The Secondary Saga

[Gamzee Makara]

The endless slog through the swamp had sucked any sort of life right out of me. I find it increasingly hard to breath as I trudge through the ankle deep muck and slime of this accursed, damnedest pit of hell. Noxious bubbles of swamp gas form and coagulate from various corners of my vision, only to burst moments after surfacing. I keep moving.

I have lost track of time. All these trees look the same, and the thought that I may just be walking around in circles is beginning to wear on my patience and resolve. It may have been minutes since my encounter with that apparition, or it may have been hours.

Or days.

Or weeks.

Perhaps not weeks. But it very well may have been twenty-four hours. It would explain the nasty sounds mein bauch is making. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

Or maybe it would.

Or not.

Her voice.

Their voices.

It was so real it was surreal, and I can’t tear my thoughts away from the illusions of this swamp. Every time I close my eyes, every time I blink, her ghostly figure fills my vision. Every time the natural sounds of the swamp dim and I near silence, I hear the shouts. I hear the whispers, and the voices. Stimmen. Die verdammten Stimmen verfolgen mich.

This is one of those moments that the strange fauna of the swamp begin to quiet down.

Sometimes they talk to me, as if I was an old friend. Sometimes they shout, as if angry with who I am. Sometimes they whisper secrets that have not been shared for millennia.

Richtofen Maxis Samantha Girl Apparition Aether Agartha Fool Allies Staffs Death Die Dying Undead Cursed Cycle Edward Help Save Can’t Death Repeat Cycle Again Again Again

Sometimes they make no fucking sense and serve to do nothing but give me un migräne.

The increasing pounding on my skull causes me to stumble in the mud and sink to my knees once more. My vision starts to blur, as I feel myself continuing to seep into this forgotten murk. The swamp wants to swallow me and all that I am. Hungry. Ravenous, even. Yet the mud is soft, the water cool. If maybe I could just lie down for a moment, I could regain my strength...I could continue this journey. This pointless, useless journey. I think perhaps I should just…

“Oi! You all there in your head Quack?”

The head in question swerves in the direction of the voice. In the thick fog, I see a bank of solid ground, real earthy goodness, and a host of shadowy silhouettes standing on that bank.

The secondaries. My companions.

“Herr Captain?” I call out, groaning as I attempt to shake off the collective muck that soaks into my bones.

“Batten down the hatches, Quack. This voyage is far from over yet. Aye?”

Ach Gott why couldn’t he just let me take a nap. A smirk creases my lips, the first time I have smiled in quite some time.

“Aye, Crow. Aye.”

So sei es.

-----

I join my fellow secondaries at the edge of the swamp, at the edge of this existence. This is probably the only bank of solid ground for miles coming from the mire. The first thing I notice is that our numbers have...Dwindled. I approach my fellows. Christa nods at me. The general Klaud and Isaac both acknowledge my existence. Most of the others are preoccupied with reunions, which is fine by me. After those nasty hallucinations, I believe I am deserving of my own reunion.

I approach the stalwart captain, but that is part of the problem. Crow is the only familiar face of our original party that I see

“Crow?”

He stares wistfully into the bog, conflicting emotions swirling around in his irises. The captain does not answer me.

“Crow, where are the others? IRIS, Jan? Grave and his lady freund?”

More silence.

I finally receive un answer from mein suddenly stoisch friend.

“Just us Doc. Just us.”

And then I suddenly realize what kind of effect this must be having on the captain. He was the one that lead us through the perils of the temple, and the one that led us to be reunited with the other secondaries. He was the captain of our little band, and his crew is unaccounted for. Considering the effects the swamp had on my broken mind, I can only imagine what Crow had witnessed in that hölle. And I can only imagine what is going through his mind again, now that he stands without his crew, alone.

This situation is not new to him.

“Crow-”

“Leave it, Quack. Just...Leave it.”

I reluctantly nod. He has a right to be left to his thoughts. Besides our temple squadron, I also notice the absence of my dear kinsmen Roger. I worry for his safety, and curse any ancients that might be in the immediate vicinity. I give Crow the space he needs. Surely it is not too late, surely Christa plans to-

I accidentally bump into General Klaud, and bear witness to a decision being made. A decision being made without me.

“Best to accept it and move on unless you’d like us all to die here, when we’ve come so far. Is that what you’d like?”

I catch the tail end of an argument between Clayton, the hunter that Roger had warned me about, and the good General herself. Clayton continues to give out valid reasons as to why we should not remain on this bank, as to why we should abandon the others.

“...Give it up, General. He’s dead.”

I scowl, and step forth. I have had few dealings with this man, save what Roger told me about the bastard. I don’t see who got left in the swamp and made him leader!

...That was in bad taste.

In any case, as ironic as it is of me to say this, this is not a dictatorship.

I stand approach the group, standing by the General. I refuse to stand idly by while there could be others in the swa-

Internally, I take a moment to think about this.

Do you really care, Richtofen? Do you?

I frown when I realize that perhaps I have a stowaway from Samantha's hallucinations. I do my best to ignore it for now.

That’s the problem. It is rather uncharacteristic of me to care about the well-being of others. Even Nikolai and Takeo.

This is not simple necessity, or the Strength in Numbers rule, I legitimately am worried for Roger, my fellow. IRIS, Jan, Grave, we are not friends, but we are comrades, as my Russian friend would put it. We have a bond, forged by fighting side by side. Abandonment is not an ideal outcome.

Ah, but it would seem...Events have spiraled beyond my control. Before I am able to say anything to Miss Klaud, it is brought to the general group’s attention that for all intents and purposes, she is actually a Mrs.

How quaint.

I rub my temples as Clayton brings this information to light, knowing that this is more or less the final say any of us will have on the matter of staying. Such an opportunist, this hunter. He almost reminds me of myself. My eyes shift to the Captain, and I try to get him to meet my gaze. He will not. Crow remains silent. As do I. I refuse to let this arschloch, Clayton, get away with this injustice. Roger was right. He is nothing more than a manipulator and a dirty schelm. I glance to the mire and murk of the Swamp of Sadness, searching for any sign of movement or life. Nothing. No Jan. No IRIS. No Grave. Gar nichts.

I murmur small words of prayer for my comrades, rather they be alive or dead. I do not believe in Omnipotent beings, but I hold on to this small hope that perhaps my voice was heard, instead of the other way around.

Translations:
Gar Nichts = Nothing/ Not there
schelm = Scoundrel/ Rascal
arschloch =Asshole
hölle = Hell
stoisch = stoic
bauch = stomach
migräne = migraine
Die verdammten Stimmen verfolgen mich. = The fucking voices haunt me
So sei es. = So be it