man himself. The eyes are but windows into the soul. And many windows look the same, Tempest. That doesn't make the soul the same."
Daedalus gave him a pat on the shoulder and left the room, striding back upstairs to go back to bed. Tempest sighed in disappointment and looked at the corpse on the couch.
"Tell me something, Seb... What's happened to me? Have I lost myself in this... labyrinth? Can I ask you something else? And this may seem a bit more bizarre. But, can you hear the pianos and the birds? The piano... What is it playing? Moonlight Sonata? I don't think so. But I know I've heard it before. Can you hear it, too?"
The corpse didn't respond. It only gazed forward, its dead eyes as wide as they were in the field. In that moment, Tempest hated the corpse. He hated the corpse because the corpse really was Sebastian. It really was, in Tempest's eyes. He glared at the corpse hatefully.
"You took my fucking vision, you bastard! And my fucking flesh looks like bubblegum! My face is disfigured! I'm traumatized. And you've never even offered an apology! I hate you. I fucking hate you, Arsonist. Have you ever... have you ever hated someone so much... that you love them?"
The emotion in his voice rose and fell chaotically. His sentences were nearly disconnected, but with a stiffening sob he would finish with the word each sentence needed in his fit of rage. He grabbed the corpse by the collar and glared into its eyes.
"Before this is all over, Sebastian... I will cover your body, with kisses... and kerosene."
He shoved the corpse backwards. It only stared up at the ceiling. Tempest began to stomp away and then stopped. He looked over his shoulder and his rage dissipated. As he turned back to the corpse, his rage was replaced with soft giggling.
He climbed into the corpse's lap and straddled him, grabbing his head and staring into his eyes once more. What he did next was morbid. He stuck his dirty thumb into the side of the corpse's eye socket and wiggled it deep into its skull. With a small grunt, he plucked the corpse's left eye from its skull and giggled with satisfaction. He gazed into the eye and grinned behind his mask.
The Underlook
The doors were locked. Tempest couldn't get in. He knew there was a room that belonged to Lucy Wylde, just as there was a room that belonged to Maggie. He knew there was a room that belonged to Tony Savage, just as there was a room that belonged to Konrad. But the doors were locked. He sat on the familiar carpet of the Underlook, legs crossed, and whimpered.
"They're going to beat me," he said simply. And then sobbed.