Fantasy Anthroterra (1:1, closed, scantilycladsnail & ThieviusRaccoonus)

[scantilycladsnail]

The world blinked.

Not a sound. Not a warning.

Just—

Nothing.

For a breath, everything held still. The fire in the hearth flickered, but cast no light. Ephraim’s hand held Mordecai’s, but the warmth dulled. Muted.

Then—

kkRRRSHHHk—

A sound, if it was a sound, tore across the silence.

Like film unraveling. Like memory snapping backward. A sharp, mechanical rewind, ripping through the edges of reality itself.

The walls shuddered.

The light buckled.

Mordecai’s eyes went black.

Not unconscious.

Present.

But voided.

His breath caught in his throat—no pain, no collapse, just the violent absence of seeing. And then—

VMMMMMM—

A deep, bass-pitched vibration ripped through like a tuning fork struck against bone. Low. Endless. The kind of sound you don’t hear with your ears, but feel with your ribs, your spine, your teeth.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

There was no warning.

No build-up. No pain.

Just nothing.

Blackness swallowed everything—sight, sound, heat. The world was gone, and Mordecai was still in it.

He flailed instinctively, breath catching in his throat. His arms moved like a man drowning, trying to feel his way back to something solid—anything.

“What the—” he gasped, the words cracking mid-breath.

But the sound didn’t echo.

Didn’t go anywhere.

The dark didn’t move.

His heart slammed against his ribs, wild and caged.

He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t tell if he was even still breathing.

"Wrath??" He gasped out, questioning. Panicked.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Something stirred.

Not sound. Not light. Just... presence.

And underneath it all—low, ceaseless, gut-rattling— the bass still played.

Not music. Not rhythm. Just a deep, vibrating hum that pulsed through bone, through blood, through the very thread of existence.

Not in fear—but in response. Full-body tremors, muscles convulsing like his own frame was rejecting the frequency. Every breath fought to stay steady. Every heartbeat tried not to sync with the low, monstrous hum echoing through the dark.

Then— A flicker. A shape.

Not formed by light, but by the absence of it—outlined only by contrast. A figure standing some distance ahead. Or was it closer?

Tall. Still. Cloaked in heat that didn’t burn.

Mordecai knew him.

Not by name, not by face—because Wrath had no need for such things. He knew him by weight.

The space trembled—not from presence, but from disorientation. The whole plane quivered with a wrongness even Wrath seemed to feel.

And Wrath turned.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Perception roll

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Wrath and Mordecai are confused, say hello!

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai staggered slightly, breath ragged, still disoriented.

He turned—but Wrath was already there.

The skeletal goat skull loomed beside him, draped in rippling shadow, red pupils burning like coals in a storm.

Mordecai blinked up at him, still catching up.

“Um…” he rasped. “Why am I here?”

Wrath stared at him for a beat, then rumbled low, voice like thunder echoing through stone.

“I don’t know! Why the hell are you here?”

Mordecai scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Fantastic. You’re clueless too.”

Wrath flared—literally. Shadow peeled back into fire, his form flickering with rising fury.

“LISTEN HERE—”

But he didn’t finish.

Both of them felt it at once.

The figure.

It wasn’t approaching. It wasn’t moving. But it was present. That same flicker in the void—outlined not by light, but absence.

Mordecai’s brows drew in, instinctively stepping half in front of Wrath, his hand twitching like it might reach for a blade that didn’t exist here.

“Who—?”

But Wrath stepped forward instead, all fire and violence.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The bass began to fade.

Not all at once.

Slowly. Methodically.

Like a great beast exhaling after a long, deep growl—its voice retreating into its chest, but never quite silenced. The hum lingered beneath the surface, like something remembering how to be still.

But the darkness?

It stayed.

Thick. Unyielding.

Only now—fractured.

From the black, something formed.

Not with fanfare. Not with thunder.

Just there.

A single marble column rose from the void—silent, perfect, wrong.

Its surface gleamed, impossibly clean, as though it had never known dust, decay, or the world.

At its peak, balanced in perfect stillness—

An apple.

Red. Untouched. Shining with a light that did not exist.

No roots. No tree.

Just the fruit. Alone. Waiting.

The air shifted.

Not with wind. With attention.

The void itself seemed to notice.

And though there was no voice, no movement—

The invitation was clear.

Touch it.

Take it.

Choose.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath halted.

Both stared at the apple—perched on its pristine marble column like it had always been there.

Slowly, cautiously, they stepped forward. Their movements mirrored, hesitant. Eyes flicked to each other. A silent question neither wanted to answer.

“…This doesn’t feel right,” Mordecai muttered, suspicion low in his voice.

Wrath glared at the fruit, nostrils flaring. “This feels like a joke.”

Silence.

Thick. Awkward.

“So we don’t know why we’re here,” Mordecai said flatly.

“Correct,” Wrath grumbled.

“And now there’s a suspicious apple on a suspicious pillar.”

“…Correct again.”

More silence.

Then—

Wrath exploded.

“DOES THIS APPLE DARE MOCK ME?! TO THINK IT CAN SUMMON ME LIKE SOME LEASHED DOG?!”

His voice shattered the void as flames curled along the edges of his shadowy form. “I’LL BURN THIS DAMN APPLE TO CINDERS!”

Mordecai lurched forward, grabbing Wrath by the curved bones of his skull. “WRATH, NO—!”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO—!”

They tangled—fur and bone and frustration—wrestling in the dead air like exhausted roommates in a divine fever dream.

Mordecai shoved him off with a growl. Wrath staggered, then snapped upright.

“OH. IT’S LIKE THAT, HUH?!”

His form shifted.

In seconds, Wrath stood towering, massive, reborn in his old Soulvow form—an immense black wolf-like beast with that iconic skeletal goat skull, his entire presence pulsing with violent intent.

Mordecai didn’t flinch.

“Don’t.”

But Wrath barreled into him anyway, horned skull crashing against Mordecai’s chest.

“THAT APPLE IS A MOCKERY!” Wrath roared. “IT DESERVES OBLIVION!”

Mordecai braced, arms out, hands straining against the beast’s maw, trying to keep him from devouring the damn thing.

“WOULD YOU JUST—HOLD—FOR ONE DAMN SECOND?!”

He wrestled Wrath’s face like someone trying to stop a rabid dog from eating garbage.

Finally, Wrath huffed and relented, backing off with a furious flick of his tail. He plopped down like a sulking volcano.

“FINE,” he growled. “So what do you suggest?”

Mordecai stood there, catching his breath, cloak rumpled, patience obliterated. He looked at the apple, jaw tight, then slowly scanned the void around them.

“…What if it’s a trap?” he muttered. “Poise. Or Harwin.”

His fist clenched.

Eyes narrowed.

“Reveal yourself,” he called into the silence.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The apple gave no sound—no fanfare, no hiss of magic or whirr of machinery. Just a subtle, impossible motion.

A button.

Green. Circular. Small.

It rose from the top of the apple like it had always been there, like reality had simply forgotten to render it until now.

No label. No glyphs. No glow.

Just a smooth, unblinking dot.

It pulsed once.

Softly.

Like a heartbeat.

Like an invitation.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Wrath crept up to the apple, sniffing at it suspiciously. His head tilted when the green button pulsed again.

He growled. “Oh, this is ridiculous.”

Mordecai’s eyes stayed locked on the thing. His voice was low, unsettled.

“Wrath… can you get us out of here?”

Wrath looked over, tail flicking as if the idea had only just occurred to him. “Uh... maybe? I dunno.” He took a few steps back, then glanced sideways. “Can you?”

Mordecai scoffed. “You’re the one made of shadow and void."

He looked upward into the nothing.

“Ephraim!” he shouted, sharp and clear, calling out to her.

Silence.

He waited, then looked back at Wrath with a dry shrug.

Wrath huffed—a low, scoffing wolf-whine as his tail lashed behind him.

“Yeah, yeah. Always calling on her. Lover boy can’t do a thing unless she’s holding his hand.”

Mordecai shot him a glare. “You’re one to talk. You wouldn't destroy a chronosphere over Mercy. That's literally why we're in this whole war.”

Wrath’s skeletal head snapped toward him, stepping in close. "Yeah yeah and now I see how Ephraim handles you now that she's Vengeance! Ain't so dominant now-"

“WRATH. Mordecai’s tone dropped like stone—cutting, dangerous.

Wrath halted.

Rolled his burning red pupils in their hollow sockets and gave a sassy flick of his tail. “Touchy.”

Then he turned, huffing, and stilled his frame. His body shifted—lowered—as though he was listening to the void itself. Trying to sense something. Pull something. Could they get out?

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Wrath tries to investigate if he has any control here or recognizes any signs of familiarity. Nothing. Right now the best option is standing to be the apple.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Wrath stood still, ears twitching, body tense.

Nothing.

No flicker. No pull. No familiar thread of control.

Mordecai crossed his arms, one brow lifting. “Well?”

Wrath said nothing.

“Nothing?” Mordecai repeated.

A long pause.

“Great. You got us nothing.”

“SHUT UP!” Wrath snapped, voice booming as he lunged forward. His wolfish form snarled, muzzle inches from Mordecai’s face. “I TRIED! DON’T YOU START WITH ME, YOU DUSTY LITTLE SKELETON COAT RACK—!”

Mordecai rolled his eyes. “Lovely. Let’s waste more time screaming at fruit.”

He turned back toward the column, Wrath grumbling behind him as he followed.

They stood before the apple once more.

Still pulsing.

Still waiting.

They exchanged a look—longer this time. Quiet. Heavy. One last glance into the void around them.

No exit. No answer.

Just this.

Mordecai exhaled, shoulders tight. Then—resigned—he reached forward.

“I hate this,” he muttered, and pressed the button.

At the exact same moment, Wrath lunged up beside him, slamming both front paws onto the apple.

Click.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Click.

The sound rang sharp—final—like a pin dropped into a still ocean.

Then—

crkkk—pop—shffff—

The apple began to hum.

Not a tone. Not a voice.

A broadcast.

---

Ohhh-ho-ho!
What do we have here, ladies and gents, dames and devils, sinners and saints?
A double feature? A duet? A delicious disaster in the making?


Tonight's stars—drumroll, please!—
The Ghost Who Burns and the Blade Who Broods!
Yes, yes, yes! It's Mordecai and Wrath, back on the scene—
A walking warcrime and the tantrum that fuels him!


You feel that? That buzz? That bass?
That’s not your nerves, sweetheart. That’s doom in D-minor.


Oh, I’ve waited for this! Waited for the curtain, for the cue, for the moment the past stops pretending it's buried!
And now look—it’s crawling out with teeth!


You, Mordecai, ever the gentleman corpse, always so tired, so terribly tired…
But not dead, no. Not yet. Not until your final act.
And Wrath! Darling Wrath! You’ve been ever so quiet.
Didn’t you miss the spotlight? The stage? The screaming?


Oh, it’s just too perfect.
Two ghosts, one tether.
A world watching.
And me?


Why, I’m just your host, love.
Here to call the lights. Set the mood. Cue the collapse.


So take a bow, sweet things—
Because the show’s begun.
And you two?


You're the tragedy.

Wrath did not recognize this Harlekin.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath stood there in absolute silence.

Just... staring.

Shocked. Confused. Baffled.

Whatever this was—it had clearly broken several unspoken laws of reality and good taste.

“…Wrath,” Mordecai said, deadpan, eyes still fixed on the booming, flamboyant presence. “Is this a Harlekin?”

Wrath squinted. “…Yes? But, uh… I don’t… actually know this one?”

Mordecai slowly turned to look at him. “What do you mean you don’t know this one?”

Wrath shrugged, unhelpfully. “I dunno, man. There were a lot of people in my void.”

Mordecai dragged a hand down his face, gripping the handle of his cane tighter. “Never a break,” he muttered.

Then, after a pause, flatly:

“I hate theater.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The silence didn’t last.

The void around them shifted—slow, deliberate, like reality itself was reconsidering its shape.

And then—

Two doors.

They rose without sound, without effort, side by side in the dark.
Not summoned. Not conjured. Revealed.
Like they had always been there, buried just beneath the surface of knowing.

One black. One ivory.
Opposites. Equals. Ultimatums.

And then the voice returned.

PER APPLE RADIO:

Look.

There they are now.

Two doors. Side by side. Standing in the void like they were built before sound.
No frames. No hinges. Just thresholds carved from the bones of choice.

Left.
Black oak. Weathered. Warped. The handle’s cold iron—worn by countless hands.
Step through, and I give you the truth. All of it.
What’s been done. What’s coming. What’s been taken from you and twisted while you looked away.
But truth burns, love.
It scars.
You’ll come out the other side changed—maybe even less.
But you’ll know.

Right.
Ivory. Flawless. Too flawless. Like it’s never been touched, never been opened.
This one leads back.
To your room. Your bed. Your world.
You’ll forget this little detour. This quiet terror.
Just a strange dream, slipping through the cracks.
But the cracks will stay.
And they’ll widen.

So.

Door of truth.
Or
Door of peace.

Take all the time you want.

The void isn’t going anywhere.

And neither am I.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath stood before the doors, the Harlekin’s voice still echoing like stage smoke in the void.

Wrath hovered beside him—his skeletal goat head drifting with that slow, shadowed trail, eyes burning low.

“Choices,” he murmured. Flat. Quiet.

Mordecai’s gaze didn’t move. His expression was carved from stone.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Not the first time I’ve been offered something like this,” he said, voice low. “Won’t be the last.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I don’t fear clarity.”

The words landed heavy, anchored in bone.

He stepped forward, deliberate, every movement quiet but firm. Wrath moved with him—shadow trailing like a curtain behind stage lights.

Mordecai reached out, his hand resting on the cold iron of the black oak door. The chill bit through his fur, grounding him.

He exhaled once more.

And opened it.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The black oak door swung open—no creak, no wind. Just an opening. A passage into something not quite room, not quite memory.

And there it was.

Standing in the center of the quiet, lightless space…

A goose.

A feral goose.

Its feathers were ruffled. Its eyes were wide. Its presence? Unhinged.
And strapped to the top of its head—wobbling slightly as it hissed—was another green button.

It stared directly at them.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Daring.

The silence stretched.

Then—

Honk.

Sharp.
Menacing.
Judgmental.

The goose flapped once, violently, then froze again, as if it were challenging the laws of physics—and winning.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath stood in the doorway.

They stared.

The goose stared back.

Feral. Ruffled. Eyes wild with ancient rage.

A button wobbled gently on its head.

Neither of them moved.

Wrath slowly floated forward beside Mordecai, skeletal features unreadable. They exchanged a look.

Then back to the goose.

“…This is a new one,” Mordecai muttered, almost—almost—amused.

Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his cane.

And gently tapped the button on the goose’s head.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The moment the cane tapped the button—

CLICK.

The goose froze.

Its wings twitched once.

Then—

It opened its beak.
Wide.

Too wide.
Unnaturally wide.
As if its jaw had never understood limits.

And from the yawning, feather-framed abyss of its mouth—

KZZZHT—crackle—BZZZRRRRR—

Radio static.

Loud. Distorted.
Sputtering like an old machine dragged from the bottom of the sea.

The goose glared.

Unblinking.
Unmoving.
Broadcasting.


Behind a big red curtain, in a small quiet room, there was a little bit of smoke...
and a lot of waiting.

The lights were dim.
The carpet was soft.
The jazz music tiptoed in from somewhere else.

Lucian stood by the piano.
He wore shiny gloves.
His tail swished, just once.
He looked fancy. And serious. Very serious.

Thalienne sat on a velvet chair.
Her dress was big.
Her parasol was bigger.
She looked tired. Not sleepy tired—thinking tired.

She didn’t look at Lucian when she asked,
“Do you know why he wants to see us?”

Lucian smiled a very tiny smile.
Not a happy one. A knowing one.

“He said he needed us both,” he said.
“He made a fuss.”

Thalienne rolled her eyes.
“That duck always makes a fuss.”

CLICK.

The door behind them opened.
The lights went lower.
The smoke curled like ribbon.

And in came a duck.

He wore a red hat and a brown suit.
He carried a cane and walked like he had a secret.
His name was Mallard Marquee.

“Well, well!” he said with a grin.
“The Panther and the Parasol—back together again!
And no one's even arguing yet. How rare!”

Lucian didn’t blink.
“You said you had something important,” he said.

Mallard grinned wider.

“Oh, I do. I always do.”

He tapped his cane—tap, tap—and took a little walk.

“You’ve been busy,” he said.
“You, Lucian—playing sneaky games with royal folks.
And you, Thalienne—whispering big ideas behind big curtains.”

Thalienne crossed her arms.

“Get to the point, duck.”

“I’m getting there,” said Mallard, spinning his cane once.

Then—THUMP!—he stuck it on the floor.

“I want to make a deal.”

Lucian and Thalienne were quiet.

Not surprised.
Not scared.
Just… remembering.

Because they had made a deal with Mallard once before.

And that deal had cost them more than gold.

Mallard’s eyes twinkled.

“You’ll want to hear this one,” he said sweetly.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath stood there. Again.

Blinking. Staring.

Utterly baffled.

“What in the godsdamned madness is this,” Mordecai muttered, eyes narrowing.

He looked up at the void—at whoever was listening.

“Who the hell are Lucian and Thalienne?” His tone was flat, exhausted. “And I’m guessing you’re Mallard—” he gestured vaguely toward the goose, who still hadn’t moved, “—based on the… waterfowl situation.”

Mordecai sighed and turned to Wrath, accusing.

“What is this?”

Wrath threw his shadowy paws in the air, snarling. “I DON’T KNOW, MAN! Maybe Lucian sounds vaguely familiar but—LOOK, STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS, I’M JUST AS EQUALLY CONFUSED!”

They both turned back to the goose.

It was still staring.

Unmoving.

Button intact.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

CLACK.

The goose’s beak snapped shut with perfect cartoon finality—loud, crisp, and just a little too polished.

Its wild eyes blinked—once, twice—then rolled in opposite directions like a pair of marbles thrown into chaos.

Without warning, it reached behind its back—despite having no hands—
and pulled out a mallet.

A massive, comically oversized wooden mallet.
Polished. Etched with a little heart. Uncomfortably cheerful.

It hefted it once.
Let it wobble.
Then rested it casually over one wing like a bat ready for batting practice.

Honk.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai and Wrath stared.

Again.

Mordecai’s eye twitched. He took a slow step back.

Wrath didn’t move. His tail flicked once.

Then, without a word, he walked up to the goose. Calm. Purposeful.

He tapped the oversized mallet with a single paw.

It shimmered—then clunked—as it transformed into solid gold. Heavy. Ridiculously so.

Wrath turned and casually padded back to Mordecai’s side.

They both stared.

Mordecai exhaled.

“...I hate this place.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

goose roll, 7+ to pass

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The goose blinked.

Once.
Twice.

Then—with a wobble, a squeak, and a defiant HONK—it attempted to lift the golden mallet again.

CLUNK.

It didn’t budge.

The goose stared down at it.

Tried again.

CLUNK.

A pause.

A twitch.

Then—suddenly—its wings flared wide, its little legs kicking off the void-floor with all the fury of a cartoon vengeance engine.

It launched.

Beak first.

Wings outstretched.

Feathers flying.

Straight at Mordecai.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s eye twitched.

This couldn’t be real.

He had faced warlords. Gods. Things that devoured entire timelines.

And now—

A feral goose.

With rage in its eyes and vengeance in its trajectory.

“WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE—” Mordecai shouted, stumbling back as the goose launched itself beak-first through the void.

He yanked his cane up and swung wildly, half-dueling, half-flailing.

“WRATH—HELP ME!”

Wrath padded up slowly behind him, tail wagging lazily.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice dry. “This is kinda funny.”

“WRATH!”

Wrath sighed, “Fine,” he muttered. He rolled his eyes, and finally lunged forward—fangs bared—snapping at the goose’s tail mid-flight.