To make sure that Phronta would make it safely, he used only part of what he knew of Phantos.
The book answered his call, albeit hesitantly and clearly unwilling to work so closely together, especially since Zabulus had practically traumatized Vetro.
"Make haste, make haste! Create a bouncy castle for us. Or a pillow, a blanket, a bed of trees! Hell, a lake if you please!" Zabulus told the book in desperation.
It stopped struggling a bit and prepared its creation, drawing a shaky image that made no sense at first.
From below and below and below. As the images came together, they became a great amount of many things, perhaps the only great thing that could stop a falling body.
Zabulus ripped away the pieces of reality that once blinded him from being able to see it; this book that had its spine and front covered and yet the pages inside were torn and dry, he simply couldn't comprehend what lay beyond.
Corruption seeps out as it continues to hate what is, he simply couldn't fathom the reasoning why Vetro put up with such an insane existence throughout his life.
Below, there lay a black circle. A hole? Maybe.
It was surrounded by a color of dust that made it look and seem grey and rotten, yet he was falling towards this 'hole' that reflected nothing and was held up by its legs.
In this perverse depiction that came true, the only things holding the bottommost-hole's legs from toppling over were its very own thighs.
At this point, he had no hope that the hole would lead to anywhere good.
He clutched Phronta tighter as a way of saying 'We'll be okay, okay?'
Yet, the only thing he was afraid of now was that neither of them would survive this. And neither would it.
But to make things worse, his perception had become so fast that he could feel cutlets of his flesh disappear into nothingness.
he was less than a meter away from this degenerate hole, this unseemly display that looked like the remnants of something great; head-first, he met the hole of an odd smell that was of a crying sky and silver-y blades cutting through anything within their sights, and it all smelled foul and damp as his nose dipped into it.
There was a touch.
The hole had a physical essence, not at all what was seen. The skin of something slimy and stretchy, it encompassed his nose, and then his face.
It all began as if it was alive and moving with a mind of its own. This degenerate, this living blackhole, it would either swallow him whole or allow him to crawl out through its lower end, be it his legs or his ass.
But none of that happened; even to the point of embarrassment, deep to his bones that he was expecting evil, all that happened was...
Bounce.
Sliding off of it, the two of them found a safe and cushioned landing place within the hole itself. They were above ground, they were not in a deep world of chaos that awaited them, and most importantly they could catch the air of paradise.
Holding Phronta in his arms still, they bounced up and down on this hole, this stringy and rubber-ish ground that allowed the two of them to regain a hold of what the world was.
Phantos thus spoke: "There was no sense to how and why this could come true, but a trampoline appeared as I drew it, it was not an infinite and eternal hole that would go deep within the depths and devour both of your souls."
After the bouncing of the trampoline died down, they both lay there to catch some air. No one was here, they were in a location nobody visited in Onkhivol.
"A trampoline? What is this... thing? A bounce castle? What is that? Can it fly? Can we get away?" He asked the book, and he held the cover up to his face. It showed nothing. And told him nothing.
"And why is there a trampoline made of... hm... It looks like black ooze." He continued to speak without much thought.
But no response came.
"God damned useless thing! At any rate, saving us with this trampoline thing was valuable." Managing to keep himself composed, the book then faded into air as it rejoined his soul.
"A-ah... I'm... I'm n-not meant to be here! I-If the White Queen s-sees me outside... she might think that I'm betraying e-everyone!" Phronta attempted to clasp her face in different spots.
"So what? You already came here with me, and I'm certain I can reason with her, she's a friend! Don't worry Phronta, I'm sure I can get through her skull." With a bit of a cheerful tone, he tried to up her spirit.
Though the girl remained afraid and attempted to scuttle towards Zabulus; but the weightlessness of the trampoline caused her to bounce and trip over as it was nothing that she was accustomed to. She fell beside him and tried to shield herself from the fall—But nothing came of it as she simply bounced once again off of the surface of the trampoline and laid there, embarrassed.
"Um... Are you...?"
"N-nothing! It's nothing... L-let's get off this thing and..." Realizing she had no real plan here, her sentence was cut with silence.
"Yeah, sounds reasonable. We have to find Onofre and tell her about those crazed cultist people-"
"No! We can't do that! S-she'll know me by my clothing a-and will kill me if she f-finds out that I left the outer-walls... I-I don't want to die..." Phronta protested his suggestion, but it seemed to be in vain as he responded.
"It'll be okay, I promise. She's a friend, she wouldn't hurt me or anyone that...I care about..." He felt out of place saying that he cared about Phronta. He knew full-well it was the Reiah part of him that said those words, but the influence on himself was not to be denied. To him, Reiah was now nothing but a demon disguised as everything he wanted to be. A good sibling, a loved person, a capable being...
His own words threw him for a loop, spiraling down the drain of negativity until his focus was broken by Phronta speaking.
"Before long... I'll end up crooked to the core... I'll be calm and joyful, unfazed by the world as it is. That is why I must-"
Zabulus stared at Phronta, her words hanging in the air like a horrible prophecy. "Crooked to the core? What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice tinged with a certain confusion and a growing unease. He reached out to steady her as she wobbled on the trampoline, her small frame trembling not just from the bouncing but from something deeper, something he couldn't yet grasp. Something that came from this crooked, creaking universe.
Phronta's eyes darted to the side, avoiding his gaze, her fingers twisting nervously into the hem of her sleeve. "I-I didn't mean to say that out loud," she stammered, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's just… something she told me once. The White Queen. She said I'd change, that I'd stop being afraid one day, but it wouldn't be a good thing. She said I'd smile while the world burned, and I'd be the one holding the torch." Her words spilled out like a floodgate bursting, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as if to shove the words back in.
Zabulus blinked, his mind racing to process Phronta's confession. The White Queen's words clung to the air like a curse, and he couldn't shake the image of Phronta—timid, trembling Phronta—wielding fire and grinning through what would be death.
He gripped on her shoulder, unsure if he was steadying her or himself.
The trampoline beneath them creaked faintly, its black, ooze-like surface rippling as if it too sensed the weight of her words. Zabulus glanced down at it, half-expecting it to swallow them again, but it held firm—a strange, silent witness to their stale existence.
Phronta pulled her knees to her chest, her voice muffled against them as she spoke. "I don't want that, I don't... I don't want to stop caring, even if it hurts to feel everything." Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the dull grey sky above.
To feel everything; in flight from its stale infinite depth, feeling was never going to leave her. Not even in spite of her 'change'.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say to that? That he'd protect her from a fate she feared more than death itself? That he'd keep her from becoming the White Queen's twisted vision? He wasn't even sure he could protect himself.
No... This was that same clumsy and joyful Onofre she was talking about, 'Not a chance that this was no more than a terrible misunderstanding, right?'
Phronta lifted her head, her expression hardening for a fleeting moment. "If we go to the Queen, promise me you won't let her near me," she said, her voice steadier than before. "I don't trust her, Zabulus. Not after what the Queen said."
The words echoed, over and over. But he remained silent until the echoes died, only the feeling of conflict moving towards a greater purpose.
'To what end do I have to put up with this? To what end must I have no voice in these fates?' This thought filled his damaged mind, pain filled his damaged heart.
Zabulus stared where the sky bent unnaturally into jagged edges. Phronta clung to his arm, her breaths shallow, as if the air itself might turn against her.
Phronta's fingers traced the edge of the black ooze, her curiosity battling her fear. "It's warm," she murmured, pulling back as if it might bite, "like it's alive and waiting."
From above came a flicker of silver, a blade of light slicing through the clouds. Zabulus shielded his eyes, half-expecting it to strike them down, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
The book pulsed faintly in his soul, its presence a nagging itch he couldn't scratch. He muttered to it, "Show me something useful," but it remained silent, stubborn as ever.
A shadow stretched across the trampoline, long and thin, with no source to cast it. Phronta squeaked and pressed closer, her voice trembling, "W-what's that? Is it her?"
Zabulus kicked at the ooze, testing its strength, and it jiggled beneath his foot like a living thing. "God, you disgusting fucking book, this isn't a thing, this is a living being!"
He felt the pulse once again in his soul, as if being mocked by Phantos, as if saying "Gotcha!"
...
After walking for a few minutes across the alleys of Onkhivol, Zabulus and Phronta remained silent.
He thought, for a moment. If she was to act so timid and closed-off, then could Onofre's Prophecy be the reason? Because she did not want to become what she was said to become?
Phronta's grip on his arm tightened as they walked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Zabulus... do you really think she'll listen to you? I mean... She's THE queen! Not just anybody you find in the walls or... The outside..." She wasn't looking at him, just staring ahead, her expression caught somewhere between doubt and something heavier—like she wanted to believe him but had already decided it wouldn't matter.
Zabulus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "She'll listen. I've fought beside her, Phronta—against the Amalgamates, you know. Those weird flesh pigs that are made up of literally anything. And she always called me 'boyo' like I was some stray she picked up, but I could tell... in her own way, she actually cared." He glanced at Phronta then, his expression laid unreadable. "That's why I know she won't hurt you. She wouldn't be so unreasonable."
Having gone through this same interaction 10 times in this walk, he was beginning to feel a sense of Deja Vu.
Phronta's shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to the ground as Zabulus's words hung between them as if from a thread. She nodded faintly, her lips pressed tight, though her heart still churned with Onofre's words, words that changed her life forever—unconvinced, she let the silence swallow her dread, resigning herself to whatever awaited her next.
Zabulus, mistaking her quiet for trust and acceptance, gave her a reassuring squeeze and spoke, "See? Onofre's not so bad—she'll get it, you'll see." his voice brighter with a joy she couldn't quite feel at this moment.
Her eyes stayed on the ground, but she said nothing more. To her, this was surrender, not agreement—an acceptance that her fate might as well be in tatters due to this.
...
Now at the centre of the city, a place filled with markets and no homeless people in sight—with a towering white spire piercing the sky far beyond the clouds in front of them.
Zabulus walked forward, Phronta trailing close behind him, her steps hesitant as the cacophony of the city thrust its way into her mind.
Crowds meandered about, their voices a low hum until sharp whispers cut through, eyes snagging on Phronta's patterned robe.
"Oi, look at that—Wall Dweller threads, ain't they? What's one of them doing this deep in the city?" a grunge man muttered, elbowing his companion as they passed.
A woman nearby squinted, her tone dripping with suspicion. "Those markings... she's from the outer rims, no doubt. Heard they don't leave the walls 'less they're running—or doing somethin' worse." She clicked her tongue, turning away as Phronta shrank into Zabulus's shadow, her face burning under the onlooker's stares.
Zabulus walked faster, pulling Phronta along as the whispers grew into a murmur that buzzed like flies around them, her robe only drawing more unwanted eyes and more harsh words her way.
Phronta's breath hitched, her fingers digging into his arm as she muttered, "T-they're all looking at me... I shouldn't be here.... I-I should just return t-to the walls..." her voice trembling under the weight of the crowd's judgment. But because of their loudness, her words fell on deaf ears.
The tower grew closer, its polished surface reflecting the sunlight, and Zabulus gritted his teeth, muttering, "Keep moving—we're almost there," as he shoved past a gawking merchant.
The air thickened with tension as they reached the spire's base, the crowd beginning to lessen and lessen as it became less of 'people' and more of 'guards' that stood there in a static manner.
Then the massive doors of the tower burst open, with Onofre storming out, her face twisted in fury, her light blue hair flowing as she hit the ground with each heavy step of hers.
"A-ah!" Phronta hid behind Zabulus instinctively.
Onofre's face quickly changed from one of Fury to confusion as she noticed that Zabulus was in front of her, her pink lips quickly changing form from a terrible frown to a smile, her white eyes opening as if they were wide gates.
"Boyo! Where have you been for all this time?! Oh, come here you!" As if uncaring about how long it has been (roughly 2 days), she ran up and hugged him tightly.
"Ah... you know... I've been looking around... I met someone here and there and- Huah?!"
Onofre's embrace made him trip to the side as she put her cheek up to his and caressed it. "And don't go worrying me like that again, boyo! Up and disappearing isn't the best thing to do to a friend!"
With Zabulus down for the count... Phronta was now fully visible to Onofre's sight.
"Huh?"
"Huh...?"
"H-huh?"
"That's..." Onofre quickly got off of Zabulus and composed herself; changing completely in attitude. "Unsightly of me to do, I am the White Queen and-"
"Wait- Wait- Wait!" Zabulus intervened, expecting nothing less than a short monologue before Onofre kills Phronta... Except she didn't quite notice the patterns on her robe nor recognize her face.
"What? I'm just trying to give myself a good look dammit! What's wrong with you, boyo?"
"Huh? Oh... my bad. Sorry, you can go on. I must've misread! Honest!" If there could be a reflection on his 'eyes', or any form of lid, then it'd pronounce 'Fear'. But he had no reason to fear, since she was as stupid as him.