Will You Miss Me?
Your neck aches terribly.
The breathless ramblings of the Colonel echo from the hallway, fading as he searches desperately for the friends he will not find. You turn to the table, noticing Damian’s cane resting as though on an altar. You frown at it – it was ever a symbol of him. The smooth black wood always represented stability and authority. Normalcy, such that it was with him. You reach for it unthinkingly, craving a sense of familiarity in the turmoil surrounding you.
But, as your fingers close, you feel yourself pushed aside. You fight it, struggling, but are pulled away, back to the blackness you had just escaped. It stops, suddenly, but you are stuck, able to see through the eyes, feel through the nerves, but it is not you anymore. There is only a pulsing hatred, filling your lungs, removing all other senses. The scene through your eyes shifts as your head is lifted up to the mirror above the table. Damian’s eyes live in your own. He cracks your neck, and the mirror shatters with it. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, contained in the same space as if he has allowed you one last sight, and you watch as the last vestige of your friend is swallowed by the blackness. His face – your face – leaves the mirror, and so do you, thrust back into the void of the place you had been. The place you would now stay. Distantly, you feel Damian settle into his new body. Revulsion chases fear across your skin, but all sensations fade as Damian wrests control fully from you. If you focus all your will, you can see through your own eyes again. Damian does not allow that for long – it is not him anymore.
You return, resigned, to the place between. Celine stands in a posture of deep trance, her eyes fluttering open at your presence. Shock pours across her features as she realizes who you are. She peers into the darkness behind you, seeing what you cannot, and her shock turns to rage.
“DAMIAN!” She shrieks, reaching out into the blackness. “GET BACK HERE!”
She collapses into herself, clutching her chest, eyes frantic. Her head whips around to look at you, the question in her eyes resolving before she can ask it.
“It was that damn cane, wasn’t it” She says quietly. Pushing her hands through her hair, heedless of the veil that covers her face, she pants in fear and frustration. “I told him not to take it. We’re supposed to share this. We can fix it. Together.“ Celine turns away from you, closing her eyes.
“I knew he’d take control. I saw it, but I didn’t – not Damian. You were too weak for this - too infatuated with him. I knew it, but I could not believe that he was changed. Not like this”
She rounds on you, seizing your shoulders with uncharacteristic fervency and lack of control. "You let him in, didn’t you?! You can’t let him in. Not even for a second!”
“I know!” You cry, pushing her hands off you. She steps back, breathing out sharply and giggling hysterically for a second. “Oh, now you speak. Of course.”
“I have been this entire time!” You roar at her, “None of you listen!” She flinches back as your stinging words land. “You think that I have stood silently this entire time?! No concern, no opinions? I have been shouting at you all, trying to be heard, but it’s like I was trapped on the other side of a screen!
"You think you are the only seer? No, I knew.” Your voice drops to just above a whisper as you think back to when you met the Colonel the night before. “I knew who they would become, what would happen. We all did.”
“We?” Celine asks, her eyes turning calculating as she examines you properly, seemingly for the first time.
“I…..I mean, I, not we. I think.”
“What will he do?” The uncertainty in Celine’s eyes is all the more terrifying for the certainty in your own thoughts.
“He will hunt Mark, and he will hunt those who surround him, and he will grow strong from them until he can move against Mark. And in that time, they will become so similar to those that adore them that they are seen as two parts of a whole.
"This creature, this……Dark Damian, will seek to control us, and take back what Markiplier has stolen from him. Take back his life, and become Mark. As Markiplier became him.”
A cold thought pierces your mind with sharp fingers. You cringe as the familiar voice, tearing at the edges into shards of sound and light, speaks to both of you. Celine screams, forced to the ground, the red framing her dimming and warping.
“A Dark Markiplier. Now that, I like.” The pain fades slightly, and the voice sounds closer to you, a poisonously comforting warmth flooding across you. “You helped shape me. It is only fitting that you should help name me.”
He is gone, and you breathe again. But the whisper comes to you alone this time, and you are chilled.
“I’ll miss you. Will you miss me?”
As promised. Thank you.