Chapter Text
Shadow Milk opens his eyes to see lush green leaves above him. Large chocolate trunks blended together as moss grew on them. Candy mushrooms litter the ground, and the grass under him feels rough. The forest was silent except for his heavy breathing and the sounds of the leaves hitting each other, forced by the winds.
He looks around for something, an animal or a cookie. Because he knew that there was something on his stomach that woke him up. But there wasn’t a sign on anything.
The last thing he remembers is…being trapped by the witches in that godawful tree. The feelings of the cold steel giving into the drain of wood surrounding him. The feeling of losing his power drip by drip. The knowledge that he was stuck there with the other beasts.
Something was wrong with the scene, everything was too… big. He looked down to be greeted by small hands. Smaller than they were before. He tried to jump, to fly, to do anything that would prove that he hadn’t… lost his powers.
Instead, Shadow Milk fell flat on his face, “Fu-“
He cut himself off, his voice was higher than normal. Like a childs. He tried to transform into anything, closing his eyes and imagining his normal self. To no avail, he sounded like a child, and worse, had the body of one. “WERE YOU WITCHES SO AFRAID THAT YOU HAD TO TURN ME INTO A CHILD?”
Only silence answered his words, and the former God felt more alone than he had in a long time. He got up, not because he wanted to but because he had too. He dusted grass off his tattered pants, and looked around again.
He could think about this rationally. Where was his soul jam?
Wait, where was it?
He looked over his new outfit to see nothing. His dark blue soul jam was nowhere to be found. The familiar shine was missing from his person. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t be possible.
He knew that he couldn’t use his powers but MISSING HIS SOUL JAM?!
That was- That was- so -. A brilliant script he could admit, but not as good as what he would write. He felt the familiar burn of anger make itself home again. He was useless like this, he couldn’t spread deceit, he didn’t have his soul jam.
And some might even say that it was ironic, that he lost the same part of himself that created him to be the Fount of Knowledge instead of a normal cookie.
So his priorities were: Finding HIS soul Jam, finding a town, preferably his spire, and getting a food/water source.
The town would cower in fear when they saw him. Even if he was stuck in this terrible prison, he would return to his former glory. Not to mention, the townspeople had to recognize him, The Beast of Deceit. Even when he was transformed, people cowered in fear whenever he revealed himself. So what if this transformation lasted a little longer?
It wasn’t like he was stuck in this form.
Walking was exhausting, his tiny little legs not making enough distance to make up for his struggle. Shadow Milk knew his spire was up North, so he followed the moss. Unless it had been hundreds of years since they had been sealed, it would still grow on the South Part of the trees.
He logically knew that wasn’t the case. If he was still the Fount of Knowledge he would know better than to go off of assumptions. But he was the beast of deceit for the Witches sake, he was better than that. He wanted to sit down under a tree but he knew better, if this was Beast-Yeast then there were always monsters around the corner. He could always fight them, he just didn't want to right now.
Those words rang hollow.
Shadow Milk put his hands around a low hanging branch sprouting from the trunk, he tried to put enough force into pulling himself up so that he could get a proper footing on an even lower branch, but he slipped. He hit the ground with his back, tumbling into a bush.
The bush was spiky, its beautiful white roses tainted by his red jam. He tried to get out, but it kept on pulling him back. His hands took the brunt of its fury, they were riddled with thorns and he smeared jam wherever he put them. Including his clothes.
“Crap.”
His clothes were ruined! They had jam all over them, and had holes! All of that damage after getting stuck in a bush. Nevermind that he was still stuck in said bush, that didn’t matter.
He tried to get up, but he couldn’t grab anything. His hands curled around the only thing he didn’t want to grab, the thorny vines. Shadow Milk felt his dough getting wet, and his eyes were the source. His cries weren’t dramatic, unlike him, but they were dead silent. He went to wipe his tears just for his sleeve to snag on the thorns again.
The Jester was getting very tired of the thorns. So he bore the pain and pulled himself out. He stumbled, and just laid on the grass after his efforts. His already ratty clothes were looking even worse than they did before. There were still thorns stuck in his clothes, cursing his luck. Cursing the witches, cursing that witch damn tree.
He heard shuffling in one of the bushes, he scrambled up the tree. He made sure to put his foot in a different spot and got up before the oversized spore came out. It looked white with black and purple eyes. The Spore reminded him of something or rather, someone. It was just hanging out on the ground, then it made a high-pitched screech. “WHAT THE HELL?”
It continued, not caring about his protests in the slightest. Other spores started to gather. Shadow Milk was smart enough to figure out that making any excess noise in the situation would make it worse, so he stayed dead quiet as the spores came. Not to mention, the sun had also started to set, forcing the trees to cast shadows.
He had always loved the darkness’s cold embrace, it felt like his first light’s out on stage. Like it was the start of his performance, the one he never really stopped. He grinned, feeling welcomed by the night. But as it went on, he felt his eyes get heavy.
His mind gave away to sleep. His last thought being, ‘I wonder if the other Beasts are stuck like this?’
-`-
He fell straight out of the tree, onto a spore. Shadow Milk didn’t even know how, he was just about to fall asleep the last time he checked. Oh crap, he did fall asleep didn’t he?
The actor was startled by the witchdamn spore starting to gain altitude as it flew up. He scrambled, trying to grab one of its pointy appendages. It didn’t react as he tugged, and he only had one chance to get back on the ground. He jumped, rolling the second he landed to try to distribute the force of his fall.
(Shadow Milk really thought he would be able to fly, but this just confirmed everything even more.)
The other spores crowded around him, and it was getting harder to breathe. White particles filled the air as each one of them seemed to notice him. As the air around him was being filled with white powder, it was getting harder to breathe. He ran out of there as soon as possible, seeing a place where the spores parted and there wasn’t any green or black.
In doing so, he ran into a white one, which released a ton of white powder into his face. He continued to run, even though his legs felt terrible after all of that walking yesterday. The sun had just started to rise, making the shadows in the forest longer. The jester didn’t look where he was running, just trying to put the most distance between him and the spores.
He felt like someone was insulting him. But, he recognized these trees, he was back where he started. The previous virtue scowled, but it felt more like a pout than anything. He sat down, not even trying to climb the tree. Fool him once..!
He rubbed his eyes, they were starting to get heavy again. He didn't want to fall asleep, not right now at least.
-,-
A young voice, it sounded like him. “Alright, little sheep! It’s time to go home!”
Like he would ever say that! It was redundant, and he liked to keep his audience guessing. His dough didn’t even look the right color. It wasn’t his normal blue at least. There were messy blonde bangs right in front of his eyes. The windy weather both helped him and screwed him over.
“A lamb is missing. Where did you go....?”
The rolling grassy hills were filled with at least ten sheep, but he knew that one was missing, not only from his own words but a deep feeling in his chest. He frantically searched the forests on the mountains for even a sign of white wool. Nothing. The previous Jester didn’t know why he searched, the sheep was little use to him.
Almost as if it was summoned, he saw a little sheep, and immediately knew it was the one. “Aha, there you are! C’mon, it’s time to go!”
He looked back, expecting the young sheep to follow, but it stayed back. It’s normally empty eyes looking at him with thought. He could have sworn its eyes were filled with malice, the same type he had seen from people he’d orphaned. The underlying sorrow was hard to notice, if he wasn’t the best cookie in the world that is.
Shadow Milk must be going crazy. Sheep couldn’t feel emotion, they couldn't have thoughts. There was a reason why sheep were considered to be one of the most mindless animals in the world. It stepped closer to him.
He stumbled back as a sneering voice filled his head, coming from the little sheep? “An unwavering faith has turned to a lie..” The next words were so twisted, he gave up on trying to understand. But afterwards, it continued, “Corrupted fiends who abandoned Cookiekind in favor of their Sloth, and lust for Destruction!” It hadn’t mentioned him or Salty,
“There is not a speck of divinity left in your souls, Twisted demons, cursed Beats!”
The voice was male adjacent, but it had a rasp to it that the jester couldn’t place. (It sounded like they had just smoked 50 packs of cigarettes) Their voice wavered, during the first part at least. Like they were trying to think, like they were trying to feel something.
Under the cursing, the little sheep whispered something,
“The burdenof mourning will be mine, and mine alone.”
And that voice, that very same voice. Sounded more broken than anyone else he had torn down.
-`-
He startled to the land of the living, and he coughed out some white powder.
Shadow Milk was caught off guard when there was a sound coming from the bushes. It’s ripe berries falling with the minimal fanfare. That meant he could probably take down whatever was trying to hide in the bush. Considering only part of the bush shook with force.
A tiny bunny stepped out, and the jester tried following it. The rabbit was too fast however, and he soon ran out of breath. Looking around, he hadn’t gotten far enough to justify his efforts. Pathetic, that was what this forsaken body was, absolutely pathetic.
It was taken down by spores, and how he hated those infernal creatures now. Their beady little eyes staring into his soul as he tried to get away. Or the rose bush he fell into, ruining his clothes. He looked down at his palms, the wounds hadn’t even scabbed over yet. If he was in his original body, he would have been feeling great!
His clothes wouldn’t be torn because he could've just floated up the tree. He wouldn’t have succumbed to sleep, so he wouldn't have fallen out in the first place. The jester could have killed the rabbit with ease, but under normal circumstances, he would have just played with it. Except for food and entertainment, why else would he put up with a bunny?
Shadow Milk heard a quiet, thunk, and turned his head to the direction of the noise as fast as he could. He stumbled over to the area where he heard it from. There wasn’t anything in the bushes, nor around the large chocolate oak tree. There weren’t any burrows under the tree either.
The Jester looked up, his mismatched eyes meeting smaller purple ones from under a large black helmet. “...Metal head?”
“B- Fount?”