And here it is, the much delayed and marginally anticipated Chapter 5. I wanted this to be out before Simon and Marcy aired, if only to preserve my motivation to finish it (oh well...). I figured that after the canon stuff came out it would outdo my own paltry attempts at inciting feels and whatnot, this would in turn kill my motivation to complete the chapter.

Turns out the reality of the situation is much stranger.

See, I have little to no self control when it comes to Simon and Marcy stuff, so when the ep was leaked I watched almost immediately and well...it kicks the hell out of my work, natch, but for different reasons. Simon and Marcy was so sweet, so heartwarming, and just so dang cute that I couldn't get my depress on and write summa dat apocalyptic dread, at least, not without effort. Anyway, here's chapter 5, in all it's 'glory'.

Also, in case you were wondering about how I reconcile my story with the canon events. Well, I'm happy to say that my stuff doesn't outright contradict too many canon things (except for bits here and there I'll clean up later), so try to imagine this story ending ~1-2 weeks before the events of Simon and Marcy, after they fail to stop the NecronomiBomb (spoilers?) and all the candy mutants start springing up.

Enjoy and let me know what you think in the reviews!

THROUGH THE WRECKAGE

Chapter 5: Breaking Points

Princess Bubblegum sat in her laboratory, her face pressed into the dual eyepiece of a large microscope. She licked her dry lips as she watched the event unfold before her; she had recently completed her first foray into nano-sucro-biology. All of her work before had been the simple manipulation of existing candy gene-seeds, but this new method of assembly could allow her to not only splice single genetic structures together, but take them apart and reassemble them as she saw fit! She could be on the greatest breakthrough in the history of the Candy Kingdom! This was the culmination of all her hard work; the tiny candy-cell before her quivered as it sat on a bed of agar, the biologically neutral gel was infused with a special fructose-sucrose-ribose-xylose medium of her own design, if the cell couldn't divide here, it couldn't divide anywhere. The cell quivered, its sucro-protien shell dimpling at opposite ends, it was dividing!

There was a sound in the lab, it could have been a light breeze hitting the half-open window just right, but to the princess's astute senses she divined the source immediately. "What did I say about breaking into my lab without my permission?"

She felt a feather soft breath on her neck followed by a wry chuckle. "That it was puckish and impulsive?"

Bubblegum spun around to see a waifish vampire girl hovering a scant few centimeters from her face, her lush raven-black hair hovered and undulated like a writhing cloud. "Yes, but I think the exact phrase was 'don't'! …How have you been keeping, Marceline?"

"Better'n you, Bonnie! Do I see some puce in that hot-pink mane?" Marceline said, gesturing at Bubblegum's somewhat frazzled hair. "FWI, I know a guy who does hair, just in case you…y'know…"

Princess Bubblegum quickly looked up at her hair before rolling her eyes. "What do you want, Marceline?"

Marceline donned a hurt expression. "Is it so unbelievable that I'd just want to drop in and say hello? Maybe hang out with an old friend? Get her out of her dingy old laboratory and give her a break from…actually, what's going on here?"

Princess Bubblegum smiled insincerely and clapped her hands. "Oh yes! And we can paint each other's nails, drink tea, and talk about boys!" the smile vanished from her face instantly. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"Is that an agar plate filled with a bio-candy growth medium?" she said, dabbing her finger in and licking it. "A custom bio-candy growth medium?"

"No, it's a–er–actually…yes. What?"

"Been around the block, Bonnie," Marceline said, examining the other machine. "I've dabbled in assembling biomass over the eons. What are you up to here?"

Princess Bubblegum sighed and gestured at the machine. "That's a nucleotide discombobulator. It allows me to negate the chemical bonds holding nucleic acid together, pulling them apart without destroying the component chemicals. This means I can basically pull apart DNA and put it back together in a unique way."

Marceline blinked, she was sure that someone somewhere would be aghast at Bonnibel's attempts to play glob, but she wasn't that someone. "Uh-huh. So, trying to create life? I can help, you know."

"I was doing just fine, thank you! In fact, my first Bubblegum–Brand™ cell just got through dividing, so there!" Bubblegum lowered her face to the eyepiece, the smirk on her face disappearing at what she saw. "Oh…oh, glob blobbit!"

"Glob had nothing to do with this, Bonnie!" Marceline said with a laugh.

"It broke down mid telophase, neither cell has chromosome pairs! There must have been a flaw in the covalent bonds of the cytosine and guanine…"

Marceline looked at the chemical readings on the microscope read-out, "But if that were the case there would have been a uracil byproduct that would have activated the repair enzymes. Assuming, of course, you included repair enzymes…"

"Of course I did, what do you take me for?" Bubblegum turned to Marceline, a scowl on her face. "Back to the drawing board!"

Marceline looked into the eyepiece. "Well, they divided, didn't they? That means they were alive, right?"

"A chromosome is no use if it can't divide more than once without destroying itself!" Bubblegum said in exacerbation. "I'll have to re-design the whole thing!"

Marceline glanced over her shoulder at the seething princess, a small mischievous smirk tugged at the sides of her mouth. She hovered over to the petri dish in the microscope aperture, pointing a finger at the agar. "Iterum vivere."

A small spark leapt from her fingers and she looked back into the eyepiece, the two cells had already begun to divide. "There you go, Bonnie! Good as new!"

Bubblegum gasped and hurried over to the microscope. "What did you do?!"

"Just gave it a bit of git-up'n'go," Marceline said with a wry shrug. "Geez Bonnie, I figured you'd be happy that you wouldn't have to rebuild an entire DNA sequence from scratch!"

"You used necromancy!" Bubblegum said, adjusting the visualizer. "You forced a faulty DNA sequence to keep on replicating! With each mutation it'll become more and more hideous, a pus-spewing abomination with unknowlable motives and a all-consuming need to devour everything in its path!"

"…And?"

"Urrrgh!" Bubblegum exclaimed. "If I can just adjust the lens I'll be able to measure cell division and maybe concoct a inhibitor agent…"

"But Bonnie…" Marceline said in an affected manner, opening up the petri dish. "It's our baby and we need to show it love!"

A single translucent vermiform tendril slithered out of the dish and reached towards Marceline, a series of insistent wet noises issued from the unseen monstrosity. It landed on her arm with a wet slap, causing Marceline to hiss and withdraw. "Little pooh-brain bit me!"

Bubblegum uttered a small cry of alarm and disgust as a head began to force its way out of the dish, a malformed and twisted doppelganger of Marceline's head. Its left eye ran down its drooping face, a single wet pupil wiggling in clotted socket. Its long raven hair was thin and saturated with a sort of oleaginous liquid, clumps of congealed mucus dripping from its form. The mouth was a down-turned and sagging orifice filled with twisted yellow teeth. The moist shiny skin was almost opaque and seemed to run like gelatin, giving the twitching obscenity a decidedly melted look. Another series of clotted odious sounds emanated from the beast's maw, this time accompanied by the correlative wagging of a long bruise-purple tongue. "…ackpthh…eeechhh…Bohhn-neee…itchh…"

"Awesome!" Marceline said with a broad grin, jabbing a thumb at the expanding outrage against nature. "See, this is why we should hang out more! Hey! Drippy! Can you say 'Marceline'? Say 'Marceline'!"

"Mu–ackkkth–Marrccl–ECH–Leeeee!" the thing croaked as it tumbled off of the table, hitting the hard tile with a loud splat, spreading a vile green fluid on the floor.

Bubblegum lowered her wrist communicator from her mouth and called out to Marceline. "Marceline, stop teaching it words! Blob it, this is all your fault!"

"Bonnie, language!" she said, clasping her hands over what could have been ears on the creature's head. "There are children present! …Ew, it feels like a wet Stretch Armstrong…"

"Marceline!" Bubblegum said, pointing at a large yellow sign bearing a pictograph of a candy person approaching a mass of tentacles, the pictograph was in a circle with a large diagonal line through it. "Don't touch the abomination! Either way, I just called in Order 11–9–23–6, so you might want to take a step back."

Marceline translated the alphanumerical code in her head. "Waitaminute…'K–I–W –F'? What does that mean?"

ELSEWHERE

Peppermint Butler burst into the Banana Guard rec-room, "The Princess wants the flamethrower!"

"The Princess wants the what?!" a Banana Guard said incredulously.

"That's what she said, now move!"

THE LAB

Marceline hovered above the pitiful creature; it was little more than a mass of squirming tendrils attached to an asymmetrical lump of flesh and not-quite-limbs, on top of which was a grotesque imitation of her own head. "C'mooooon…you let Cinnamon Bun live!"

"He's part of an ongoing experiment and you know it!" Bubblegum said from behind an upturned table.

"Marquise Visage Choquant, what do you think about Bonnie's decision here?" Marceline said, setting down in front of the writhing horror.

"Bohhhhn-neee ACCCCKPTH!" 'Marquise Visage Choquant' choked before vomiting a copious amount of whey-colored pus onto Marceline's red boots.

"Augh! Sick!" Marceline exclaimed in disgust, shooting into the air just as a Banana Guard wearing a large campaign hat with four upturned brims burst into the room.

"Ech?" Marquise Visage Choquant spat curiously. "Ackpth!"

"Yeah, math you too!" the Banana Guard said before raising his flamethrower and unleashing a torrent of flame.

Marceline sat down next to Bubblegum behind the table as the smell of burning sugar permeated the room.

She looked down at her filthy boots. "Dude…weak."

Bubblegum sighed and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, I'll clean them up…"

The room was filled with all sorts of weird gizmos and machinery. Bubblegum took Marceline's boots over to a large spherical machine and tossed them in. "Here. My relativistic cyclotronic stain-deleter should take care of this mess. It accelerates the article to a percentage of the speed of light in a vacuum, causing the tremendous centrifugal force to separate out anything that isn't boot. Then it's just a cleaning blast of micro black holes to mop up the rest!"

"Four Gs, Bonnie!" Marceline exclaimed. "Don't you have a washing machine?!"

"I did…then I found out that a number of my early citizens were water soluble and one burst pipe away from a disaster!"

"Ah," Marceline nodded. "Fine, just promise me they won't implode or become a hyperintelligent shade of red."

Princess Bubblegum rolled her eyes. "Oh Marceline! When has that ever happened except for that one time?"

"You try living with a Oovoolooh, dude was crazy annoying!"

Bubblegum laughed and shook her head. "Okay, enough fun and games Marcie. What brings you to the castle?"

Marceline sighed and tossed a ratty old book onto the table in front of Bubblegum. "Check it."

"It's Ice King's…journal?" Bubblegum said, picking up the tome and opening it to a page marked by a strip of dragon leather. "I take it this is your bookmark?"

"Yep," she said uncomfortable with the way Bubblegum was looking at her.

"…Why do you–?"

"Ice King's important to me, okay?" Marceline said, levitating the book out of her hands. "He looked after me back when I was a little kid."

"Yes, I know," Bubblegum said quietly. "After Finn and Jake invited me over for 'Pity the Ice King' Day I did some research, learned some things."

"And you never talked to me about it because…?" Marceline said, irritation clear in her voice.

"Oh? And how, exactly, was I supposed to broach that topic?" Bubblegum said, throwing up her hands. "Was I just supposed to say 'hey Marceline, I know all about your history with the guy who repeatedly kidnaps me and forces me to read his creepy gender-swap fanfics about my friends! I found out about it via invasive research and study, and not by talking to you!' How do you think you'd react?!"

Marceline paused and rubbed her arm in embarrassment. "I'd probably turn into a giant bat or something and rip stuff up, Nightosphere–style."

"Yeah," Bubblegum said. "Or something similarly dramatic. I didn't want to say anything because I knew that if you wanted to talk about it with me, you would. What kind of friend would push such a subject?"

"The kind that bites trees and rocks…" Marceline muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly "Anyway, the reason I'm here is I've come across a part that's incomplete, there's about three days or so missing and I can't remember any of it. As I read the journal my mind began filling in the blanks. Simon's perspective sort of jogged my memory, but after that last passage…it's like that one time when you and me experimented with zanoits and Cyclops tears and–"

Princess Bubblegum blushed and raised her hand to stop her; she began thumbing through the book again. "No need for personal reference, you had a black out, I understand. There doesn't seem to be any pages missing, and after the incident he seems to be increasingly…"

"…Ice Kingish," they said in unison.

"I need to know what happened in those three days," Marceline said quietly. "I…I need…help. Yours, specifically."

"What makes you think I can help?" Bubblegum said wryly.

"You've got to have some kind of brain scan doodad or whatever, right?"

Bubblegum smiled. "Why on earth would I have a 'brain scan doodad'?"

"Well, because you're…you?" Marceline said, rubbing her arm.

Bubblegum pressed a button on a console. "You lumpin' better believe it!"

"So you'll help me?" Marceline said excitedly.

"Of course!" Bubblegum said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing I won't do for a friend in need. Unfortunately I don't actually have a working 'brain scan doodad'…yet. But I think I have something that's just as good!" she brought down a large circular imaging device. "My Aura Visualizer! Ice King–er–Simon had this journal with him always, and was likely very attached to it. Therefore, since it was an object of a magical being's focus, it will likely have a psychic aura imprint on it. I just need to calibrate the visualizer to be sensitive enough to separate it from the other more Ice Kingish aura imprints."

Marceline scratched her head. "What will that accomplish?"

"If I can hook it up to a aura transcription matrix, I'll be able to record information from the aura, thoughts, feelings, maybe even a crude image. I can't promise anything, but I'm confident I can at least get you something!"

Marceline looked down at the book and back to Bubblegum. "You have an aura visiualizer but not a brain scanner?"

"Auras are sort of like echoes of the soul, well, actually, in function they're closer to a 'smell'. They stick around long after the soul has passed. Psychic energy is created by thoughts and feelings, the transcription matrix absorbs the aura, deconstructs it, and renders it into useful data." Bubblegum said, punching in the necessary programs for the machine to work. "That's not something you want to do to a living person."

"Okay…how long will this take?" Marceline said as she handed Bubblegum the journal.

"It's already done! I just have to hook it up to the visualizer and peel away the other auras attached to it, Mr. Petrikov's aura should be the easiest to identify…okay, that's Ice King…more Ice King…More–OH MY GLOB!"

"What is it?" Marceline said as she looked at the visualizer, the book was surrounded by an undulating aura of void-black, an utter absence of light and color.

"Whatever left this aura behind was a being of such malevolence, such manifold depravity, that its mere aura scars reality itself!" Bubblegum said in horror.

"Oh," Marceline said flatly. "That's just Gunter. I guess he read it too, huh?"

Bubblegum nervously filtered out the dark void and resumed filtering through the auras. "Okay…Ice King…Ice King…more Ice King…there! That stable sort of blue-orange one. That should be it!"

Marceline clapped her hands and patted Bubblegum on the shoulder. "Great! …Now what?"

"Now I run it through an interpreter and wait for the results," she said with a satisfied tone in her voice.

"How long will that take?"

"Two weeks," Bubblegum said before adding. "Give or take."

Marceline shook her head and grabbed the visualizer. "No, NO! I'm not waiting two glib-blobbed weeks for this story to advance! You! Soul Fart or whatever you are, you're gonna tell me exactly what happened during the three lost days or I'm gonna bond you to a soul stone and throw you into the Nightosphere! Pretty aura like you, you'd get passed around like currency down there!"

The aura recoiled and undulated nervously. It twitched and reformed, a picture slowly forming in the visualizer.

"See?" Marceline said with a smirk. "You just gotta tell these things what's what. Now, let's see what happens…"

"…Simon," a familiar voice cooed.

"Gawuhyef…" he mumbled through the haze of sleep, likely some hybrid of 'go away' and 'yes?'

"Simon, get up!" Betty commanded.

"I'm up…I'm up! Glob!" Simon said, reluctantly separating himself from the warm embrace of his bed. "You liberate a seven ton gold statue of Buddha and be a spring daisy the next day!"

"Simon!" she said again, more urgently this time. "Get up!"

"What?" he muttered, now noticing that his room was completely dark and the bed had been replaced by a curious sense of weightlessness. "Betty? Where are you?"

"Wake UP!" said a female voice; this one was higher in tone and far squeakier, the voice of a young girl. "Simon!"

Simon's eyes snapped open, it was very dark and the air around him had strange chunks floating in it. Simon raised his hand to his face and realized that it wasn't air, but water. He could tell by the lack of sensation that the water was roughly his current internal body temperature, a mite above freezing. A surge of panic rushed through him.

Marceline.

She was tough and never seemed to mind the cold, but she still needed air. Could she swim? He'd never asked. Stupid! Stupid!

Simon blew a bubble and followed it to the surface, gasped and spat the foul tasting water as he breached, his head snapped around, desperately looking for any sign of his friend. "Marceline? Marceline! Where are you?! MARCELINE!"

"No…" Simon exclaimed in despair. "Please, no…"

He reached down and grasped the crown. "You! Tell me where she is!"

The crown remained silent, pushing a sort of mocking static into his mind.

"Tell me!" he bellowed. "Tell me or I'll cut you loose! I'll cut you loose and let you sink to the bottom of this blasted river! How long until someone finds you again, if they find you again?!"

"…You̧ ẁou̷ld̕n͞'t d͝a͘r̴e.̸"

"Oh? You sure?!"

"Y͠e҉s.̴ Y͢o̧u are ̛a͘ w͜e̛akl̷i͏ng ͠án̶d͢ a ̴cowàrd. ̕W͡it҉ho̴ut my pòw̨ers ͢yo̕u ẃould ͘d͜i̢ȩ,̀ Pet̴ri̸kov.͟"

He pulled the crown up to his face, glaring into the red crystals. "Then I'll die! THEN I'LL DIE! Look into my mind and tell me that I wouldn't rather die than live with you!"

The static withdrew from his mind and the jewels glowed. "S͜o͟ ̷you wơul͝d. Fi͘nd ͡he͘r̴ y͠ours̛e͜l҉f̴."

Simon felt his eyes begin to tingle, the horrible visions that had assailed him during his first donning of the crown rushed around him; things beyond description and Euclidian perception flooded the sky and sea. "What have you done? Where is she?!"

"Lo͢o͏k͜ ̴dǫwn, ̨y͘o̷u s͘t͞ub҉b͏or͏n ḿ̨̨͓̘̝̳̮̜̗̹̎̊̽ͤ͑ͪ͌ͦ̿̈͟e͈̠̥̮͚͔̯̩̖̙̩̹͉̫̭̒̉͐̑̑̊̈̉ͯ̏͗͂͛ͪ̇ͪ̆͟͝aͧ̀̎̅̄҉̢̼͍͎͍̺͇̬́͠n̷̴͑͂ͥ͑̍̀҉̛̜̼̹̮͓̬̟̠̠͖͍͖̳̗̯̱̕ĩ̴̷̡̖̖̮̼̪͕̼̬̗͔̠̤̦̝̲̰͉̻́ͬ̀̎̒̒ͧ͂̀ͮͪ̉͘͘ę̢͉͉̺̠̠̼̯̬̹̠͈͔̣̣̺̩̖̑ͣ͂ͫ͒̀̈́̔̂̒̆̇̈́ͨ͂̿͒ͯ́͝ͅ-̵̨̼̤͚͓ͨ͑̓ͧͪͥ̄̆̇̒ͩ͛̓̕͜͞h̃͐ͤ̿͆͊̉̇́̂ͯͫͩ̌̔̚͏̡̛̱̦͍̣̮̳̙̬͍̳̜e̾ͬͮ͋̿ͨͬͩ̍ͥ҉̢̜̘̝̟̳̖̪̀̕͡a̡̳̺͚͎͙̭̙̯̰̿͗͐ͫ́d̆ͦͮ̔ͫͥ͗̋ͭ͗ͨ͆ͩ̆҉͖̭̩̪̰̬͍̩̟͟ͅ,̴̵̺̼̯̺͉̬̙͇͆́̇ͭ͢͞" the crown said petulantly.

Simon looked down; through the water he could see a small shape suspended thirty meters below him. "Marceline!"

Simon ducked back underneath the water; he locked on to her and exhaled before inhaling hard. He resisted the impulse to cough as water flooded his lungs and stomach, his buoyancy was negated and he quickly began to sink. He passed the wreckage of obliterated ships and sinking corpses, all victims of a war long since lost; off in the murky distance he could see the fractured frame of a battleship torn asunder by the same kind of mine that had felled their boat. He should have checked the cities for military maps, he should have slowed down…he should have told her about himself. Less than thirty seconds later and he set down on the bottom next to Marceline, silt and debris fluttered away from his feet from the impact. She was very still but his eyes could clearly see that her aura was bright and vivid. She was still alive.

He scooped her up in his right arm and raised his left hand, stopping momentarily to gather a waterlogged Hambo from the silty bottom. He raised his hand again and froze a huge block of ice above him. He grabbed the block and held on as it rocketed to the surface. He gritted his teeth as he felt his eardrums rupture and his blood boil from the pressure differential. The ice block leapt from the water and skipped across the surface, Simon strained with concentration as he willed the vehicle across the alcove.

A scant three meters from dry land and the ice block tagged a partially submerged car and exploded into a thousand pieces. Simon was sent sprawling towards the sooty pavement, he held on tight to Marceline, instinctively shielding her with his body. He turned in the air so that his back would absorb the brunt of the impact. He let out a curdled waterlogged scream as his ribs and right shoulder shattered like glass against the asphalt. His right arm went dead and Marceline was sent tumbling across the ground, Simon set his heel down and stopped his skid across the pavement. Simon rose to his feet before tripping over his now pulverized ankle. He loudly regurgitated all the water that he had ingested into his lungs and stomach and pounded his fist against the concrete.

"Heal me, damn you!" he gurgled fiercely.

The crown glowed and vibrated, a powerful surge of magic coursed through his body as bones knit back together and tissue miraculously mended. He steadily rose to his feet and sprinted towards Marceline, he fell to his knees and leaned over her.

"Marceline!" he said, listening for her heart through his magically healed eardrums. "…Please…"

He waited for what seemed like an eternity before his ears detected a faint 'bdum' in her tiny chest. He uttered a small exhalation of joy before putting his right hand on her forehead and tiling her head back. He pushed her jaw out with his thumb, opening her airway. He put his mouth over hers and pushed his breath into her saturated lungs. Simon watched as her chest rose and fell, hearing the hideous liquid rumble inside her lungs as it was jostled.

Sweat began to form on his brow as he repeated the action after waiting three seconds. "Come on…come on…"

He leaned over to breathe into her once more when an unsolicited twitch of her chest caught his eyes. A loud gurgle escaped her open mouth followed by a violent fit of coughing. Simon gasped happily and rolled her onto her side, careful to support her head as she evacuated the water from her lungs along with the contents of her stomach. Simon felt a tear run down his frigid cheek as Marceline's coughs and retches slowly gave way to ragged gasps and sputters. He rolled her back onto her back and examined her, she seemed to be only partially conscious and the color of her skin was different, a paler more alarming shade of grey. Her large red eyes fluttered open, they had a sleepy sort of half-lidded quality.

She locked a glazed stare on him and weakly tried to lift her arms. "…Daddy…"

"…He'll be back soon, Marcie," Simon said, grabbing her hand, it was alarmingly cold. "It's me, Simon."

She blinked and furrowed her brow, her voice hitching as she sobbed and reached out for a hug. "Daddy!"

Simon felt a lump form in his throat as he scooped her up into his arms. "I'm here, Marcie…Daddy's here."

Simon slowly plodded along the bottom of the alcove basin, the geology made a perfect shelter away from the tagging torrent of the flooded river, making it the perfect place to establish a shipping hub and, later, a mine field. He looked down at the wristband he had taken from Private Kaspbrak; it was some sort of safety measure that made it impossible for someone not wearing the band to fire the Grazer, it also doubled as a tracking device of sorts, albeit a rather ineffective one as this venture marked the fifth in 24 hours.

'As far as tracking devices go…" Simon thought to himself as a dead fish floated by his head. 'The 'hot-cold' method has to be the worst way to find something!'

He held his arm out in several different directions. 'Hot…hot…oops, cold…hot…hotter…'

Simon shuffled around wreckage, debris, and more dead fish. 'A lot of those about, huh? Come to think of it I don't think I've seen a single live fish the whole time! Then again, I haven't seen a whole lot of live anything for months now…blast it! Where is that accursed gun? It would have weighed down my backpack, so it shouldn't have gone far!'

The water was an almost soupy mix of dust and organic debris; even with his new eyes the visibility was at best a meter all around. The ominous shapes of ships and aquatic hills rose around him like giants, looking up only brought the murky silhouettes of countless naval mines to bear. Spheres roughly a meter in diameter seemed to dangle from long metal chains, bobbing lightly in the surface currents brought by wind. The effect was disorienting, an eerie forest of death that jittered and shook as though hanging upside down. Simon shook his head and looked back down to his feet, ignoring the vertigo as it tried to take hold.

The little red light flashed more rapidly, he was getting closer. He hated to admit it, but he needed the grazer for protection. His ice powers were indeed potent, but he feared that continued use of them might somehow increase the crown's sway over him. The episodes were becoming less and less frequent now, usually striking only when he was fatigued or distracted. The crown was urging him to wear it more often than usual, whereas before it was whispering promises of power and glory, now it almost seemed annoyed or angry…even a little desperate. Donning the crown again would surely strengthen its hold on him and it knew it.

'For now, it's losing ground…' Simon smirked as he pulled the grazer from the mud, along with his backpack filled with supplies. 'And so long as I have someone to care for, it will never gain."

Simon shouldered the backpack and began a slow ascent through the water.

The sun shone dimly through the ash-grey clouds that hung in the sky, the morning air was cold and dry. A tall, thin man with a snowy white beard rose from the placid water like a specter, hardly even breaking the calm that stretched across the sheltered alcove. With poise and dignity he evacuated the ballast from him stomach and lungs, not needing to breathe certainly had its benefits when plumbing the watery depths. He shuffled towards the shoreline that flooding had extended to Main Street of the abandoned tributary city they were occupying. Like several cities before, it had a total dearth of citizenry, it was yet another ghost town. Unlike the others, it was curiously unperturbed; where others bore signs of panic and looting, this town seemed to have simply stopped. Stores were empty but their windows unbroken, doors were barricade-free, and no cars had been flipped or stripped or burned in panic. It was almost as if the town's population had simply walked away, as one would from an unpleasant conversation. It was scenes like this that troubled him the most since apocalypses were, by and large, uniform in their devastation.

The nature of humans under mortal duress did not vary from town to town; patterns emerged wherever there were people and the threat of imminent death. First were the runners, people who fancied themselves astute and gathered up quick supplies and absconded to some imagined sanctuary. Second were the hiders and their barricades, made by the timid in the vain hope that simple timber and furniture would deter those just as desperate to live as they. Next, after the barricades had been smashed, were the looters who, in a display of brutal efficiency, not only free up food and supplies but also decreased the number of hungry mouths at large. After the looters came the scavengers, typically hiders that survived long enough to grow hungry. Looters and scavengers would almost invariably turn to the roads in search of new cities, hoping to find to the civilization that had so rudely abandoned them. Whereupon they would likely find the runners from before, now having long since become equally brutal and efficient bandits. The cruel effectiveness of this type of warfare was that it miraculously turned the victims on each other, all one needed to do was drop a bomb and watch the survivors tear each other apart. It was cruel and it was horrible, but it was almost comforting in its predictability. It was only when something broke this pattern that apathy and disgust gave way to paranoia and eventually terror.

Simon set foot on the dusty asphalt, his shoe squishing as water squirted out in all directions. Simon inhaled and closed his eyes, his hand becoming encased in blue energy and condensed vapor as the cold magic course through his body. He passed his hand over his body in a broad sweeping gesture. All the liquid in his cloths, hair, and on his skin was instantly pulled to the surface and frozen solid. Simon shook lightly and shattered the thin verglas that now covered his body. He was now completely dry. Simon did the same to his waterlogged backpack and all his supplies before resuming his trek to where he had left his young friend. The unusually clean and orderly nature of the city's death meant that several of the apartments and suites were in reasonable condition, the beds were clean and warm and the cupboards were surprisingly well stocked. Overall, it was certainly a comfortable place to leave her, but something about her condition worried Simon. Her demon blood should have restored her mere minutes after he had revived her, but by the time he had found a place for her to rest she was still weak and disorientated, complaining of a bad smell. He couldn't claim to be an expert on demon biology, but it still troubled him to see her so…vulnerable.

He walked into the lobby of a luxury hotel; everything was slightly askew in a way that suggested rapid relocation. The scene reminded Simon of when his mother first told him of Prypiat, a city in his motherland that had been evacuated rapidly following a sudden disaster. He was six at the time. A child possessed of intense curiosity and even then a budding penchant for research, little Simon quickly learned all there was to know about Prypiat. His reward for his diligent pursuit of intellectual fulfillment was a recurrence of vivid nightmares that only left him when he in turn left home.

Perhaps they simply stayed behind?

In his nightmares he would awaken in his bed to the dull silver light of an overcast day spilling in through the window. Everything would seem ordinary, but when he called out for his mother there would be no answer. Careful listening would reveal that there was no one in the house at all, no thuds or murmurs or even the scents-errant of a bygone meal. It was at this point in time little Simon realized how cold the air was, not a striking winter cold, but a dull sort that implied the simple absence of electric heating. He would always venture out into the hallway in his footie pajamas, calling out for his mother and father, and they would never respond. The living roomed looked, for lack of a better word, rumpled. Small things like styluses and computer tablets had been set down haphazardly, plates and glasses were still set out on the table and ingredients left out unused. Chairs were skewed away from the table and counters as though the occupant had suddenly shot to their feet. Further investigation revealed the same things again and again, ransacked cupboards, partially raided pantries, hastily acquired coats and shoes, and an open door left to swing on its hinges. They had bothered to take supplies, but not their son.

The dream always ended when he walked out into the street, the sharp cold wind of an early Ukrainian spring blew through his pajamas, only cold enough to make him shudder. Bicycles lay toppled, shopping bags jostled in the dull cold wind, toys had been left in the yards, and all the cars were gone. His nightmares never indulged in the traditional dénouement common amongst his peers; in this city, this silent city, no monsters lurked in the shadows, no bodies littered the streets, and no fire or smoke lapped at the perpetually overcast sky. The city was empty save for its sole occupant, and the only sound that could be heard, aside from the droning of wind against the buildings, was the increasingly plaintive and panicked cries of a frightened child. Other children had nightmares filled with screams and terror; Simon had nightmares that were filled with silence and dread.

"Marceline!" he called out, trying to put the dark thoughts out of his mind. "Are you awake, sweetheart?" There was a short bout of coughing followed by a groan. "Marceline?"

Simon entered the suite on the left and looked over at the bed, the electric lamp on the tableside emitted a light blue glow that cast the room in an almost ghostly contrast. Marceline lay in the bed, bundled up tightly as she rolled her head on the pillow. Simon walked over and kneeled beside the bed, he reached out and put a hand on her forehead. "Marcy, you're burning up!"

"Whuh?" she murmured, her bright red eyes half-lidded and hazy with fever. "But daddy said I couldn't get sick…"

"And I'm telling you that you have a fever," Simon said authoritatively. "You need fluids and lots of rest."

"No rest," she said as she tried to rise up to sit. "We gotta stop…the…bad guy…"

She wobbled and fell back into the bed, a fresh peal of coughing rattled out of her. Simon's brow furrowed as he opened up her nightie and put his ear to her chest.

"Nnnh!…Cold…" she said hazily.

"Breathe in," Simon said.

She breathed in, a fluid rumble emanated from within. Simon switched sides and told her to breathe in again before sitting back. "Pneumonia, both lungs."

"Izzat bad?" Marceline said quietly.

"…Yes, it's bad, Marcy," Simon said, unable to meet her eyes. "It means you have to rest, and I mean without interruption. It means we're not going anywhere for a while."

"But–" she began, visibly straining to focus her thoughts through the fog of fever.

"I know," Simon said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure what to do."

"…Leave some food and…" she murmured, she was just barely maintaining coherence.

Simon shook his head and grabbed her hand, it was alarmingly warm. "I'll never leave you, Marcy."

"But you gotta…stop that…bomb, Simon," she said.

"I know," he said with a nod. "But–"

"No 'buts'!" Marceline said fiercely, rallying against the fever. "If we don't stop that bomb, the Lich'll get stronger and kill everyone! I don't want you to leave…but if that's what you have to do…then you gotta *cough-cough* stop–*cough* th–" Marceline shook as she loosed a fit deep rumbling coughs, her nose curling in disgust when she stopped. "Uuugh…bad…"

Simon sighed and shrugged. "I won't leave you Marceline, and that's final…if I could find some way to bring you with me…I'll be right back, okay?"

Marceline nodded and pulled the blankets back over herself.

Simon grunted as he kicked open the door to a large hardware store, he activated his enhanced sight to pry into the darkness. His flashlight's isomer battery had a projected life of a little over a decade, but caution always got the better of him. He trekked through the isles; this store bore the unsettling signs of minimal looting, yet another reminder of the bizarre disaster that struck this town, whatever it was. He saw what he was looking for, a four-wheeled cart with leaf-spring suspension and a one-meter by fifty-centimeter basin. The advertisement display spoke of stability, he recalled seeing commercials for it where people would put a wine glass in the basin and then run over some rough terrain only to find that the wine glass was more or less undisturbed afterwards. Simon grinned and pulled the wagon from the display module, it was perfect. An impossibly grotesque creature phased out of the bottom of the wagon, vermiform tendrils clumped together in a writhing pseudo-body poxed with inflating and deflating ochre eyes. It opened one of its many mouths and oozed a black tar-like substance. Simon exclaimed in surprise and leapt back. The two stared at one another for a moment, a pregnant silence filling the room. Simon leaned forward and, ever so slowly, aimed a clumsy swat at the pocket-shoggoth. His hand phased through it without so much as a wisp or indication that it existed at all, the creature simply wriggled in the wagon and ejected a magenta cloud of star-like gas before seeping back into the floor. Simon looked around, there were similarly bizarre creatures flitting through the darkness.

"So I can't touch you," Simon mused aloud. "Nor you me. At least there's that."

A small creature sporting a pair of bat-wings with two faces on either end of its oblong body set down on his shoulder. It made brief eye contact with Simon before vomiting an oleaginous liquid onto his shoes. "…Welp, that's enough of that."

Simon exited the hardware store with the wagon and continued down the street, searching for residential areas that looked like they could have the supplies he was looking for. He examined a car, opening its door and crawling inside. He briefly considered hotwiring the car, but put it out of his mind just as quickly, modern cars were almost impossible to hotwire due to their sophisticated owner identification systems. Not that any of that mattered, for it was those very systems that meant the car was inoperable even if he could bypass them, the EMP from the bombs would have easily fried the delicate electronics of such advanced machinery, only very basic or military grade machines still worked. Simon sighed and examined the car, it was the sort of thing he'd have turned to watch as it drove down the street, but now it was just a useless hunk of metal.

Simon noticed a bundle of paper maps stuffed into the glove compartment. "Well, not entirely useless…"

He exited the car and continued to walk down the road when a small chirring sound drew his attention; it was the unpleasant little creature again, this time perched on a newsbox. Simon rolled his eyes and resumed his walk down the street. A small glob pinkish translucent mung splattered on his shoes, he didn't feel it impact nor did it seem to actually effect his shoes, but it was a sufficient action to redirect his attention. Simon stormed over to the news box, picking up rocks and pieces of asphalt as he did.

"Didn't you mother ever tell you…?" Simon growled, winding up a wiry arm. "…That it's rude to spit?!"

He hurled a fist-sized chunk of asphalt at the creature, it stared at him placidly as the missile phased through it and dented the paneling of the kiosk on which it sat. Simon rushed forward and kicked his foot out at the creature. The kiosk shuddered with the impact, the creature's head phased through his foot and continued to stare at him. Simon stopped and glowered at the spirit, the beast simply continued to gaze at him as it phased into the kiosk. Simon blinked as the hard-light notices posted on the kiosk suddenly became apparent.

Simon leaned in and read the largest notice. His white eyes went wide and he gasped. He quickly spun around and sprinted down the street, clumsily dragging the wagon behind him. The notice's blinking red headline still flashed its warning:

SEVERE FALLOUT WARNING: ALL CITIZENS ARE HEREBY ADVISED TO EVACUATE TO THE FALLOUT SHELTERS ACROSS THE RIVER BY 15:00 HOURS.

Simon burst into the hotel and scrambled for the suite. "Marceline?"

There was no answer; Marceline was asleep in the bed, Hambo in her arms.

Simon dragged the wagon into the suite and parked it next to her. He put a hand over her forehead, she was hot to the touch and her cheeks were flushed with fever. Her breathing had taken on a low croupy rumble; she was getting worse every second she was here. He ran out of the room and into the laundry pantry, he picked up large handfuls of clean sheets and blankets and ran back to the room, he folded them up and neatly lined the inside of the wagon with soft fabric. He turned to the sleeping child, first tucking the warm blanket in around her before gingerly picking her up.

"Simon…?" Marceline muttered sleepily. "Wuz rong?"

"Nothing Marcy," he lied hoarsely. "Go back to sleep, I'm gonna try and get us across the bridge. I found a map that said it's not too far from here."

"Kay," she said quietly.

Simon rushed out of the hotel, carefully rolling the wagon over the curb so not to disturb its occupant. He proceeded to tie the wagon to his waist and pulled out the map. The complex lattice of roads and alleys a simple feat for his experienced eyes and finely honed sense of direction. Simon stuffed the map into his jacket pocket and started down the road, his strides were long and powerful but carefully paced, he now knew better than to cause unnecessary strain so long as the crown on the prowl. Simon pulled the wagon through the city; once again the relatively pristine nature of it caused him increasingly acute consternation, if anything was to go wrong he figured that now would be the time.

"I almost wish something would happen," he muttered, "…just to get it over with."

As the two companions drew closer to the bridge, Simon began to notice something terribly wrong. All the way up to the innocuous middle-town roads there were cars parked end to end, Simon found himself actively fighting the urge to look inside them.

To no avail.

'I just have to know what happened to these…' he began as he peered into a nearby sedan. '…People?'

The car was empty. There were no bodies, no signs of violence, nothing. Just like their city, these people had apparently left their cars and all their belongings behind without so much as a mote of panic. Simon felt a sudden and nigh-uncontrollable urge to put his fist clean through the car window; he found it unbearable, not knowing. He continued down the road, looking into every car and finding nothing.

"Mommy…" Marceline murmured from the wagon. "Why's the…why…"

Simon felt a pang of desperation in his gut, just how radioactive was this place to be affecting her in such a way?

'S̸h́e's̷ t̷ou̸g̀h̴ Pe͝t͞ŕik͟ov͏,͜' an all too familiar voice whispered. 'T̸h͠e҉ wa̴t̸e̶r ̷in ͜the ̧b̶asi̶n,̛ ͞i̸t͠ ͡w̶a̕s̶ irrąd͞i̷ated̕ to̡ǫ.͟ ͞Wit͟h rad͝i͘o̸a͞c͘t͞iv͏e ̀w̴a͟te̵r i͟ņ ̧ḩȩr ͜lu̡ng͏s and ͘s̶lee͏p̧ing̢ in ̀a̛n͢ ̸ir̕radia̵ted̴ ͏to͟wn, ̶it͘'s͏ no҉ ͘w͡o͝nder ̛t͞ha̷t̀ she's s͠ick͏.҉ ̀H̨er̕ ͞bod̨y͡'̛s͢ ̶b͞u͠rníng̕ ̶th͟r͏o̢u̧gh ̵all i̧t͟s ene͟rgỳ ͜to͠ ͞ḱe͘ep͝ h͞e͝r cel͟ls ̶f̴r̛om̨ ͠f҉al͘l͏ing apart, th̷ere̷'s͟ n̕oţhin҉g͢ l͡ef̧t̷ ̛to fight t̛he͏ bac̨ter͜i҉a͢ ͞with!͏'

"You sound in good spirits," Simon grumbled.

'̷Oh,̴ ҉Ì ̴a̡m,͞' the crown said, a sort of babbling susurrus invading his mind like muffled laughter. '̛W̕an҉t̷ t͝o k̀no̡w w̡hy̡?'

"Not particularly," he said flatly.

The crown ignored his dismissive attitude and continued. '̷I̛'m ҉happy,̡ ͏beća͡usę ͘tod̀ay͞ ̀is̴ ͟t̴he͢ da̵y͡ yo͠u̸ ͝p̵ut th͜e̸ ͜cro̢wn ̵o͞n ag̴a͡i҉n͏.'

"Yeah?" Simon retorted. "And what makes you think that?"

'̀Oh̕,̷ no҉th̷ing…'

Simon turned the corner, his eyes widening in horror. Where the proud tall bridge once stood, wreathed in a fog otherwise impenetrable, was twisted pile of smoldering wreckage. Enormous metal beams jutted out from obliterated concrete, suspension cables as thick as redwoods lay strewn about the collapsed heap of debris. The bridge had been bombed into oblivion.

'͝Ju͢st ͜that͜.͝'

Simon spun around and looked at Marceline, a cold sweat beginning to form on his brow. "I'll get her out of here some other way!"

'̛O͡n ͜f̶oot?͏ You d̶o͏n'̕t́ kn͠o͝w͡ ͞ţhe ̶e̡xtent ͡o̴f́ ̸t̕he f͠a͘l͟l͟ou͡t̶,̀ ͟co̢ul͏d ̛tak̛e͡ dày͠s," the crown said flintily, Marceline coughed a low wheezing cough. '̢Day͠s͜ ͘sh̢e ma͘y not̡ ha̵v͠e͠…̵'

"A car–"

'A wreck,͢' the crown finished. 'W̶ǫrse̴ ͞th́a̴n̛ úséle̵s̵s. Y͠o̧u̡'͞d ̡havȩ ́t̸o ͏find a vint̷ag͜e mac̕h͘ine ͡t̀o b̕yp҉a͞ss͞ t͠h̕e͘ ͞e̷ffe̛ct̷s͡ ǫf ̨t̸h̨is̴ ́ef̶f͠ici͞en͠t waŗ.̡ N͜one͝ ̨i̧n̶ ͘t͜hi͏s̴ li̷ne͟ ̡u͞p, ͟yoù could ͠l͢ook̢ i҉f y͜o̸ų want to͘ wa̧st҉e͞ mor̸ę ͏ti̴me̡…'

Simon gritted his teeth and shook his head. "No! I won't put it on!"

'T́içk̕-t̕ock,͏ ̵t҉ick҉-̧t͜ǫck.̷'

"I won't!"

'Not̸ ̢eve҉n̸ to ̡sav̸e ḩe͘r͜ ͢lif̴e͜?' the crown said in a sardonically sentimental tone. '̛W̶hy̛, M͘r̵. ͞Pe̢tri҉ko̷v͘, I̵ ́be̴lie͜ve I͟ ͏m̴ay ha͞ve mi̶s̷j͜u̧dged̡ ̴you. ̕You͏ ͘m̧ay̴ ac̶tua͝l͞ly ҉h̵ave̶ ̀w͘hat̡ it̷ t̕a͘k͢e̛s t̢o ̶su͢r͘viv͏e wit̶h͠out th̛e͘ c̷row͏n̨!'

Simon buried his head in his hands, a small sob escaping his mouth. "No…please no…I can't…I can't lose her. She's everything I've got."

"Who're you talking to?" a small, somewhat clotted voice said "Are those men in the funny hats after mommy again?"

Simon slowly rose to his feet and rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Nuh-no Marcie…all the bad men are gone. You sleep now, okay?"

"It's so dark…" she said dozily. "Sing me a song, daddy?"

"I'll sing you a song, darling," Simon said, reaching down to the crown.

"Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin'…"

Simon's mind became awash with a cold burning sensation, as though a blizzard had set down inside his head. The crown's voice emanated from the algid static, it's voice on his lips "D̛on͞'t͠ ̡worry̵ ̡'̶b͝o̕ut͞ ͞a̵ ̵t͘h̛in͠g̀."