Chapter Text
Just now she agreed to try this pacifism thing, after the Fun Gang negotiates its way through half the kingdom plus her, and whoop, Kris basically right away takes her down into some kind of underground prison to beat the crap out of this killer Jigsaw clown.
It feels like one of those stupid practical jokes — Susie's joining Team Soft? Guess it's ruined now — except she's racked up the dumbass stunts today and Kris isn't obviously pissed, and they've got this heroic quest situation anyway, which apparently they need her for, so it's probably smarter to trust they're not messing with her head so she'll quit. Not to mention she practically had to beg Ralsei not to recast his sparkle prayer spell on her legs a dozen times after he noticed her bruises (not even from the fight; they're just the price of yesterday's trash can incident).
Plus, replacement axe. Her old free-with-the-Dark-World model's so blunt that it's basically a thin-headed hammer, and she's been abusing it for hours on top of that, enough to send little hairline cracks through the handle part, the same color as her hair. (She might've lucked out. Anything sharper would've carved Lancer in two, instead of just indenting his squishy little body or flinging him into the cell walls. Ralsei'll heal him once they catch up, she reminds herself.)
Her new one's badass. So badass that she can't resist a few practice swings once they're out of the elevator, back in the wide black-on-black castle halls where she won't accidentally hack any faces off. That stripey Nightmare before Christmas scythe that the killer clown kept hurling around is hers, now, but with a double-length handle to fit her reach, comfy and firm. The underside's studded with yellow teeth that could be hers, except on a scythe blade they look like a better fit, definitely, than they do in her face. And the knob at the end is a stylized human skull with yellow mica chip eyes: the clown's, transplanted into another face. They've even blinked a few times.
It kinda feels like it's smiling at her.
She grins at Ralsei. "So are we going back to cracking skulls, now, or what?"
"That really isn't necessary, Susie!" Which is about what she expected; he's already worrying at his hat over her practice swings, which are, let's be clear, totally necessary. "This is a world where you don't need to fight, so, um —"
"Hey, KRIS made the plan! I just wanna know what's up. Maybe this entire castle's full of badasses we need to clobber before we hit the King. Y'know, so you can put 'em to sleep. Make sure the King doesn't get any reinforcements." She spins like a top and leaves giggling razor marks across ten feet of hallway, just to show off; a red diamond guy turns the corner, observes her crouched low with her ax at full extension, and scurries off so fast he drops twenty Dark Dollars as chaff. "See? That was definitely scarier than the clown guy."
"Jevil," says Kris, quietly.
"Right. That guy. Jevul."
"W-well, we're well-equipped for it, of course, but —"
"No need." A blue version of the tentacle ladies waves at you all as you climb the stairs, on her way down to the first floor. Probably because of Kris; the one Susietried to flirt with wouldn't be making this much eye contact, or wiggling her tendrils this much. Kris isn't paying attention, though. Too fixated on, apparently, their own sorry excuse for clown fight loot, which Susie's half-convinced is just them messing with her — what kind of treasure is a crystal you can't even see? "It's just insurance."
"Insurance…?"
"Better being stronger. If you have a choice. Even if you're not hurting anyone." They shrug, minutely, not looking at her or at Ralsei. "Insurance."
Which, yeah, makes sense. Lancer's petrified of her killing King Dad, but he's also freaked out about King Dad killing her. Kris's shield and Ralsei's magic go a long way towards making all this stuff survivable, but if it all goes south they'll still need her. And her magic. Which she'd never really had to use, before the Jigsaw clown guy, but Susie's kinda grateful she learned what it was like. Rude Buster makes her whole spine tingle, makes her heart shake; it's like saying everything you can't find the words for, condensed and amplified; like shouting with your whole body. Or maybe like laughing. A laugh that isn't hers, or isn't just hers.
It's her weapon, laughing, too.
BlackScythe — Vindicated scythe-axe. Buster spells are cast from HP instead of TP.
Jevil still laughs. (She's learned his name. Hard not to; she's starved for company besides the edgy heterochrome cat, the one scripture says is supposed to be some kind of metal-album-cover anti-angel and not the chattering space-filling has-been it is. Bad company's all she has.) All the time. Every swing. Even at her side, even sheathed. Sometimes the Knight bashes him against trees pole-first. Doesn't stop him but at least he cackles different, hysterical, not mocking, hopefully a little concussed.
Jet-black sharp shadow shellacked his teeth, first. Like he was imitating her armor. Then it ate its way out from there — crypt-close interlocking plates that banded his handle like a spinal cord or a jigsaw puzzle, and leached the luster out of his wicked, curved head until it was unreflective as her skin. At the very end his bleach-yellow skull bobble ornament turned into a featureless black ball, with no eyes to see or meet; she guesses he's blind, now. It makes sense. When the Knight drags Jevil's sawteeth through an enemy it's just slaughterhouse work, menial massacre crap just as was ordained for her at birth. She doesn't need plastic action figure decorations on her scythe. She's not a hero. She doesn't need guidance. Especially not his.
She thinks about how she got him, sometimes. How pointless it was. Promised peace and she'd gotten another fight, with no chance for reprieve, a harder and stupider and scarier fight than she'd ever had, in that nauseating Tilt-a-Whirl prison full of acid hearts and lancet spades. To free a prisoner who was already free. She'd had some stupid little line for him, too, some consolation prize for his loss, from back when she didn't know the difference between Darkners and people. "Let the games begin."
But the Knight kept her promise. He's free again, in his little prison of black beetle iron. Playing with the whole world, like he wanted, and he doesn't even have to leave home.
He'd better be fucking grateful.