A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 30: The Final Reckoning

The aftermath of the chaos still hung thick in the air. The smoke had barely dissipated, but the stark silence that had followed the battle left a chilling impression. The air smelled of burnt ozone and blood, a scent that would stay with Michael for a long time. He sat against a wall, his breath ragged and unsteady, watching as Walker moved through the wreckage with unnerving calm.

Walker was methodical, his movements deliberate as he examined the fallen figures. The remnants of the Pembrokes and Bennetts were scattered across the room, their bodies twisted and contorted in ways that Michael couldn't even begin to comprehend. Their fates had been sealed when they'd made the mistake of trying to bring an Outer God into the world—and now they were nothing more than husks, their usefulness expended.

Michael shivered, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight. He could feel a knot of dread tightening in his gut.

They were dead, weren't they?

Or at least, in some ways, they might as well have been. Michael didn't know the full extent of Walker's methods, but he knew one thing for sure: whatever Walker had done to them wasn't just physical. It was worse.

He knew what would become of the Pembrokes. He knew what fate awaited them—the lobotomized shells, the hollowed-out husks made into obedient, mindless servants. Watchers. Tools. Puppets. And yet, he said nothing.

Because what was the point? Walker wasn't stupid. He knew the power he held, the control he wielded. If Michael even hinted that he knew what would happen, there was no telling how that would turn out.

He could feel the cold creeping up his spine as Walker continued his work, stripping the bodies of any useful magical or physical remnants. Michael turned his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on something—anything—else.

But the truth was, he couldn't escape it. He'd seen enough to know what came next for these people. It wasn't mercy. It wasn't justice. It was the ultimate erasure of self—reduced to nothing but obedient, hollow-eyed tools, serving some higher, dark purpose they couldn't even comprehend anymore.

And he couldn't stop it. He could never stop it.

He tried to shove the thought aside, tried to force it down. No, he wouldn't dwell on it. It was too late for them.

For a moment, his breath hitched, the image of their vacant, lifeless faces flashing before his eyes. They were gone, but they weren't truly gone. Their bodies might still function, their limbs might still obey, but their souls? Their will? It was as if they'd never existed.

He blinked, shaking his head. He didn't care about them. He didn't care about their fate. He cared about surviving. That was what mattered now. The fact that he was still breathing, that he was still standing—despite all of it—was the only thing that mattered.

"Walker," Michael said quietly, breaking the silence.

Walker didn't look up immediately. He was too busy finishing his work, but after a moment, he turned. His face was still unreadable, that expression of detached calculation.

"You've seen what happens to those who become expendable," Michael said, his voice barely a whisper.

Walker smiled a little, but there was no warmth in it, only a sharp, unsettling edge. "You're quick to understand how things work here, Michael."

Michael's fists clenched at his sides. He'd learned this the hard way. He'd made his choices, and every choice had consequences. Each victory, every bit of power he'd gained, had a cost—and now, with the Pembrokes' fate sealed, it was more evident than ever.

But he wouldn't give Walker the satisfaction of knowing. Not yet. He wouldn't let him see how much it gnawed at him. Because at the end of the day, Michael knew he would never become like them. He wouldn't allow it.

He couldn't allow it.

But how long could he hold on before it consumed him? Before he became just another tool in someone else's plan?

Michael couldn't allow himself to fall into that trap, no matter how tempting it seemed. But part of him understood—part of him knew that the line between survival and becoming what Walker had turned them into... was thin.

And one misstep could send him over the edge.

Walker stood up from the body of one of the Pembrokes, seemingly satisfied with his work. He didn't acknowledge Michael's silence, but there was a knowing look in his eyes.

"You're still here, Michael. You survived. But the question is—how long will that last? You're in the Nightside now, and nothing stays clean forever. Not even you."

Michael's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to stand, staring at the carnage before him.

"Don't worry about me," he said, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts tearing through his head. "I'm not the one who's going to end up like them."

Walker gave him a cryptic smile. "We'll see about that."

Michael glanced at the Pembrokes' lifeless bodies once more, the weight of what had just happened pressing on him like a physical burden. And in the pit of his stomach, a dark thought began to fester—was he really any different?

He couldn't answer that. Not yet.

But as he left the room, the silence settling in behind him, he knew one thing for sure: the price of survival in the Nightside was never paid in full.

And eventually, everyone had to pay the cost.

Michael's breath came in ragged gasps, his body still aching from the brutality of the ritual, the force of the Outer God's energy tearing at the edges of his mind. He felt as if the power inside him was clawing at his consciousness, like a hungry beast gnawing at his very soul. But it wasn't just the magic of the Outer God that had him on edge.

Walker's words hit him like a cold slap, the sting of betrayal sharper than any wound. "You think you've won, don't you?" Walker's voice was calm, almost playful. But there was no mistaking the dark edge to it. "But it's not that simple, Michael. It never was."

Michael's heart hammered in his chest, a quick, frantic beat as the chains holding him tight clinked beneath his movement. He could feel the power surging inside of him—the energy of the Outer God threatening to burst free. He had been foolish to think he had any control over this. He wasn't in charge; the being inside him was.

"Why?" Michael spat, his voice hoarse. "Why are you doing this? I helped you! I stopped them! We—" His words caught in his throat as he struggled against his restraints.

Walker smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was cold, calculating, the look of someone who had already decided your fate. "You were useful, Michael. I needed you to contain the energy, to remove the fragment. But what you don't understand is that you're far too powerful. You've got the potential to ruin everything."

Michael's heart sank as Walker's words sunk in. "You... used me. That's what this was all about?" His stomach churned. "What do you want from me, Walker? What have you planned now?"

Walker took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "I want to ensure you don't use that power for yourself. You are a threat now. The fragment of the Outer God in you... it's dangerous. And you have the ability to bring it back if you're not careful. I can't take that chance."

Michael's chest tightened. "You're planning to kill me, aren't you?" he snarled. The reality of Walker's intentions hit him with sickening clarity. No one in the Nightside ever acted out of kindness. Walker wasn't a protector, he wasn't an ally. He was simply someone who wanted to control the power Michael held—just like everyone else.

"No, Michael," Walker replied, his tone still eerily calm. "I'm not going to kill you. But I am going to make sure you're contained. You can't be trusted with that kind of power." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "You think I'm going to let you walk out of here with that... thing inside you? You think I'll let someone like you run loose and risk everything?"

Michael clenched his fists, trying to control the rage building inside of him. "You can't do this," he growled. "You won't get away with it."

Walker let out a low chuckle, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I already have. It's over, Michael. The moment you took that fragment into your body, you sealed your fate."

A sick feeling twisted in Michael's gut. He was starting to understand. Walker wasn't just a mastermind pulling strings—he was a manipulator, someone who used others as stepping stones toward his own end. And Michael had been a pawn in that game from the start.

"You think you're the only one who can control power like this?" Michael spat. "I've survived worse than this. You don't control me, Walker. I won't let you."

Walker's smile faded, his eyes narrowing. "You're right," he said quietly. "You've survived a lot. But that's over now. I've already made arrangements."

Michael's blood ran cold as Walker turned his back on him, walking over to a nearby table. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed in the room as Walker picked up a strange device. Michael's heart skipped a beat. What was that?

"This is the final step," Walker said, almost to himself. "With this, I can make sure you're never a threat again."

"Walker, don't do this," Michael warned, his voice steady despite the panic beginning to bubble inside him. "I'm not what you think I am. This isn't me. This is... them." He couldn't keep the tremor from his voice as he looked at the device, the faint glimmer of something cold and metallic in Walker's hand.

Walker turned to face him with that same detached look. "This is for your own good, Michael. You just don't see it yet. But you will. You'll understand when it's all over."

Michael felt the cold press of panic close in on him, but he forced himself to stay calm. There had to be a way out. There always was.

"You think I'll just let you control me?" Michael snapped. "You think you can just trap me, like the others?"

Walker's face tightened. "I'm not trapping you, Michael. I'm saving you from yourself." He walked toward Michael with a dangerous glint in his eye, the device in his hand ready for whatever he had planned. "This is the only way."

Michael's heart pounded as the weight of Walker's words hit him. He could feel the Outer God's presence inside him, that primal, alien energy that was hungry, that was waiting to be unleashed. But he couldn't let it control him. Not now. Not when everything was hanging by a thread.

"You think you're the only one who knows how to fight?" Michael growled, his gaze hardening. "I'm not done yet."

Before Walker could react, Michael's swarm flared to life, the insects within him waking as one. It started as a low hum, a vibration in the air, then a rush of energy as the swarm surged outward. The chains that had held him broke with a sharp, metallic snap, and the power inside him surged to the surface, a chaotic storm of will and force.

Walker's eyes widened as he tried to step back, but Michael's swarm enveloped the room, the insects crawling and flying, disrupting everything in their path. Walker's device clattered to the ground as his focus was torn away.

Michael gritted his teeth, forcing himself up, using the last of his strength to push back the overwhelming pressure of the Outer God within him. He wasn't sure how long he could hold it back, but for now, he had to escape. He had to get out before Walker could regain control.

The room spun around him as he stumbled toward the door, his pulse thundering in his ears, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Walker was screaming at him now, but Michael couldn't hear him. He was already gone, his mind focused solely on survival.

He was still alive. And that was all that mattered.

For now, at least.

Michael's heart hammered in his chest as Walker's goons closed in on him. His body burned with the unholy power of the Outer God, the raw, uncontainable energy that coursed through his veins, but the pain of holding it back was excruciating. His fingers twitched, every muscle in his body on edge. The rift, that gateway to something far worse than even the Nightside, beckoned with a hunger that seemed to match his own. But for all the power inside him, Michael knew he was outmatched.

Walker stood before him, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his posture relaxed as though he was in complete control of the situation. His men flanked him, eyes narrowed with cold, calculated intent.

"You don't seem surprised," Walker said, his voice low, almost conversational. "I thought you'd have figured it out by now, Michael. You've been a problem for far too long."

Michael clenched his fists, the chains that bound him rattling slightly, his mind racing. He had to act fast. He couldn't let Walker win, couldn't let him take control.

"You think you've won, don't you?" Michael spat, his breath coming faster. His body burned with the power of the Outer God, but he forced himself to stay focused. "What do you want, Walker?"

Walker's smile widened slightly, as if the answer were already obvious. "I want you, Michael. You've been a thorn in my side for too long. Too much potential. Too dangerous. And now that I know how you've been meddling in things that aren't meant for you… well, you're far too much of a liability to be left alive."

Michael's pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?" he growled, trying to fight against the chains, but they held firm. "What do you mean, liability?"

Walker stepped forward, his expression cold, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "You were never supposed to get this far. I knew from the moment I saw you that you'd be a problem. So, I took precautions. I planted a tracking spell on you during the Pembroke meeting. That's how I knew where to find you." He paused, letting the words sink in. "You think you've been roaming free, but I've been keeping tabs on you this whole time."

Michael's mind reeled. A tracking spell? So, Walker had been one step ahead of him the entire time. Every move, every decision he'd made—Walker had known. The sense of betrayal gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. There was no time for self-pity.

"You really think you can stop me?" Michael's voice was steady, though every muscle in his body screamed for action. "You're just a man. You can't control me."

Walker's smirk faded into something darker. "You've been lucky, Michael. You've been lucky up until now. But that luck is running out. You're too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. You're a liability to the Nightside, and I'm not going to let you destroy everything just because you think you have a little power."

Michael felt the oppressive weight of Walker's words settle over him like a vice. He wasn't just fighting Walker. He was fighting something much bigger. He had to find a way out. Fast.

"Not everything is about control, Walker," Michael shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You can't control everything. The Outer God inside me? You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Don't talk to me about things you don't understand," Walker snapped, his tone turning cold. "You think you're special? You think this is just about you? The problem with people like you is that you don't see the bigger picture."

Michael's body tensed, the chains biting into his skin as he struggled against them. His mind raced. The rift. He needed to open it. If he didn't, Walker would win. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

The air around them crackled, the tension thick enough to cut through. Michael's thoughts began to blur as the rift beckoned—he could feel it, the power swirling inside him, begging to be released. His heart hammered in his chest as he gathered every ounce of his remaining strength, channeling it into the growing pressure.

Walker took another step forward, his voice cold and commanding. "You're finished, Michael. I'm taking you back, and I'm making sure you never get in my way again."

Before Michael could respond, Walker's men lunged forward, their hands outstretched to seize him. But Michael was faster. With a surge of energy, he twisted his body, breaking free from the chains that held him. His breath caught in his throat as the rift began to open beneath him, a violent tear in reality that threatened to swallow everything whole.

"No!" Walker roared, but it was too late.

The rift expanded with a deafening crack, pulling at the very fabric of the space around them. Michael's body was yanked forward, his feet barely able to touch the ground as he was sucked into the swirling abyss. The world around him distorted, the light flickering and warping as the rift tore open completely, pulling him into the unknown.

His body was tossed like a ragdoll as he plummeted into the void, the sensation of being torn apart overwhelming. The rift was closing, but Michael had no idea where he would end up—or if he would survive the journey.

As the darkness swallowed him whole, the last thing he heard was Walker's voice, distant and furious: "Michael!"

But Michael wasn't listening anymore. The rift had claimed him, and with it, any chance of ever being the same again.