The clocktower's observatory sat detached from the city below, letting the moon's light illuminate the clean wooden floor.
Dark clouds of smog drifted below the glass shrouding it from the cities' view.
Six marble pedestals sat along the far edge of the wall, opposite from the grand window behind a lone chair.
Their surfaces—
Empty.
The air—
Shifted.
As the sound of a single tick.
The maker had faced the entrance of the observatory, focusing his deep blue eyes on the dark hallway.
It felt—
Distant.
Like it stretched away from him.
His pupils—
Shifted.
Their direction—
Changed.
Like a clock hand pointing at three.
A flickering blue light formed on the tops of the empty pedestals, revealing six stumps as they grew their roots into the carved stone.
A number—
Carved.
Into the base of each one.
The first ingrain, sitting on the pedestal closest to the lone chair, had a small slit in the center.
It's light—
Faded.
As it dissipated from the hole.
The second ingrain, resting on the next pedestal was cut, having the top fallen to the side.
It's light—
Faded.
As it dissipated from the severed apex.
The third ingrain—
Static.
His pupil—
Winced.
As the ingrain vanished without a trace.
Where is…
The maker moved his vision towards the fourth pedestal.
A stump—
Gone.
Never forming in the first place.
The gear beneath the skin of his right hand churned once, trying to grow the form.
It never—
Appeared.
That woman…Lied to me.
The fifth ingrain flickered atop its pedestal, having the right half completely missing.
Its light—
Faded.
As it burned up from the middle.
The ticking surrounding him began to increase in its intervals as his pupils clicked towards the last pedestal.
I should still have—
The ingrain—
Slashed.
Cut at the base of its roots.
A dark red cut singed across the air, dissipating as the stump fell back into the wall.
The maker's ticking—
Stuttered.
As he took a step away from the wall.
Reality—
Shifted.
Turning his attention towards the entrance door.
When did I—
A distant figure stood centered in the deep veil stretching beyond the threshold of the door.
It was—
Dark.
A purple—
Hue.
Flickering in the abyss.
The maker's chained stopwatches, running along the left side of his vest shook as he motioned his hand out before him.
"Who goes there?"
His words—
Static.
Sounding as a broken record.
He placed his fingers on his throat before glancing down at his right hand.
What's happening—
The distance—
Shrunk.
As if reality removed it itself.
The moonlight—
Warped.
Curving around the centered figure.
Kane was—
There.
His eyes—
Distant.
Facing him.
The Maker stumbled back towards his chair, raising his hand towards Kane.
A faint blue hue grew from the air before him, forming a series of branching roots.
His gear—
Churned.
As he traced the first line.
Flashes of a distant possibility flowed into his mind, showing him a past timeframe.
The maker stood at the base of a small grandfather clock, looking at the back of the clocktower's face.
Four figures—
Knelt.
In a line before him.
The first—
Dark.
Shrouded in a deep shade.
The maker's finger reached, stretching towards the first.
You were the supply—
The timeframe—
Static.
Being removed from the root itself.
His vision returned to the distant reality before him, looking Kane standing perfectly straight.
He was—
Dark.
Shrouded in a deep shade.
The first—
Step.
Was taken towards the Maker.
Chains remained—
Silent.
Staying completely still.
The branches of roots before the Maker shook, deleting the endings off each one.
His hand—
Ticked.
As he took a few steps back, tracing the next root.
The same possibility flowed into his mind, showing the similar timeframe.
Three figures—
Knelt.
In the same line before him.
The first—
Perfect.
Adorned in a clean suit.
A homburg rested atop their silver hair as the Maker's finger stretched towards the figure.
You were my puppet—
The timeframe—
Static.
Being deleted from the root itself.
His vision returned as his pupils rotated downward pointing at the half day mark.
Kane stood—
Aligned.
Having no deviations in his posture.
The second—
Step.
Removed the distance between them.
The ticking began increasing as the maker reached for the next set of branches.
Its middle—
Vibrated.
Disappearing before his eyes.
His eyes—
Widened.
As his finger traced the next roots.
Images of the same distant timeframe flicked across his mind.
Two figures—
Knelt.
Directly before him.
The first—
Cracked.
Fragments of its shadow fell to the ground.
Barbed wire tensed as the shadow's arm twitched as if it was testing its own tension.
The maker stretched the same finger towards them.
You were supposed to be—
The timeframe—
Static.
Shattering itself from the root.
The maker's gear, resting beneath the skin of his palm churned, shifting the clockhands rapidly across his skin.
His blue hue—
Flickered.
As the ticking fell out of rhythm.
His roots—
Burned.
Singing the beginning of their paths.
The maker stumbled back, shifting his chair out of his way.
This can't—
His ticking—
Rapid.
Frantically trying to continue functions.
He reached for the dark reality before him, trying to sprout roots he could trace.
A single—
Root.
Flickered in the air before him.
His finger—
Traced.
Reading the short possibility.
The maker stood inside the clocktower, facing the back of the clock's face.
No figures—
Knelt.
As he was alone.
A single—
Tick.
Sounded behind him.
The maker turned towards the noise, looking at the reflection before him.
He faced—
Himself.
Their hands—
Rose.
Touching each other's finger tips.
You were my end—
He had—
Shattered.
Both him and his reflection.
The timeline—
Static.
Ending its final rotation.
The third—
Step.
Taken.
Kane's hand—
Pierced.
His arm was shrouded in a deep black as a purple crack was open along its skin.
The maker's eyes shifted down watching the blood drip from his chest.
It never—
Touched.
The skin of Kane's arm.
A slight couch sounded from his lips as his gaze shifted up one finale time.
His eyes—
Settled.
Looking clearly at Kane before him.
Kane's chains—
Silent.
As his arms were already at his sides.
This timeline…
The blue hue faded from the air around him as his knees began to buckle.
His body—
Fell.
Hitting the wood with his back.
The maker's pupils rotated, pointing up towards the origin of a clock.
…was out of my control.
A crack—
Opened.
In the air above his hand.
The purple light—
Outlined.
A fading brand.
01.
It had—
Closed.
The hand—
Gone.
As if it never existed.
The Maker's body went cold, resting beneath the calm moonlight as blood pooled around his chest.
His golden stopwatches hung off his side, being covered in the red color.
Kane was—
Still.
Control—
Invaded.
Forcing its way inside him.
A rush of influence flowed into the empty vessel, trying to sprout new connection roots.
Faint ticking—
Began.
Trying to guide a new direction.
The crack—
Commanded.
Uprooting the weak connections.
Control flooded into the opening, being consumed by the force.
The final–
Piece.
Had been fully consumed.
Kane stayed—
Centered.
In the desolate observatory.
The moonlight illuminated his figure only, leaving its light away from the world around him.
His arms rested at his sides, still retaining the dark veil.
The crack—
Tensed.
Manifesting in the sky before him.
Its opening blocked the silver moonlight as it faced him.
The crack—
Closed.
Kane had—
Dropped.
Falling onto his knees.
A second—
Crack.
Appeared facing his back.
It was smaller than the first as its opening twitched a single time.
The crack—
Closed.
Kane's torso—
Slouched.
As if gravity took hold.
His shoulders dipped forward as his arms lay dormant at his sides.
The perfect posture aligning his figure was no longer present.
Kane's chin—
Tucked.
A final crack—
Opened.
Smaller than the ones before.
Kane's empty gaze focused on the purple opening.
His pupils—
Narrowed.
As a final image was placed before his mind.
A warm—
Scene.
Blinked in his head.
The shadow of a large oak tree rested above him as he stretched his little hands upward.
A woman—
Reached.
Clasping the small hands.
Kane's origin—
Reminded.
As the crack closed before him.
His body—
Cold.
As if his life was never there to begin with.
He was—
Empty.
Only leaving a single expression.
It was—
Satisfaction.
Like he was completely full.
…
The clicking of heels filled the small, dark room as they inched closer to a lone table.
A flickering light outlines the papers on the surface as a chair creaked back.
Selena sat down at her desk, reaching into her lab coat pocket.
The silverstopwatch—
Gone.
Like it was never there.
A satisfied—
Smile.
Rested upon her lips.
Her veins surged with a black light, forming a cobweb in her left palm.
Dew grew on the connected strands as they weaved out, blotting ink on the half written page.
Their ends—
Wrote.
Continued the experiment results.
The first endpoint—Control, was consumed, leaving no trace of it behind.
Her tongue glided across her lips as she slid the paper into the file,m placing it on top of the other three stacks of documents.
Now then.
Selena's gaze—
Shifted.
Looking at the final stack.
Her finger—
Traced.
The first lines.
The final endpoint—Devour.
She continued tracing down the page, reading the information that was previously written.
Experiment 05; Purpose: Deletion of other endpoints.
Selena flipped through the pages.
All this information bloat…jsut give me the results.
The final page—
Shifted.
Its results—
Formed.
Selena lifted the page, placing her heels on the surface of the desk.
Her eyes—
Traced.
The single line.
Status—satisfied.
She smirked placing the documents at the bottom of the file folder, setting it beneath the other four.
A faint sigh escaped from her lips as she placed her feet on the ground.
Selena lifted the file, holding it underneath her arm
Her veins—
Surged.
Forming a cocoon of webs around her.
She had—
Vanished.
Without a trace.