MEDEA TURNED THE same corner for the fifth time, screaming as she bumped into yet another blood-covered Robin. No matter how hard she ran, the nightmare refused to cease. Each room she passed had become a slaughtering ground in which axe-wielding Robins butchered fresh corpses; corpses of her. Whatever twisted manipulation of aether conjured this torment was the product of a sick mind, but she no longer cared whether this was her nightmare, Robin’s, or something else entirely—she only wished to be free of it forever.

“There you are,” he said, relieved. “How am I supposed to answer if you’re running around on two legs?”

Medea backed away, preparing to flee once more when she noticed the differences between this Robin and the others she’d encountered. For one, he didn’t have an axe… but also he appeared to be missing a great deal of his upper torso, including his right arm. The shape tickled something in her mind, and almost at once she realized the pattern must match his acid burns.

“Robin…?” Her voice was small and fearful even to her own ears. “Is that… is that you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dude, you called me.”

Medea had no idea what that meant, but surely that he hadn’t attacked yet was a good sign…? “I don’t know what you believe is happening, but it isn’t real, Robin. We’re in some kind of aetherial dream. Please, we have to get out—”

Robin snapped his hand out, latching onto her forearm and sending a lance of dread through her chest. There came a horrible scraping sound just behind her, and she whipped around to realize how close she’d come to losing her head.

An axe-wielding Robin stood there with confusion written on his face. “What gives, man?”

Robin shot him a look of utter disgust. “I’m on the phone.”

The other Robin scoffed at that, hefting the axe over his shoulder before wandering off.

“Moron…” Robin shook his head, turning back to Medea. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of texting?”

Tears pooled in her eyes, but Medea quickly wiped them away. Despite his strange behavior, this Robin wasn’t her Robin… or at least not all of him. Something was muddling his mind to the point he couldn’t even recognize half his torso was missing. How could she make him see?

Footsteps sounded in the hallway behind her, followed by more scraping of metal on stone.

“Seriously with the scraping? I know these pricks know what a phone is because I know what a phone is!” He shook his fist toward the sound. “You hear me you two-bit bastards? You’re all just pale imitations of my greatness!”

The scraping stopped momentarily.

“Fuck you. At least we have arms.”

With that, the scraping resumed, drawing closer with each passing breath.

Robin turned to her. “That was a low blow. One arm is just as good as two. Ask anyone.”

Medea grabbed his hand and ran.

———

The door slammed closed, Medea all but collapsing against it in exhaustion. If any of this were real, she was certain her heart would’ve given out already with how long they’d been running. She had no way of gauging the time in this place, and regularly felt it slip away only to start and realize she hadn’t stopped moving in hours or days.

Robin kept pace with her, only briefly stopping every now and then to question why they were running in the first place, when they could stop, and if he had any unheard messages. It’d been some time since he’d spoken last, however, and it’d felt like ages since she’d heard his voice. He stood beside her, contemplating something on the other side of the main hall. They’d ended up back there, just as they always did… though where before it’d held a large table surrounded by thrones made of her corpses, now it was surprisingly empty.

“Medea.” Robin’s voice startled her, and she turned to find him stroking his chin, still staring off into the distance. “I’m starting to think there’s something off about this place…”

Medea found herself gaping at him. Could it truly be? Did she dare to hope…? She knew better… but she’d been alone for so long...

“You’re… not a phone at all, are you?”

She couldn’t help herself; his words struck a spark, igniting a flame of hope in her heart.

Robin turned to her, staring at her in a new light.

“…You’re a chair.”

The flame died a violent death.

He laughed, putting a hand to his forehead. “God, that makes so much more sense. No wonder you don’t know how to text.”

Medea took a deep breath…

…And punched Robin in the face as hard as she could.

His nose gave a satisfying crunch as he crumpled to the floor, where he rolled around in pain for awhile, blood pouring down his face as he clutched at his ruined nose. Eventually, he looked to her in shock. “What the fuck, Medea?!”

She placed a booted heel on his chest, eyes hard as diamonds. “Well, Robin? Do I not make a fine chair? If it pleases you, I’d be happy to perform my function once more and give you a place to rest permanently.”

Robin shook his head vigorously. “Fine, you’re not a fucking chair!”

Medea narrowed her eyes, eventually deciding to let him climb to his feet.

“Goddamn, woman, you didn’t have to attack me…”

She crossed her arms, shrugging. “I found it rather cathartic, actually.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Robin waved a hand. “Been holding that one in since the mountain, I’m sure.”

She was about to laugh and retort with a quip of her own, but something about the way he was speaking gave her pause. “Robin… how are you feeling?”

“Uh, like someone just broke my nose?”

Medea resisted the urge to break it again. “Do you know where we are?”

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but paused. His eyes narrowed as he took in their surroundings, widening considerably after a few moments. “Is this the temple? What the fuck happened to the walls?”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Everything was mostly the same as before with the exception of the corpses strewn about… and those were conspicuously absent at the moment, something she found only mostly unsettling. “It’s rather the same, is it not?”

“Seriously…?” Robin said. “Are we looking at the same thing?”

Despite his insistence the temple was off somehow, Robin was acting more normal than he had since they’d appeared in this accursed place. That realization dislodged something in her chest, and the tears threatened to spill once more, only this time they would not be stopped. Medea pawed furiously at her eyes, embarrassed to be seen crying at her age.

When she cleared her eyes, the temple had changed.

The walls had gone from slate grey to amethyst and white. Medea’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what she was looking at. Eyes. Her eyes. Tens or hundreds of thousands, perhaps more, squished together to form the very walls of the temple. Some popped under the weight, vitreous humor running down the wall of eyes like the yolk of so many eggs. Medea vomited on the floor, her bile swirling in a pool of eye fluid to form a perfect, slimy recreation of the meal she’d eaten at Gedd’s—including the tray. A cry of helpless terror escaped her throat as her mind wrestled with the madness.

“There aren’t enough eyepatches in the world,” Robin said.

For perhaps the first time Robin’s flippancy did nothing to assuage her fears, only serving to make her feel ever more alone.

Upon noticing the pained look on her face, he gave a contemplative frown. “Uh, sorry. I…actually don’t know why I said that.”

“Because it’s true, obviously.” Another Robin appeared from a pool of shadow, this one with slicked back hair and a monocle covering one eye. Each of his steps was accompanied by the clicking of the cane he used to walk, a modified version of the axe Medea had learned to fear. “Gaia likely lacks the means of production to produce much of anything, what with the zombie plague destroying much of the known world… or at least separating it from this pitiful kingdom.”

Robin nodded. “That makes sense.”

“What is this?” Medea demanded. “Are you the one keeping us here?”

“My dear, I am offended. You think me evil for my choice in eyewear?”

Robin narrowed his eyes. “You do look like you’re up to no good…”

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”

The sound of scraping echoed through the hall as more Robins emerged from every entrance, their dragged and scraping axes a cacophony of impending violence. Their eyes were fixed on her and her alone as they formed a circle surrounding them, blocking any means of escape. Medea grasped Robin’s sleeve with trembling hands, knees threatening to buckle from underneath her.

“Come along, Robin,” The monocled Robin pulled an axe from somewhere behind his back. “There is work to be done.”

Robin’s eyes lit up, and he took a step forward.

Medea panicked, refusing to let go. “Wait…!”

“Don’t listen to her, my boy. Take it.”

“Robin, please.” Her voice was small and pathetic.

“Take it.”

Robin shrugged her off, sending her falling backward onto the cold stone. He reached for the axe, fingers wrapping around the wooden shaft, and with a sigh of relief, turned to face her. The twisted gleam in his eye proved whatever semblance of the real Robin she’d managed to coax out had vanished. Something broke in her at the sight, and Medea pressed her face into her hands and began to sob.

“Never was good with crying girls…” Robin stood above her, slowly raising his axe in one hand. “But it’s alright, Medea. You don’t have to cry anymore—I’ll protect you.”

“No…” She shook her head, body wracked with deep sobs as despair overwhelmed her.

“But I promised I would. I care about you.”

“Liar!” The vehemence in her voice startled everyone, including her.

“It’s not a lie,” Robin insisted, anger leaking into his voice. “Why else would I put myself through this?” He motioned toward the large section carved out of his torso with his axe. “You think I like being in pain?”

Medea looked up through red and puffy eyes, vision still blurry with tears. “I never asked for your protection!”

Robin slammed his axe on the floor, causing her to flinch. “But you wanted it!”

“No…”

“You’re just a scared little girl who can’t think for herself. You can’t survive on your own. You need me.”

She rocked back, the accusation hitting like a physical blow. “I… that isn’t…”

“Admit it!”

“I… I’m trying to change…!” Medea choked out, burying her face again as her sobbing intensified.

Robin laughed, a harsh and bitter thing. “You can’t. Nobody can.” He leaned forward, voice a venomous whisper. “That’s the secret. We’re puppets, all of us, and we’ll follow our programming until we can’t and then we’ll die. Without ever changing a goddamn thing.”

Was he right? Was Medea nothing more than a puppet dancing on strings even now? The same gullible girl who’d let herself be used time and time again? Was her resolve truly so weak?

“Sorry for the spoiler,” Robin said, straightening as he raised his axe. “But that’s life. Time to wake up, little girl.”

He swung, forcing Medea to scramble backward as the axe slammed into the stone at her feet, narrowly missing taking off her leg. Panic filled her veins as Robin reared back to swing again, her eyes darting around wildly for anything that might help her survive. There was nothing. She was trapped; enclosed on all sides by mad, axe-wielding Robins, eagerly awaiting her demise so they could divide up her remains and use them to make furniture.

Blinding pain radiated through her as Robin’s axe clipped her leg, carving out a chunk of flesh. She let a cry, agony mixing with despair to crush her beneath their combined heel. But as Robin raised his axe for the final blow, something cracked the suffocating weight of emotion squeezing her chest; something hot, rising in her like a molten tide.

“Coward,” Medea spat, clutching her wounded leg to stem the flowing blood, the warm liquid soaking her fingers despite her best efforts.

Robin paused, narrowing his eyes. “…What did you say?”

“You heard me…” She felt her consciousness fading, but forced the words out anyway. “…I said you’re a coward.”

“I’m the coward…?” Something dark flashed in his eyes, a red haze forming over his gaping wound. “Of the two of us, you think I’m the coward?”

Medea grit her teeth, squeezing her gushing leg tighter as the heat within her swelled. “We’re both cowards, too consumed by fear to see it rules us!”

Robin’s voice was dangerous. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

She waved a bloody hand at their surroundings. “And yet your fear is plain to see! You so desperately desire control you would relinquish what little you have!”

“What would you know!” Robin snarled, the haze rippling ominously. “You don’t know what I’ve been through—what I’ve done! You think wishing things were different ever helped me? It didn’t! I tried!”

The haze around his wound exploded, temporarily engulfing the hall in a brilliant kaleidoscope of various shades of red light. At the same time, heat in Medea’s chest became unbearable, bursting forth and coalescing before her eyes as a slab of thick iron wreathed in blue flame. The pain in her leg all but forgotten, she climbed to her feet and gripped tight the hilt of the massive sword, hefting it as if it didn’t weigh as much as her. Waves of blue fire licked at the air around her hands, a cool presence against her skin.

Robin lunged, the haze roiling and writhing above his wounds as if it were alive, forming a ghostly red arm in the hollow space where his should've been; a massive thing ending in wicked claws that would’ve been more at home on a dragon than a man. She braced herself as the red fist smashed into her sword with all the force of a runaway boulder, arm buckling beneath the impact with a sickening snap.

She refused to cry out in pain, instead gripping the hilt of the sword with her other hand, ruined arm hanging limp at her side. As Robin coiled for another blow, she kicked out hard, buying enough time to twist her entire body into a powerful spin that saw her blade carve an arc through the air around them, connecting with Robin’s red arm at the last moment as he inserted it between the sword and his heart.

Robin’s eyes went wide as he was lifted clear off the ground and propelled through the air, slamming into the far wall in the span of a single breath. He hung there for a time, claws digging into the stone, his red haze likely the only thing that’d prevented him from becoming a red smear. When he was ready, he dropped to the floor in a crouch, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Wait… stone? Not eyes? Medea glanced around, realizing they were standing alone in the hall once more, now returned to its default state. “Robin,” she said, motioning around them with her blade. “The temple...”

“Fuck the temple,” Robin growled. He leapt, clearing the distance between them in a single bound, ghostly haze flaring with power as his terrible arm crashed into her sword. “You think you don’t need me?! You think you can change?! Prove it!”

Medea gasped, unprepared for the vicious onslaught. Her sword slipped from her fingers as she tripped over her own feet, falling backward onto her rear. Robin stood above, poised to tear out her heart with wicked claws, roiling haze wrapped around his shoulders like a demonic cloak. His muscles tensed as he bent to deliver the final blow.

The heat returned, bursting from her chest in a flash of brilliant light, forming the iron sword already aimed for Robin’s heart. His eyes went wide as the blade sunk into his chest, giving a sickening squelch as it slid right between his ribs. The hand he’d been offering—his normal hand—fell limp at his side. His breath escaped in one last gasp before he collapsed on top of her and went still.