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At what exact fucking moment did his life take a wrong turn?
The inability to know gnaws at even ordinary cookie goods. But for a fucking Truth Cookie? It was absolutely devouring.
The "not knowing" wasn't just gnawing at him—it was digging in with a million tiny teeth, hollowing out the very breadbasket of his skull, leaving behind only a void and a hollow, hopeless "why?"
In what sequence of events over his many, many years had he made a mistake? Where, exactly, did he take the wrong turn? So that now, trapped inside a Soulgem of Deceit, he's forced to watch his own body get fucked by his sworn enemy?..
The sound of skin slapping against skin was so loud that his soul—if the beast even had one—would shrivel down to the size of a molecule. And it did this very often, with fucking excellent regularity. Smack. Molecule. Smack. Molecule. The Shadow Milk School of Nanotechnology, except its creator wasn't finding it very funny.
He dove into his thoughts, trying to distract himself from what was happening. When did it all go so wrong? When did he, the great fucking Master of Deceit, let some dumb rock turn the tables on him?
.....
The day was starting just like the thousands of days before it and the thousands of days after it. Which is to say, in the language of common, boring cookies, it was starting off great. Because what day couldn't start off great for the greatest master of deceit of all time, the one and only Shadow Milk Cookie? Idiots.
The sun had just barely crawled over the horizon, lazily stretching its golden rays across the tops of the sugar trees. The air was clean and clear as hard candy, but Shadow knew the price of such purity. It was deceptive. Just like everything in this world.
His heart fluttered, anticipating the day's petty mischief from the Beast. He calmly cut through the sky with his wings — perfect, blueberry-hued, with a purple sheen on the tips of his feathers — humming a quiet little birdsong to himself. The tune was simple, but catchy, like a burr.
He needed to ruin someone's day.
In the distance, the Vanilla Kingdom came into view. It sprawled out before him like a giant, sickeningly sweet cake decorated with marzipan.
Its disgustingly cute streets, with their disgustingly cute little houses, stuffed to the brim with disgustingly cute cookies. Disgusting.
Lollipop icicles that never melted hung from the roofs, and fancy-dressed citizens scurried along the gingerbread-paved streets, carrying baskets of buns and other such nonsense. Shadow Milk shuddered.
Not wanting to see any more of this filth, the Beast sped up, folded his wings, and, gracefully diving like a bird of prey, landed on one of the balconies of Pure Vanilla's castle. The marble of the railing was so smooth and clean, it made him want to rub it with sandpaper and smear it with some kind of junk. Fine. Next time.
He walked further into the building with a light, almost dancing step, not even glancing back at the open doors he'd left ajar leading to the balcony.
Oh, how he was looking forward to tormenting the ancient one. He'd rather go without bread than miss a chance to laugh at that righteous fool. It was better than any drug, sweeter than any stevia-leaf sweetener.
The guards he passed no longer reacted to him. They just rolled their eyes in a gesture of silent reproach. Plebeians.
One, however, did try to step forward, but the other put a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head and pulled him back with a resigned expression.
"Don't mess with him, kid, it's not worth it," the wise guard said without a word, and he was damn right.
By the fifth time, it had finally dawned on the guards that going up against the master of deceit himself was a task far beyond their little, pretzel-twisted hands.
Or maybe they finally understood that repeating the same action over and over expecting a different outcome was extremely stupid.
Who knows, who knows.
Maybe Pure Vanilla cookie had been giving them lectures on the basics of logic.
At that thought, the Beast snorted.
But this story isn't about them, so, shaking his head, the Beast dismissed them from his mind and, without slowing his pace, continued toward his goal, simultaneously trying to trip every passing servant. Two stumbled, one miraculously held onto his tea tray, but the tea still splashed onto the saucer. Perfect.
Finally, a familiar door came into view. Massive, with a handle shaped like a scroll. A smile involuntarily appeared on his lips, revealing the tips of his sharp fangs.
Just a little more, and he could burst into his study, knock all the important papers off the desk, shift the desk lamp by a few terrifying degrees, and maliciously throw a pencil at a nearby painting, shifting it by a few disastrous centimeters. Ha ha ha! The world would shudder at the scale of the catastrophe!
"E-excuse me, but Pure Vanilla Cookie isn't in his study right now..." came a trembling bleat from the left. A little guard-cookie was gripping his spear tighter than necessary, his knuckles white. "H-he's currently in negotiations with the Creme Republic..."
Nooooo...
The whole plan only worked if Pure Vanilla Cookie personally witnessed all his mischief. Without that, they were just mediocre jokes lacking the necessary spark and passion! All the thrill, all the meaning would disappear!
Muttering something unprintable (in the old, naturally, which made the guards hiding behind the speaking cookie turn even paler and tremble with even greater amplitude), the blueberry cookie pushed past the guards and entered the room.
The smell of old paper, dried herbs, and something subtly vanilla-like hit his nose. Passing by the simple desk and equally simple bed, Shadow Milk stepped out onto the balcony.
He needed to wait for that idiot.
The unruly wind immediately tousled his hair, but the Beast allowed it to happen. Today it was allowed. Today he was magnanimous and condescending like never before.
Eh, maybe he should pull a couple of springs out of Pure Vanilla's bed? No, too simple. And honestly, he'd already done that once, and then, forgetting about it, plopped down on it himself and jumped right back up with a curse.
Experience, damn it, paid for with a bruised tailbone.
As much as he loved that bed... No, that's not right. As much as he loved Pure Vanilla's entire study for its simplicity, so strongly contrasting with the rest of the castle just radiating pretentiousness, he, out of the kindness of his heart, refrained from wiping it off the face of the earth. The study was practical and convenient enough for such a gift from Shadow Milk Cookie.
Although that didn't stop him from breaking it in small, unnoticeable parts. Hah. See that crack in the parquet over there? His handiwork. And that scratch on the windowsill? Also him.
Suddenly, the souljam on his chest trembled, flickering with a dull bluish light.
What does this stupid rock want? Startled, Shadow Milk almost dropped the little splinter he'd picked up on the balcony and was currently using to pick at the railing.
A familiar voice sounded in his head, ignoring the blueberry cookie's indignant huffs at being distracted from the important task of damaging public property.
"Master."
"What?" the Beast hissed under his breath, rolling his eyes skyward.
"Are you bored?"
Oho. That promised something interesting. His heart skipped a beat. Shadow Milk straightened up, tossing the splinter aside.
"Oh, how could the great cookie of deceit possibly be bored?" He leaned on the railing, propping his cheek on his hand and gazing into the distance at the clouds drifting by, more resembling cotton candy. "Well, yeah, maybe a little."
"I've been deep in thought and arrived at an idea worthy of your attention."
Shadow Milk didn't even raise an eyebrow, but his fingers gripped the railing tighter.
"How would you like to bring back the old days with the Truthless Recluse?"
The Beast clapped his hands together. The sound rang out sharply, startling a sugar bird from a nearby turret.
Just what he needed, damn it!
"I'm listening." The blueberry cookie's voice was deceptively calm, but inside, everything was already singing.
"We've lived side by side with you for so many years and accumulated wisdom incomprehensible to ordinary cookies. We can do what others cannot. And therefore, we know a way to bring Pure Vanilla back to our side."
"You're talking about that thing?" Shadow couldn't contain the growing anticipation. Warmth spread in his chest, as if he'd drunk mulled wine.
"Body swap."
Yes, damn it!
The great master of deceit jumped up on the spot. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. His eyes shone with a manic gleam.
Body swap — not as complicated a spell as it might seem at first glance. The essence was that at the moment when the victim least expected foul play, the souljam would direct its magic at them and subjugate the body, sealing the soul within the stone. A trivial task for the light of deceit and its unparalleled master.
"I understand you, stone!" Shadow Milk even patted the souljam. "Not in vain did I spend my time polishing your facets. When do we start executing the plan?"
"But there's one 'but'."
The smile faded from Shadow Milk's face. A pause hung in the air, filled only with the sound of the wind. What 'but'?
"You know the power of the souljam of truth's owner. A simple body swap won't work. We need to weaken him."
"I thought you were capable of something," metal rang in Shadow Milk's voice. "Ugh, useless trinket."
"Don't worry, Master, I know a way out. During the body swap, you need me to touch the light of truth"
"What? The hell for?" Shadow Milk's eyebrows shot up.
"Think about it. I'll be able to use the souljam of truth's magic against itself, weakening it and not giving it a chance to interfere with us. The magical shock caused by this will stun the souljam's owner..."
"And then I'll take the stage," Shadow Milk picked up, already seeing the whole picture. "Seal his consciousness in the stone of deceit, and subjugate his body to my will. We'll be able to cause chaos!"
"Yes, Master. We'll be able to cause chaos. Imagine: Pure Vanilla's body, obeying all your commands... You'll become invulnerable. Truth and Deceit will be fully under your control again."
"Not another word!" Shadow Milk raised his hand, stopping the flow of sweet talk. "We must do this. The hour of glory has arrived!"
The stone blinked contentedly in farewell and went dark, leaving behind only a faint warmth on his chest.
Oh yes. He couldn't wait for this.
Humming the catchy tune louder than before, Shadow Milk cookie began to think about how to execute the planned scheme. Hundreds of options swarmed in his head, each more cunning than the last.
Hmm, what useful thing could he do before Pure Vanilla returned?
Warm his pillow on both sides, of course.
Can you imagine the deviousness of that idea? The Ancient returns from the meeting, tired, about to lie down and rest, and then bam! The pillow is annoyingly warm, no matter which side you turn it to.
Ha ha ha!
He'll be furious! Or mildly perplexed. Which is also good. Shadow Milk rubbed his hands together contentedly and, with a springy step, returned to the study.
.....
The meeting wore on. Pure Vanilla was tired.
No, he didn't want to end it, after all, this event was very important for the residents of his kingdom. But taking a short break was still worthwhile. His head was buzzing with numbers, complaints, and suggestions. The sun had already passed its zenith, flooding the council hall with golden light that was starting to give the Ancient a headache.
Apologizing for the inconvenience caused and promising to return shortly, the Ancient left the hall. The castle corridors greeted him with coolness and silence. He walked slowly, leaning on his staff, savoring the air free from the smell of dozens of sweaty cookies.
"My king, excuse me," a breathless guard called out to him, completely frightened and agitated. "Shadow Milk Cookie is in your study! Should we take any action, Your Holiness?"
Pure Vanilla snorted softly. The corners of his lips twitched into a barely noticeable smile. Yes, Shadow Milk was being his usual self. This thought, for some reason, didn't cause irritation, only a light, almost warm annoyance.
"Leave him there," Pure Vanilla waved his hand tiredly.
The guard bowed and, exhaling with obvious relief, ran off, heels flashing.
Looking around and not seeing any other guards nearby, Pure Vanilla allowed himself a small weakness. He turned off the main corridor and slipped out onto the nearest castle balcony. He placed his staff against the wall, leaning it against the cool stone.
The wind here was gentle and warm, smelling of flowering sugar cane from the fields. The sun was pleasantly warm. Down below, in the inner courtyard, child cookies were frolicking, their bright laughter reaching all the way up. Pure Vanilla lowered his shoulders, allowing himself to simply exist in silence for a moment. Thoughts flowed slowly, like molasses: about treaties, about taxes, about Shadow Milk cookie, who was probably taking his study apart screw by screw right now. This thought made him smile openly. What a insufferable cookie he was...
Suddenly, the light of truth on his chest trembled, glowing with a soft blue light.
Pure Vanilla started in surprise, but immediately smiled, anticipating a simple conversation. He took the souljam from his chest — a heavy, smooth, cool stone — and began to examine it against the light. Inside, a blueness shimmered, deep as an ocean. "My King, I see your heart is at ease. I wouldn't dare disturb you."
"No, no, it's fine..." Pure Vanilla ran his finger along the smooth facet. "I'm just a bit worn out. It's been a long day. I'm always happy to chat with you."
"Oh, I understand. I would leave you in peace, but I dare to offer you an interesting idea."
The Ancient stared at the souljam with interest. It shimmered slightly brighter than usual.
"I heard that the former knowledge cookie has come to visit you."
Pure Vanilla imagined Shadow Milk cookie, with his favorite smug grin, probably already causing mischief in his study right now, calling his pranks great villainous deeds. He'd probably already knocked over the inkwell or hidden all the quills. He wondered if he was lying on his bed? The Beast had a habit of lounging on other people's beds, that was a proven fact. More than once. The main thing was to get angry about it like the first time, so that, having savored his power, Shadow Milk cookie would relax and become a little more honest.
"I know what could make your meeting even better. Bring the light of truth and deceit into contact."
"And why, my friend?" Pure Vanilla frowned, but more out of curiosity than suspicion.
"Your King, you know that when cookies possessing halves of the same souljam bring the halves of the stone into contact, the warmth of each other's emotions is transferred to the owners."
"Forgive me, but I wouldn't say my sworn enemy would appreciate that," Pure Vanilla shook his head, strands of hair falling across his face. "It might be... inappropriate," the King added with a slight note of sadness.
"Don't worry, I'm not so short-sighted and foolish as to not know that. But, Your Majesty, the light of truth and deceit are connected, and without each other, they have nowhere to go. A brief reunion will transfer my energy to the light of deceit, which might help the former knowledge cookie sort out his emotions."
"Yes, that's a worthy reason," Pure Vanilla mused thoughtfully.
He shifted in place, leaned against the wide balcony railing, brought the souljam closer to his lips, and continued in a barely audible whisper, feeling the tips of his ears redden:
"And would Shadow Milk Cookie be... happy about this?.."
A barely noticeable blush appeared on the King's cheeks, standing out against his pale skin.
"Would he be pleased? Absolutely," the souljam's voice sounded confident and soft. "It would do him good."
The Ancient nodded weakly, the souljam in his hand went dark, but he didn't hurry to reattach it to his cloak. He just held it in his palm, feeling it slowly warm from the heat of his hand.
Maybe he really should do as the light of truth said? It wasn't such a bad idea... Of course, the chance that Shadow Milk cookie would be very happy about this was extremely small, but Pure Vanilla... Pure Vanilla would be happy about that touch. A sweet, foolish thought lodged itself in the King's mind.
With that thought, he dusted off his immaculate cloak, picked up his staff, and, taking a deep breath, headed back to the meeting hall. He needed to finish his business so he could return to his study sooner. To the uninvited, yet so familiar, guest.
.....
Pure Vanilla's study greeted Shadow Milk with its usual coziness. Lounging on the enemy's bed was a separate art form, and Shadow Milk Cookie had perfected it. Sprawled out on the cool sheets, he crossed his legs and began studying all the imperfections on the ceiling. Thoughts lazily drifted from one to another.
During his and Pure Vanilla's separation in villainous pursuits, he'd already forgotten the beauty of this cookie in his cold calculation. Shadow Milk snorted at his own thoughts. Soon he'd remember it in full. Oh, he'd experience it in great detail.
Finally, the door creaked.
"Ha, I've been waiting forever for you, Silly Vanilly," Shadow Milk purred without changing his position or even turning his head. He deliberately drawled his words, giving them a lazy playfulness.
Pure Vanilla silently entered his study. He looked tired, but at the sight of the Beast sprawled on his bed, something warm flickered in his eyes. He sat down at his desk, picked up a quill, trying not to look toward the bed.
Shadow Milk cookie, meanwhile, stretched his spine like a contented cat, spreading out on the bed even more. But despite his grin overflowing with smugness, lying in the bed, the former knowledge cookie looked somehow comfortably at home. A little blue spot on the light-colored blanket.
The Ancient frowned slightly, attempting to concentrate on important papers. The quill scratched across the parchment, scribbling out loops.
"Oh, what a serious face you're making," Shadow Milk drawled, lazily turning on his side and propping his head on his hand. "Too bad there's nothing but breadcrumbs inside it."
"I didn't know the great knowledge cookie possessed knowledge in that area too," Pure Vanilla dipped his quill into the inkwell.
"Truth cookies couldn't possibly understand things like that."
"It seems explaining everything you don't understand is your area of responsibility."
"Yes," Shadow Milk snorted. " It was, back when you were still in short pants." "I hope the bed is comfortable enough for you," Pure Vanilla interrupted him, hastily changing the subject.
Shadow Milk giggled, squinting contentedly. One point for Shadow Milk Cookie. He even mentally noted it in his triumph notebook.
"Yes, quite," the Beast hugged the pillow, burying his nose in it. It smelled of Vanilla. That same vanilla and dried herbs. Comforting, damn it.
"It would be even better if you and your souljam were right in my hands right now?" — flashed through his mind.
Ugh, too direct. Too obvious. He needed to be subtler.
With enormous effort, literally forcing himself to tear away from the pleasant pillow, Shadow Milk got up from the bed. He tried to hide the fact that getting up from that warm spot was morally difficult. With a light, almost bouncing gait, he approached the other's desk. He stopped, giving Pure Vanilla time to register his proximity. Then, coquettishly leaning on the desktop, arching his lower back, he pushed aside the papers the Ancient was trying to read with his finger. The other froze.
The Beast slowly looked Pure Vanilla up and down, from his fingertips to the top of his head. He stopped at his face, at his half-lowered eyes.
"That outfit you're wearing... Not bad," he drawled, and his gaze slid lower, to the souljam on his chest. His eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a predatory interest. "My type." He lightly swung his foot, tracing a circle in the air with his pointed shoe toe.
"Really?" Pure Vanilla asked so sincerely, with such genuine hope in his voice, that the smile momentarily faded from Shadow Milk's face.
Pure Vanilla sat there, face tilted up toward him, mouth slightly open, and looked ridiculously trusting and... Cute. Disgusting.
Holy witches, how was he supposed to get through to such a thick-headed "king"? This called for heavy artillery, not delicate work.
Swallowing a heavy sigh, the Beast sat down on the other's desk without asking, right on top of some important documents. The crackle of parchment was his reward. Now he sat, swinging his leg, looking down at Pure Vanilla cookie. He liked this.
"Really..." Shadow whispered conspiratorially, breathlessly, running his finger along the other's shoulder. The cloak fabric was pleasant to the touch, expensive. His fingers slid higher, toward his neck, stroking the edge of the collar. Shadow Milk's playful fingers were almost at their goal, at the souljam, he could already feel it through the fabric...
Pure Vanilla froze, afraid to move. His breathing became uneven. Just a little more...
BAM!
The inkwell, which Shadow Milk had accidentally knocked with his fidgeting leg, tipped over with a loud thud, and its contents spilled all over his pants. Dark, cold, sticky liquid instantly soaked the fabric of his beloved trousers, spread across the desk, flooding the kingdom map and several decrees that looked very important, judging by the seals.
No. This wouldn't do. Next time, he would pound that wretched inkwell into flour. And scatter its ashes from the highest bell tower!
"FUCK" Shadow Milk hissed through his teeth, staring at the stain spreading across the fabric. These were his favorite pants. He'd committed a hundred thousand great villainous deeds in these!
"Should I call a servant?" Pure Vanilla cookie offered timidly, reaching for the bell on the desk.
Shadow Milk had already opened his mouth to curse out Pure Vanilla (reluctantly), his inkwell, his ancestors, and all his servants to the seventh generation, when an excellent idea came to him.
"Nothing can soothe my grief," he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, striking a tragic pose. His voice trembled with feigned suffering. "These were my favorite pants! They've been with me through so many pranks, they witnessed my greatest triumphs! And now!.." He theatrically leaned back, almost falling off the desk, but caught himself. With one eye, he subtly watched Pure Vanilla's reaction. "Now they're in ink! This is a catastrophe! Ruin!"
Hearing this, the Ancient looked so guilty that even his staff nearby seemed to curve its enormous eye in sorrow. Disgusting.
The King's shoulders drooped. How easy it was to manipulate this righteous fool.
"But there is something that could ease my suffering..." Shadow Milk whispered, slowly leaning closer to his companion. Centimeters separated their faces. He reached out and weightlessly stroked Pure Vanilla's souljam with his finger. The stone was warm and smooth. A slight shiver ran through Pure Vanilla's body, goosebumps spreading across his neck. "Could you lend me..."
Before Shadow Milk could finish, the Ancient, without asking any questions, unclasped his souljam from his cloak and placed the heavy, blue-shimmering stone directly into the Beast's outstretched palm.
What. Just... Like that?
"Silly Vanilly, have you gotten sick or something?" Shadow Milk was taken aback. He twirled the important magical artifact in his hand as if it were some unclaimed trinket from a flea market. The stone was beautiful: deep blue color, perfect cut, light seemed to ripple inside. Very similar to his own souljam. Twin brother, damn it.
"No, I'm in perfect health," Pure Vanilla replied quietly. The staff's eye never strayed from Shadow Milk cookie's fingers gripping his stone.
"But... You're not afraid I'll do something...?" Shadow Milk didn't finish. He squeezed the stone harder in his hand, testing boundaries.
Pure Vanilla flinched with his whole body, as if Shadow Milk cookie had squeezed him, not the stone. And at that same moment, in Shadow Milk's chest, his own souljam responded with a pleasant, warm tremor. The light of truth and deceit resonated. The sensation was... Oh, damn... Quite pleasant. Like drinking something warm and relaxing, with a light playful note.
Perhaps, if Shadow Milk didn't have the goal of subjugating the souljam's owner — all his power, and then the whole world — he might have even continued touching the other's souljam. Just because. Not wanting to, without a drop of interest. Out of spite, of course. Just to feel that stupid warmth one more time.
And if he brought them together... Oh, it seemed the Beast had never in his life wanted so badly to subjugate another cookie.
"No," Pure Vanilla said quietly but firmly. "You won't."
Shadow Milk burst into laughter — ringing, slightly hysterical.
"Me? Won't do anything? Silly Vanilly, you're too trusting. That's your main problem."
With these words, driven by a sudden impulse and the desire to prove his superiority, Shadow Milk climbed onto the desk with his feet, getting on all fours right in front of the stunned king. Ink squelched unpleasantly under his knees. He'd already thought up a new prank, a sarcastic phrase he'd whisper right into Pure Vanilla's ear before their stones touched and...
SLAP!
His foot slipped on the ink-soaked desk. Shadow Milk lost his balance. The world flipped. He flew straight toward Pure Vanilla, instinctively pressing his hand to his chest, where the light of truth was clutched.
A loud, clear click rang out, like crystal striking crystal.
Two stones collided.
A bright, blinding flash of light illuminated the room. Pain shot through his entire body, twisting every cell inside out. And then came silence. And darkness.
Fuuuuck. Seriously? Was such a momentous occasion — Pure Vanilla's return to the dark side — going to find him covered in ink? Just his luck. Though, the main thing was the result.
What did that stupid stone say? Pure Vanilla, who would obey his commands? Oh, yes. The world would shudder.
Shadow Milk flung open his eyes, anticipating soon seeing before him an evil, submissive Pure Vanilla, together with whom they could wreak havoc... But, wait.
Why was Pure Vanilla's souljam in front of him?
No, rather, why was it so close? Why could he see it as if through thick, murky glass?
Wait.
No.
Don't tell him that...
A huge, simply gigantic hand wrapped around Shadow. Fingers closed around him, warm and achingly familiar. After a soft click, he found himself squeezed in that very hand. In his own hand. His hand.
His hand, which no longer obeyed him, raised Shadow Milk to eye level. He saw his own face. His own eyes, his cheekbones, his (perfect) nose. But the expression... It wasn't his expression. The face was someone else's. It was filled with sorrow, some kind of puppy-like devotion, and a faint semblance of shame that clashed completely with his features.
"You fucking beer-coaster piece of—!" Shadow Milk screamed at the top of his lungs, but no sound came out. His words, instead of turning into sound, flowed in a magical stream directly into his own head. The head that now belonged to this... This traitor!
"Forgive me, Master..." the Not-Shadow Milk bleated with his own voice. The eyebrows on his face curved even more sorrowfully.
A second later, before Shadow Milk could unleash another tirade of curses, the Light of Deceit, inhabiting his body, leaned down and... Kissed Shadow Milk.
A soft, moist touch of lips to the cold facet sent such a wave of rage mixed with disgust through Shadow that his non-material soul shook quite materially.
That's it. He refused to participate in this fucking circus. He needed to get out of here. Immediately.
Shadow Milk concentrated, gathered all his will, and directed a stream of magic toward Pure Vanilla. He should be behind him and weakened after the magical explosion.
Ugh, he certainly didn't want to occupy his enemy's body, but it was necessary. He needed to regain control, to kick the Light of Deceit properly. And yes, he wouldn't spare his own body to punish him properly.
But then his magical stream was blocked. The magic hit an invisible wall and scattered into sparks.
No, this wall wasn't the Light of Deceit's doing. He'd always recognize his own magic, this wasn't it.
It was the Ancient.
What?
"Quiet," Pure Vanilla's stern, steely voice struck his consciousness.
A moment later, Pure Vanilla's hand — large, warm, with long fingers — plucked Shadow Milk from the Light of Deceit's grasp.
The blueberry cookie saw Pure Vanilla's face. It was twisted with anger. The usually calm, serene face of the king now resembled a storm cloud. Brows drawn together, murky eyes flashing lightning, lips pressed into a thin line. This wasn't the soft Pure Vanilla he was used to provoking.
No... No. No!
Pure Vanilla's hand arced through the air and covered Shadow Milk, blocking his ability to emit magic. A seal.
This was the light of truth.
Then inside the Ancient's souljam right now was... The Ancient himself.
Things were getting heated.
Shadow Milk was about to curse out Pure Vanilla trapped in his own souljam and ask what kind of crap they'd all decided to pull, when suddenly the Beast listened to his sensations. Pure Vanilla's magic in the stone trembled weakly, pulsed unevenly, fearfully.
His magic was also blocked.
The king didn't know about the conspiracy.
THE KING DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THE CONSPIRACY EITHER.
The realization hit Shadow Milk like ice water.
They were fucked.
Yep.
They were absolutely fucked. A huge, colossal, absolutely gigantic mess for both of them.
Were the souljams really rebelling against their owners?
Fuck.
This was bad. This was really, really bad, for fuck's sake! Had they teamed up? When? How long had this plan been brewing right under his nose, while he, the great master of deceit, was busy polishing a souljam's facets and chatting with a rock like it was his best friend?
Suddenly, he and Pure Vanilla were carelessly tossed onto a nearby pedestal, like some cheap souvenir from a fair. Their facets clinked together and they lay there side-by-side, two prisoners inside their own jewels, completely helpless.
Light of Truth, inside Pure Vanilla's body, gently took the hand of Light of Deceit, inside Shadow Milk's body. He traced a finger across his palm, then with a magical flick, wiped away the last traces of ink. Light of Deceit examined "his" hand with satisfaction, flexing and curling his fingers. Light of Truth, with a smile that made Shadow Milk's insides do a backflip, tucked a stray strand of Light of Deceit's hair behind his ear, then cupped his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone.
As weird as it was to see himself from the outside, right now, Shadow Milk could only think about what those little shits were planning.
The most likely and most terrifying option? A merger. If they were on the same side, they could combine the magic of Shadow Milk's body and Pure Vanilla's, and that would be a terrifying weapon, practically unstoppable. They could do anything. Absolutely anything, with very few exceptions.
No, he had to stop them somehow! Think, think, think! Shadow Milk frantically ran through options, but his stone prison clamped down on his thoughts like a vise.
As if on purpose, Light of Truth leaned in, closing the distance between Pure Vanilla's body and Shadow Milk's. His hand found Light of Deceit's waist, pulling him closer.
He was too late. They were about to put their plan into action and—
They kissed.
Shadow Milk couldn't believe his eyes (or whatever he had in place of them right now).
No, he wasn't drunk, asleep, or delirious. Right now, Light of Truth and Light of Deceit, inside their owners' bodies, were kissing. Slowly, deeply, with every ounce of filthy passion they had.
Something in his mind shattered into a million tiny, irreparable pieces. His entire worldview cracked.
At that exact moment, a piercing, horrified scream echoed in Shadow Milk's mind. It was Pure Vanilla. Pure Vanilla, wasting his last bit of magic on a scream. The scream lodged itself in both their heads, throbbing with pain.
And Shadow Milk couldn't scream. He just watched as his own tongue explored Pure Vanilla's mouth, as his own hands caressed the Ancient hero's back, as his own body pressed against his sworn enemy's.
Light of Truth deepened the kiss, threading a hand through Shadow Milk's hair. Light of Deceit arched into him, letting out a soft moan. It was greedy, sweet, depraved. They kissed like they'd been waiting for this moment their entire goddamn lives. Their tongues tangled in a dance that set Shadow Milk's insides on fire.
He saw Light of Truth's hand slide lower, slipping under the fabric of his own shirt. He saw fingers grip his own skin. He saw Light of Deceit tilt his head back, baring his neck for kisses.
And then Light of Truth, without breaking the kiss, started unbuckling his pants. His, Shadow Milk's, pants, on his, Shadow Milk's, body.
That was it.
Cognitive dissonance: maximum level.
.....
And so, here we are. Pure Vanilla's making dying-gurgle noises next to him. And Shadow Milk? What about Shadow Milk?
Shadow Milk wanted to cry, but he didn't have eyes for it. All his pride was destroyed, shattered, torn to shreds, and thrown into the dumpster of history.
When they first swapped bodies, Shadow Milk prayed to every single deity he could think of that his souljem — regardless of how the stone perceived itself, whatever identity it felt it had — would be the one on top. His heart ached with the constant hope, because his dying pride, in front of his sworn enemy, hinged entirely on that.
Their soul gems want to fuck anything that moves? Well, bon voyage and bring condoms. He could live with that. If his stone was the one ravaging his enemy's body right in front of him, he might even be proud. Tell his souljam, "Attaboy, that's how you deal with those self-righteous assholes."
But when that bitch—and there was no other word for Light of Deceit—when that bitch's fingers started wandering where they shouldn't have, everything inside him just... broke.
The memory of that horrific moment flashed through Shadow Milk's mind.
Nooo. Oh noooooo. Please. Somebody. For the love of all that is holy, please no.
Nooooooooooooo!...
Even thinking about it hurt.
At this point, they were going at it in ways Shadow Milk couldn't have even imagined. He couldn't wrap his head around the idea that Pure Vanilla's body had that kind of potential. Yeah, he wasn't blind (unlike some), and he could see Pure Vanilla was in his prime. But imagining the calm, perpetually relaxed Ancient... as a total animal in bed? A fucking stud? His brain just couldn't compute. Pure Vanilla always seemed so... asexual. Almost genderless.
And by the time he didn't have to imagine it anymore, his brain just short-circuited. Thoughts stopped processing.
The slapping sounds continued.
From the dying noises Vanilla was making inside that soul gem, any bystander would conclude that he was the one getting thoroughly fucked in that room. His soul, his body, his very perception of reality — all of it.
Shadow Milk almost felt bad that Pure Vanilla was missing the chance to really rub it in. Not that he'd survive if he did, but if Shadow Milk were in his place, he'd be firing off the most scathing one-liners. "Enjoying having your stone use my body?" Or: "Careful, Pure Vanilla, my back might be strong, but even it has limits, and your fantasies apparently don't."
Ah, what a wasted opportunity.
Could souljams even sleep? Shadow Milk wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Just slip into a sweet, stony coma for a thousand years.
And it was like the creator of the world himself finally took pity on the pathetic knowledge cookie. Something, flying across the room, landed right on Shadow Milk, partially blocking his view of the mess on the bed.
Sounded like Pure Vanilla had moved on to openly sobbing.
It was a condom. A used condom.
For the first time in his entire long, long life, Shadow Milk wanted to hang himself with a condom. Just go out with a smile on his face.
The moans of pleasure kept coming, a relentless fountain. And they went on for a long time. A really long time. The hours stretched on like rubber. It felt like an eternity passed before the room finally filled with heavy breathing and, at last, silence.
.....
His whole body ached. It was completely wrecked. Every cell, every muscle throbbed like it had been steamrolled, then put through a meat grinder, and then haphazardly reassembled by a blind, drunk guy with no instructions.
No. Please, tell me this is a dream. Please.
Hope died when a soft, carefree snore filled the air. It was the Ancient. Pure Vanilla, in his own body, was snoring right into the back of his neck.
Shadow Milk lay there, feeling Pure Vanilla's heavy arm wrapped around his waist. Their legs were tangled together like spaghetti in a pot.
The thought made him want to howl.
With immense effort, fighting the pain throughout his body, he shoved the Ancient's arm off.
He sat up. Got out of bed. Took a couple of barefoot steps on the cold floor. And then sat back down on the bed, covering himself with the one single blanket that had miraculously survived.
He surveyed the king's study.
It was trashed. A complete disaster zone. Clothes and things were scattered in the most unexpected places. Pure Vanilla's gold-embroidered cloak was carelessly tossed over the windowsill, hanging off it like a funeral banner. The royal staff stood in the corner, but in the perfect spot for watching the bed—a total cuckold, for fuck's sake. His pants, his favorite pants, were under the desk. The stockings he loved to wear even under his pants were torn and dangling from the bookshelf like Christmas tinsel. One boot was on the table, the other under the bed. Crumbled papers with important decrees littered the floor like autumn leaves.
The only spot of calm in the room was the pedestal where his and Pure Vanilla's souljams lay peacefully. Light of Truth was on the nightstand, glinting contentedly, looking completely satisfied. He was "snoring peacefully," and his whole being radiated it. Shadow Milk was sure that if the little bastard had hands, he'd be rubbing them together with glee. Fucking asshole.
His soul screamed for revenge. Bloody, brutal, creative revenge. But not on Pure Vanilla. Pure Vanilla was just as much a victim as he was. Revenge was for the one who started this whole shit-show. Even Light of Deceit, in his mind, didn't deserve as harsh a punishment as Light of Truth.
Shadow Milk replayed the previous events in his head, and the picture formed into an ugly mosaic.
The Truth gem must have suggested something to Pure Vanilla, that's why he'd shoved his souljam at him so suddenly. And his own gem had started that whole "body swap" conversation, tricking them both into screwing themselves over with their own hands.
They'd planned the whole thing. Colluded, the bastards, and pulled the wool over the eyes of the master of deceit.
Him. They'd deceived the master of deceit. Left him looking like a fool. The cookie who had always, up until now, been the one fooling others. The irony was so brutal he wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Until he cried. And slit his wrists. And drink a Coke. All at the same time.
God, who hadn't he slept with in his life? He'd done things that everyone involved had agreed to never speak of again. So the act itself? Not surprising. Even the fact that it was Pure Vanilla? He could probably make peace with that. But the fact that this whole... encounter happened with his sworn enemy, while said enemy watched? That was just soul-crushing. A hit right where it hurt most.
His throat was dry. His mouth tasted like vanilla. Not just a hint—it filled his whole mouth, coated his tongue, seeped into his teeth, clung to his palate. Vanilla.
Sweet, cloying, sickening vanilla.
Shadow Milk winced, smacking his lips. Vanilla. Everywhere.
Pure Vanilla stirred beside him. The sheets rustled. He was quietly fumbling around, coming to.
Oh. He was awake.
As soon as the king was fully conscious, he shot up, looking around wildly. He saw the master of deceit sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a blanket. Pure Vanilla's eyes flew wide open in instinctive horror. He pressed himself against the wall in fright and literally started crawling on his knees toward the door, trying to squeeze past Shadow Milk.
Shadow Milk slowly, like in slow motion, turned his head toward the Ancient and scanned the king's body from top to bottom. The picture was surreal.
Pure Vanilla's hair, usually perfectly styled, now looked like a bird's nest. His neck was covered in hickeys. Bright lipstick marks, clearly his handiwork. Long nail scratches on his shoulders. *His* nail scratches.
The blueberry cookie's gaze lingered on Pure Vanilla's dick. It looked tired. No wonder; it had been in more places than you could count.
"Nice dick..." Shadow Milk's voice was hoarse, rough from the long silence. Pure Vanilla froze, shrinking into himself. "I'll shove it so far up your ass you'll taste it if you ever bring this up again. I'm, fuck, not joking."
The Ancient stared at him with eyes full of horror and shame. His face was blotchy red. He frantically grabbed the edge of the blanket hanging off the bed, trying to cover himself. Shadow Milk was sitting at the other end, and the blanket pulled taut, exposing him.
Shadow Milk looked away, still holding the blanket in a death grip. Pure Vanilla, covering himself with the same blanket, nodded fearfully. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, it was clear he wouldn't utter a single fucking word about this. Ever.
For the first time, Shadow Milk was grateful for another cookie's reticence and silence.
Pure Vanilla hurried to leave. Crawling to the edge of the bed on his knees, he tried to stand up sharply and bolt for the exit. But Shadow Milk didn't give up the blanket. Not an inch.
Unable to pull the fabric from Shadow Milk's grasp, Pure Vanilla lost his balance and fell flat on his face with a dull thud, sprawled out on the cold floor. His bare buttocks gleamed pathetically in the morning twilight.
Shadow Milk didn't even turn his head. He just yanked the blanket away completely and wrapped himself in it, head and all, turning into a cocoon.
Pure Vanilla scrambled around the room like a wounded rabbit. Hopping on one foot, trying to pull on torn pants, grabbing random clothes and throwing them away, bumping into furniture, cursing, knocking over piles of paper.
Shadow Milk kept staring at a fixed point in front of him.
Finally, having pulled on something, anything, Pure Vanilla lunged for the door. The handle clicked, the door swung open, and he shot out into the hallway. Slam.
Silence. A second. Two.
The door flew open again.
Pure Vanilla burst back into the room, red as a beet. He'd forgotten his staff.
And without it, he was blind as a bat.
In one leap, worthy of a professional athlete, he jumped to the corner where the staff stood and grabbed it with both hands.
He looked around. His gaze darted across the room and stopped at the nightstand. The Ancient turned red, blue, and white in record time. He'd spotted the used condom, still lying on Shadow Milk's souljam.
In an instant, he was at the nightstand. He grabbed the condom by the tip and hurled it at the wall.
Right at the painting. That one painting.
The contents splattered disgustingly across the painting of Pure Vanilla himself, leaving a slimy, cloudy streak across the canvas, "cutting" the king's face diagonally from mouth to forehead, smearing one eye. The king in the portrait now looked like he was crying.
Pure Vanilla didn't think about how he'd look the servants in the eye when they came to clean this room. He snatched his souljam from the nightstand and ran out of the room, this time for good.
Shadow Milk, lacking the strength to sit up, fell back onto the bed and, with all his might, banged the back of his head against the wall, seeing stars. His vision blurred, went dark, then bright again.
And thump.
Something landed on his face. Something blood-red.
He filled his lungs with air, ready to unleash a torrent of profanity that would crack the very walls. He grabbed the thing off his face and looked at it.
Every word vanished in an instant. Dissolved. Evaporated.
It was a thong. Red, lacy, with a tiny little bow on the front. His own thong. The one he'd put on this morning, feeling absolutely irresistible.
Clutching it in his fist, completely drained of all strength, Shadow Milk let his hand fall to his chest, holding it.
He had no words left.
There was only a desperate, sincere, and utterly ruthless:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK...
.....
Pure Vanilla tore through his castle, and this wasn't just running, this was a survival sprint. He weaved through corridors, terrifying the servants. A cookie with a tray, seeing the half-naked king with a manic look, dropped it, shattering the entire tea set. Pure Vanilla leaped over the shards without even apologizing.
The guards at the north wing watched him go by with stunned looks and crossed themselves in unison. Looked like there'd be new rumors in the castle.
Lots of new rumors.
Finding himself in a different wing of the castle, as far from his study as possible, he burst onto a balcony and collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. The cold stone cooled his overheated skin.
He squeezed the souljam in his hand so hard his knuckles went white, the gem's facets digging into his palm. Inside the stone, a blue light shimmered, so calm and peaceful it was infuriating.
"Wake up, bitch," Pure Vanilla spat through gritted teeth. His voice trembled with rage and humiliation. "I know you're not asleep."
The souljam reluctantly flickered, glowing with a dim light.
"What did you do?" Pure Vanilla squeezed the stone even tighter, until his fingers hurt.
"Did exactly what I said I would," the gem's voice sounded tired, but satisfied.
"What?!"
"Well, he was happy, wasn't he?" a hint of a smirk colored the gem's voice. "I didn't lie to you. A little reunion did him good. And judging by the moans, he couldn't have been happier."
The word "happier" was cut off by the deafening crack of the precious stone hitting the marble floor. The sound split the morning silence. The souljam bounced off the floor and, arcing through the air, flew over the balcony railing.
Pure Vanilla froze, listening. His heart hammered in his throat.
Plop.
A terrified, high-pitched female scream followed, full of horror.
Pure Vanilla leaned over the railing and looked down into the inner courtyard.
There, after splashing around in a bucket of buttermilk, Light of Truth slowly sank to the bottom. The poor, terrified maid, standing waist-deep in the milk, peeled open her soiled eyes, couldn't take it anymore, and dropped the bucket from her hands.
Buttermilk spread across the pavement in a white puddle. Light of Truth, carried by the milky stream, floated over the stones like a tiny, gleaming ship, and slowly disappeared under a nearby bush.
The maid, realizing she'd just dumped a bucket containing a royal treasure, froze, mouth agape. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she quietly crumpled to the ground unconscious, right in the puddle of buttermilk.
Pure Vanilla watched this scene and felt something inside him finally settle. A blissful, all-consuming emptiness washed over him. He thinks he just achieved Zen. Or lost his mind. Which, in this situation, was pretty much the same thing.