A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 28: The Price of Knowledge

Michael's fingers brushed the edges of the carved box Madame Yelza handed him, its surface smooth and cold. There was an unmistakable sense of foreboding that tightened in his chest as he took it from her. He knew better than to take anything from someone like Yelza without expecting a price. Still, he had come this far, and despite the warning, he couldn't back down now.

But the moment his fingers closed around the box, something shifted—an unnatural tug at the very air around him. The light flickered, the scent of incense and decay thickened, and before he could react, the world around him fractured.

The ground disappeared beneath his feet, replaced by a whirlwind of colors—blurring, twisting, and pulling him through a stretch of existence that was beyond his comprehension. He gasped, his body twisting in the air, helpless as the magic tore through him. It felt like an eternity before he slammed into something hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him.

When his vision cleared, he found himself in an unfamiliar place—dark, suffused with an ominous purple glow that seemed to bleed from the walls themselves. The space was vast, almost infinite, with no discernible boundaries. A void, as if the universe itself had given way to something else.

Michael struggled to rise, his head spinning, but before he could fully regain his bearings, he felt cold iron bite into his wrists. Chains. They clinked as they tightened, forcing his arms behind him, locking him in place. Panic flared, but he squashed it. This wasn't the first time he'd found himself restrained, and it wouldn't be the last.

A chill ran down his spine as he heard the distant echo of footsteps. Figures emerged from the shadows—Victoria and Jonathan Bennett, standing in their dark, refined attire, their eyes gleaming with barely contained malice. Michael's eyes narrowed, and he tried to struggle against the chains, but they held firm.

He felt the sting of magic—the same feeling he'd had when he encountered the puppets. They were connected, just as he'd suspected.

"Ah, there you are," Victoria Bennett's voice was silk, smooth, and deadly. She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "I must say, Michael, you've been quite the troublemaker. Did you honestly think you could defeat us without consequences?"

Michael bit back a retort, forcing himself to stay calm. He needed to think clearly, even as his heart raced and his pulse thundered in his ears.

"You've always been one step ahead, haven't you?" he said, his voice cold. "What is this place? And what's the game you're playing now?"

Jonathan Bennett stepped forward, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "It's not a game, Michael. This is something far older than you can imagine."

Michael tried to shake the chains loose, but they were enchanted—solid and unyielding. The air around them felt charged, as though something else was waiting, lurking just beyond the veil of reality.

Victoria's voice interrupted his thoughts, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "You've been poking around in things you don't understand, Michael. This place... this is a fragment of a realm that shouldn't exist. We are just its custodians."

Michael's stomach twisted. He didn't need her to elaborate to understand what was happening. He could feel it—the oppressive weight of something other, something ancient, pressing down on him. The same sensation he'd felt in the library, but amplified here. Something was trying to break through.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Michael spat, trying to buy himself some time. His mind was racing—he needed to break free, but the chains were a strong barrier.

"Everything," Jonathan said. "You and your little… swarm. You've been meddling in things that were never meant for your kind to touch. This world, this realm—this dimension, Michael—has a purpose. It was sealed away, kept hidden for a reason."

Suddenly, the air shifted around them. A dark energy began to coalesce, growing stronger, thickening like a cloud. Michael's heart raced in his chest as the temperature dropped, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Victoria smiled, stepping back as the air grew more charged. "Do you feel it, Michael? The weight of what's about to happen? The force that will rise here? We didn't just come to the Nightside to play. We're here for something much bigger."

And then, Michael felt it—the overwhelming, crushing presence of something ancient and beyond comprehension. It filled the space, bending the air around him. It was here, and it wanted in.

The chains binding him began to vibrate—not with magic, but with a far more primal, alien energy.

Madame Yelza stepped into the scene, her silhouette barely visible against the darkening sky. She stood behind Victoria and Jonathan, her shadow stretching long across the floor like a tether to something else. Her voice was low, carrying an ancient undertone.

"You've done well, my children," Yelza said, her eyes glowing with an eerie light. "You have set the stage, and the time for him to serve has arrived."

Michael's mind raced as Yelza's presence began to settle over him, a suffocating pressure filling the space. "What are you doing?" he shouted, struggling against his restraints.

Yelza turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his with unnerving calm. "You see, Michael, we are not the true masters here. We are simply the vessels—the ones who carry the will of something far older than the Nightside itself. Something that has waited for millennia."

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath them, and the dark presence grew stronger, pressing in on Michael's senses, suffocating him with its power. He could feel it—an entity, something ancient beyond words, something that had been bound for eons and now sought its release.

"Who are you serving?" Michael rasped, barely able to breathe as the dark energy pressed against him.

Victoria stepped forward, her smile widening as the light around her seemed to flicker with the same unnatural energy. "We serve the Outer God. The one whose name is forgotten in every corner of reality. But we are his instruments now. And when he enters this world, the Nightside will be his—and yours, too."

Michael's heart raced. He understood now. This wasn't just about control over the Nightside—it was about releasing something far more dangerous. The Outer God that they spoke of was far beyond anything he had ever encountered. And if they succeeded in what they were planning, there would be no stopping it.

Michael's throat tightened, but he couldn't stop himself from asking the one question that burned in his mind. "How are you still alive?" He could barely get the words out, the gravity of the situation weighing down on him. "You two were—"

"Dead?" Victoria interrupted, her smile turning sharper. "Oh, yes. Dead. But we were useful to the Outer God. And in exchange for our service, we were brought back. Not as we were, but as... something else. The Pembrokes were always obsessed with legacy, Michael. With power, and with influence. But what good is legacy when your body no longer serves you? The Outer God gave us more than life. He gave us purpose."

Jonathan stepped forward, his voice cold, yet almost admiring. "Puppets, Michael. Puppets are useful. We lost everything—our legacy, our place in the Nightside. But when the Outer God took us, he gave us a new role. And we serve him now, without question."

Michael's stomach churned. Puppets. They had become part of something far darker, something incomprehensible. And it made them even more dangerous.

Yelza's voice broke through again, her words heavy with unholy finality. "But you, Michael, you are not part of the plan. You will be the tool that allows the Outer God to enter. You will be the one who opens the door."

Michael's blood ran cold. This was it. The Nightside—his entire world—was on the brink of being consumed by something much older, much darker, and much more dangerous than he could ever imagine.

As the dark energy around him coiled tighter, Michael realized one grim truth: he was trapped.

As the dark energy churned around Michael, pressing in on him like a thousand crushing weights, the atmosphere shifted once again. There was a subtle hum in the air, and the temperature seemed to drop even further. Michael's chest tightened, and his breath grew shallow. Then, the figure he had been expecting stepped out of the shadows—Elizabeth Pembroke, matriarch of the Pembroke family.

She glided forward with the grace of someone who knew their power, her presence commanding the room. Her long black dress shimmered with dark enchantments, the fabric rippling as if alive with magic. Her face was cold and imperious, with sharp features that made her look like a creature carved from ice, her eyes two gleaming pools of malice. She was as beautiful as she was terrifying, and Michael could sense her hatred radiating from her.

Behind her, walking with a regal, almost mechanical step, was her son—Edmund Pembroke, the one who had survived the explosion at the meeting with Walker. The same Edmund Michael had watched die, or thought had died, when the Pembrokes had blown up the meeting. It was a sickening revelation.

Edmund's eyes were empty—emotionless, as if some part of him had been left behind in the explosion, replaced with something hollow. His jaw clenched, but his gaze remained dead, too tired for the fire that had once burned in his eyes.

"Ah, Michael," Elizabeth's voice was cold, smooth, and dripping with disdain. She took a moment to examine him, her gaze sharp and predatory. "The troublesome little boy who thinks he can play in the big leagues. How quaint."

Michael's stomach twisted, but he bit his tongue. He wasn't about to show weakness. "You're still alive," he said, trying to mask his disgust. "I should've known better than to think you were really dead."

She smiled, but it was a smile that held no warmth. "Dead? Perhaps. But not truly gone. We're far more resourceful than you give us credit for, Michael. And when you serve the right forces, even death is a temporary inconvenience."

Edmund remained silent, his eyes locked onto Michael, but there was no real emotion in them. His mother's presence seemed to command all the attention, leaving him little more than a shadow of his former self.

Victoria and Jonathan exchanged a brief look, but Elizabeth's icy gaze was on Michael, and the room felt colder still.

"And now we see what a little man you are," Elizabeth continued. "So full of ambition, so eager to take control of things far beyond your comprehension. But what has that gotten you, hmm?" She stepped closer, her words slow and deliberate, "You've opened the door to something that should never have been touched."

Michael clenched his fists, his mind racing. The pieces were starting to come together, but he needed more time to think. He needed to buy himself a moment, a single breath, to get his bearings. "I'm not the one who brought the god here, but you sure seem eager to finish the job," he shot back.

"Oh, I'll finish it," Elizabeth's eyes gleamed. "You see, Michael, the Outer God wants in. And we've made the necessary arrangements to ensure it happens. You're merely a tool, a means to an end. You were never meant to stand in our way."

Michael's heart dropped. He could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him. The Outer God wasn't just a threat—it was the end of everything, and they were on the verge of bringing it through. His blood ran cold as he realized what they had planned. "You think you'll succeed," Michael said, trying to steel himself. "But you'll only bring destruction."

Edmund spoke for the first time, his voice hollow and devoid of any emotion. "Destruction is what we've always been after. Why fight it?"

Elizabeth shot Edmund a venomous look. "Do not speak unless you are spoken to, boy. We are not here to listen to your disjointed ramblings."

Edmund's lips twitched but he said nothing more, and Michael realized how much of Edmund was already lost to whatever darkness the Outer God had brought with him. He was a puppet, just like the others.

Elizabeth turned back to Michael, her gaze narrowing. "I must admit, though," she said, her voice softening slightly, "I'm impressed. I didn't expect you to survive this long. You've become quite a nuisance. I might have been tempted to admire you—had you not interfered with our plans."

Michael's chest tightened. He knew that this was a game of words and power, but it was one he had little control over. They had already planned for this moment, and he had walked right into their trap.

"You're alive because you're useful," he replied, his voice calm despite the panic crawling at the edges of his mind. "But when your god comes, it won't matter anymore. You'll be nothing but a tool—just like the rest of us."

The cold smile crept back onto Elizabeth's lips, her eyes never leaving his. "We have no intention of being discarded. When the Outer God enters this realm, it will be a new age for all of us. You will be our sacrifice, Michael. But do not fear—when the time comes, you will understand that we've given you a higher purpose."

Michael's heart pounded, his thoughts spinning. They had been preparing for this. This wasn't just a battle over control—it was the beginning of something far worse. The power they sought was beyond his comprehension, but he would be damned before he let them drag him into it.

Then it hit him—he was still shackled. Trapped. But he could use that. Use the chaos. The fight wasn't over yet. There was still a way out.

"You think you're in control, Elizabeth, but you're blind to the real threat." Michael's words rang out with more conviction than he felt. He could feel the chain of thought snap back into focus. He could still fight.

Elizabeth's laugh echoed in the dark space, cruel and hollow. "No, Michael, you're the one who is blind. You will see when it's too late."

Just as the dark energy grew thicker, and Michael realized that his fight was far from over, Elizabeth's next words sent a chill through him. "The Outer God will claim this world, and you will be the instrument that brings him here."

The world around him pulsed with energy, and Michael knew one thing—this wasn't a simple fight for survival. This was a battle for everything.

And for the first time, Michael truly felt the weight of what he was up against.

The air around Michael thickened, his chest tight as he struggled to breathe through the weight of what was happening. The ritual was reaching its zenith, and with each passing second, he could feel his body—his very essence—being pulled in a direction he couldn't comprehend.

Elizabeth Pembroke's cold eyes remained fixed on him, a predatory gleam behind them as she moved closer. "You think you've been in control, Michael. But everything you've done, every move you've made, has been part of the plan."

Michael's heart skipped. "What do you mean? What plan?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, her lips curled into a satisfied smile, as though she'd been waiting for this moment. The truth, she knew, was about to shatter him. "When you crossed over from your ordinary world—your reality—to the Nightside, something happened. Something we've been watching for a long time. That moment when you arrived—do you really think it was a coincidence?"

His confusion deepened, and he tried to gather his thoughts amidst the swirling chaos. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jonathan's voice was almost lazy, as if he were recounting an ancient tale. "You weren't just tossed into the Nightside, Michael. You were chosen. The Outer God planted a seed inside you the moment you crossed over. It was subtle, at first, but it's been growing ever since."

Michael's heart sank, a gnawing dread spreading through his chest. "That... that's impossible. I didn't—"

"Did you think your powers were some sort of lucky fluke?" Victoria interjected, her voice sharp and mocking. "The insects, your unnatural ability to control them—your power to bend reality just enough to survive... All of that came from the Outer God. He placed that seed in you, and it's been feeding off your growth ever since."

His mind reeled as her words hit like a battering ram, each sentence breaking apart the image of himself he had carefully built. "But the poker game... the win... the life energy I got... that wasn't coincidence either, was it?" he whispered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Yelza's voice broke through the disorienting surge of panic and realization, as cold as the space around them. "No, Michael. That was exactly what we wanted. You thought you were just playing a game, didn't you? It wasn't just money that you won. It was life energy—extra life energy. The Outer God had planned it all. That power you gained, that surge of vitality, was the final spark needed. You were never just a random player in a game of chance. The Outer God guided your every move. You were meant to win."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, each shard cutting deeper. Michael's stomach churned. Every moment since he arrived in the Nightside felt like it had been manipulated. He wasn't in control.

Yelza's eerie, cold smile only widened as she continued, "The moment you crossed over, the Outer God placed his seed inside of you. You were, and still are, his chosen vessel. The power, the swarm, the luck—all of it was to set the stage for his return. And now, here you are. Ready to open the door."

Michael shook his head, trying to fight through the numbness creeping over him. "No. I'm not… I'm not doing this."

"Oh, but you already are, Michael," Elizabeth's voice dripped with venom. "You think you've been fighting for control, but all your actions were preparing you to open the door for the Outer God. You've already set the ritual in motion, and now it's too late to stop it. You've been the perfect puppet, playing into our hands without even realizing it."

Michael's breath caught in his throat, the realization hitting him with the force of a punch. He hadn't been just running from threats in the Nightside. He had been marked from the moment he crossed over. Every step, every choice, had only fed into the Outer God's design. He was never the one controlling his destiny. He was simply the tool in a far greater, much darker plan.

"Why me?" Michael's voice cracked, his mind racing. "Why was I chosen? What makes me special?"

Yelza's laugh was soft, like the rustle of leaves in a dark forest. "It's not about you being special. It's about your power. You didn't just cross into this world by accident. The Outer God foresaw this moment, knew what would happen when you arrived. The power inside you—your swarm, your control, even your luck—it was all meant to serve his purpose."

Jonathan stepped closer, his eyes cold and calculating. "You were the perfect candidate for the job, Michael. You've always had the potential. The Outer God gave you what you needed. Power, knowledge, and a way to channel it. And now, you will be the one to unlock his prison. You will be the vessel that carries him back into this world."

Michael's heart pounded in his chest. The walls around him seemed to close in, the dark presence of the Outer God pressing into his mind. He could feel it—something was on the verge of breaking through. The space around him seemed to bend and twist, as if reality itself was warping to make room for the thing beyond.

"Why… why didn't you just kill me?" Michael managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Victoria's smile stretched even wider, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Because you were always more useful alive, Michael. We needed you for the ritual. And now that the time is near, nothing can stop what's coming."

The realization hit Michael like a ton of bricks. He had been a pawn. A tool in a plan he never even knew existed, one that was far bigger than anything he could have imagined.

He was the key to the world-ending ritual. And there was no turning back.

The ground beneath him trembled, and Michael felt the pressure of something much greater bearing down on him. The Outer God was closer now, waiting to be freed. And Michael could do nothing but brace himself for what was about to come.