TW: Descriptions of blood and injury

     Biffle slowly paced the room. His leg burned with each step, but he didn't care. Part of him wanted to feel pain, to have punishment for his crimes. His morals were the judge and had deemed him guilty. His prison was his mind.

     "You know," Ssundee said, glancing up from his work to study him. "If you do that much longer, there'll be a ditch in the middle of my workroom."

     He continued circling, staring at the floor, never speaking. Too many thoughts were weighing him down. He was drowning beneath the waves of worry.

     Even though he was confident in his choices on Sigils' spaceship, he wasn't sure of anything now. Was he making the right decision, siding with Ssundee? Or was it a colossal mistake?

     Letting go of the past proved to be more of a challenge than he thought. He shouldn't be this concerned, but it had been twenty three hours since the Soul Stone had been retrieved, and there was no sign of Sigils.

     Pacing, pacing, pacing.

     He knew he had knocked the man out, but what if....

     A chill ran down his spine. Had he killed him?

     Pacing, pacing, pacing.

     Ssundee spoke again, shattering his thoughts like a rock to glass. "Biffle, your leg won't heal unless you rest. What's bothering you?"

     Something within wouldn't let him tell him the truth. "The Lvengers know I'm a traitor now. They'll retaliate." He hated how easily he could lie. But... this was what he wanted... right?

     "So? We'll deal with them if they do. Joining me has given you more power than they'll ever know. Look how easily you defeated Sigils, and that was without the Stones. Now that I have them, they don't stand a chance." Ssundee shrugged.

     Biffle  barely hid his flinch. His words were true. He had serums running through his veins, armor beyond what the others could possibly hope to create, and weapons they couldn't even dream of. He was stronger than all of them without the Stones, and with them, the two of them were unstoppable. Yet....

     Was giving up the others' trust in him worth what he was receiving?

     You've already given everything- everyone, up, a voice snickered in his head. There's no turning back. They won't have you. You're nothing but a traitor.

      "Biffle, sit down." Ssundee flicked his wrist and Biffle was flung across the room onto a cot.

     "I'm fine," he grumbled. He moved to get up but was pinned by a stare from Ssundee. He might not be able to see his eyes given that they were obscured by sunglasses, but a simple glare was enough to make him freeze.

     "Healing potions accelerate healing, but they still need time to get the job done. You'll heal faster if you aren't actively making your wounds worse."

     Internally pouting like a child, Biffle returned to his thoughts. They reared up, hissing, threatening to drag him down into the unruly depths of despair. They snagged his limbs like vines, or perhaps tentacles, and yanked him towards the black hole that was morality.

     It was a place where there was no corner of one's heart that wasn't on display. It was a place where the despicable were thrown into the pits of judgement. It was a place where the soul was tried and tested and one's morals became blatantly clear.

     It was a place Biffle never wanted to go. So he gathered his composure and snapped the strings that bound him. He locked the door to his mind and built walls around his heart.

     Bonds were weak, useless strings that sought to strangle anyone foolish enough to seek their blessing. They tightened their grip until the fool was dead, then tightened some more. Power was a road of trial where the victor stood on a world of glory. There was no fear, nor heartache, nor misery.

     At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

     His mind stubbornly continued to backflip into as many ideals as possible. One minute he was gung ho for Ssundee and his grand plan, and the next he was kicking himself for betraying his fami- his enemies.

     It was an exhausting tug of war. He stood before the cliff of madness, teetering on the brink. The scent of decay danced around him and the void in front of him yawned, beckoning him to leap in its maw.

     Except... he had already jumped, hadn't he?

     He had fallen through the blackness, screaming and begging and screaming some more, but no one came. No no, one person came. But it wasn't Sigils or Henwy or Nico or Jerome or Frost or Florian or Rafessor.

     It had been Ssundee.

     He grasped the memory of his rescue. He turned it over, inspecting it carefully.

     He had just been rocked by a betrayal of his own. The Lvengers, Sigils in particular, had set off a bomb that obliterated his house.

     It wasn't the property he grieved over. It was the times shared, the memories made, the late nights where Sigils fell asleep after working all day and Henwy drew a mustache on him, the winters where everyone huddled around a warm fireplace, the summer days where Frost grumbled about the weather being unbearable, and so, so many more.

     And they were gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by a crater instead. A massive, empty crater.

     It hadn't been his house that was lost that day. It had been his home.

     Ssundee had helped him see his... his... his enemies for what they truly were. They didn't care about him. They were using him. Using him like a puppet. These emotions he felt were due to their games.

     So he cut the strings. Ssundee helped him see the manipulation and the lies, so Biffle returned the favor by helping him collect the Stones.

     He thought his 'betrayal' coming to light would feel good, but the look of disbelief and pain on Sigils' face when he had disrupted Biffle's spellcasting hurt.

     Biffle gritted his teeth. He needed to focus on something else. His eyes wandered around the room.

     Stripped wood cut into thin rectangles hung from chains with clusters of material nestling together on top of the boards. A large storage system hummed in a corner, sometimes vibrating, with bright lights flickering.

     The area lacked personal belongings, very clearly marking it as a workroom. It felt alien and unwelcoming, and sometimes it made his skin crawl. It was just so... emotionless.

     Bland walls met bland flooring. Simple support beams held up the workshop, made of simple oak wood.

     Biffle was spared from having to look at the dreary room by fixating on what Ssundee was doing instead.

     From what it looked like, he was creating a weapon. Biffle had no clue why he would need a weapon when they already had the Stones, but he didn't question him. Ssundee knew what he was doing. He watched for a long time.

     A voice, barely audible, was caught by his serum-sharpened hearing. It sounded angry.

     Ssundee heard it too. His head shot up, his brow furrowing as he gave Biffle a confused glance.

     Biffle shrugged in response.

     Then it happened again, but Biffle was ready for it this time. He snatched the sound before it could dart away.

     "You really think the path to take is the one that destroys all of your relationships?"

     He knew that voice, and his gut twisted at the words.

     Of all the moments for Henwy to show up, he probably picked the worst one.

     Ssundee smiled slightly. It was a smile Biffle didn't like, but he didn't know why. He thought it had something to do with the way the gauntlet on his hand glittered ominously.

     He blinked, and the rolling hills of the surface rushed up to meet him. Behind him, Ssundee's house loomed, threatening to cast all beneath it in eternal shadow.

     The Stones on Ssundee's hand flashed, having been the culprits of the teleportation spell.

     Before him and Ssundee was a furious Henwy. Jerome and Humble flanked him on either side.

     "Well, hello Henwy," Ssundee said, his words coated with poisonous sweetness.

     Henwy didn't even look at him. He turned to Biffle. His words were broken like ice, yet hadn't frozen in the cold. Instead, his voice bled an array of emotions like a funky color wheel. "Was it worth it?"

     Biffle was expecting backlash, but those four words glued his mouth shut. In that instant, Henwy put all Biffle's fears into a tangible threat that gnashed its teeth and bared its fangs. In that instant, Henwy had struck every nerve he had.

     In that instant, Henwy made him truly question what he'd done.

     "Don't use your deceitful games to blind him," Ssundee hissed.

     Henwy raised his chin in defiance. His eyes blazed. "I'm not playing games. Sigils almost died because of you two."

     Biffle's mind flashed to the aftermath of the battle.

     He had been staring at the blood on his hands for a long, long time. Then he looked at the crumpled body of Sigils, choking back a sob.

     Ssundee had entered with the Soul Stone pulsating in his grasp. He had tipped his head. "Why did you spare him?"

     Biffle couldn't tell him the truth. He couldn't tell him that he couldn't kill Sigils. So he built fortifications around his heart and guarded his thoughts, silently declaring that one could ever know the truth.

     Usually, when his face changes, he doesn't notice, but this time he felt his face harden and freeze over. "He could be useful in the future."

     "Hm. I suppose you're right," Ssundee had said. He then abruptly turned and made a portal, providing an exit.

     Loud yells brought him back to the present. Jerome was struggling to hold Henwy back as he and Ssundee competed in a shouting match.

     In all honesty, Biffle didn't really care. He was focused on the fourth soul of the impromptu party that must've arrived during his flashback.

     Sigils really did look horrible.

     A deep cut ran along his eye, which was swollen shut. His throat was bruised purple and black. He refused to look Biffle in the eyes.

     Biffle felt his throat close up. He did this. He caused all of this pain, this-

     "You should really treat those above you with more respect," Ssundee snarled. He raised the gauntlet to the sky. "It seems I'll have to teach you that lesson myself."

     Henwy's eyes widened. He was too far away to snatch the Stones. His pleading eyes sought Biffle, who was the only one capable of stopping the madman. "Please," he whispered. "You can fix this."

     Biffle stared back, remembering the manipulation and trickery and mind games. His gaze hardened.

     Ssundee snapped.

Alternate title: Biffle has an existential crisis for 1800ish words

Also it's super late and, while I did revise it, I'm sure I missed some grammar and whatnot so sorry about that. This was a lot of fun to write so hopefully it did what I wanted it to