what's the name of the Line featured in the deck of cards art, and what place does she have in the story? 👀
Her name is picche meaning spades in Italian. Her main role in the story is try and out rule bill cipher and take all the power for herself so she can take over the dimension. But she knows the plan will fail because during the story Bill Cipher is trying to get his Wife and daughter back. But was only manage to get only his wife, and Rose who is his wife notices Picche being really suspicious and winds up finding a note in one of the hiding rooms and discovers her plan. And Picche knows that rose will get in the way and tell Bill so she attempts to try and get on rose good side but it doesn’t work and her next plan which is going to be hard is to kill Rose.
Remember how he had all those scissors he had planned to hand out to all the toys for self defence? He stuck them in the oven hoping to melt the handles off, didn’t turn out like he thought it would.
Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1 and @courtorderedcake <3
***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******
***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********
***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************
**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**
****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********
*****AMAZING AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING COVER ART!!!!! MY POOR BOY, HELPLESS AND SCREAMING WHILE HE SLOWLY LOSES HIS GRIP ON REALITY… D: COCOHOOK38 IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL!!!!*************
***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***
Present (Friday, continued)...
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Killian’s Master, its voice booming in the surveillance room, as menacing as he had ever heard it. Slowly, Killian lay the sword on the table next to the final monitor, raising his mangled stump as if in surrender while keeping his right side shielded from view.
“I… was…”
Sudden peals of laughter split the air as the video streams came to abrupt life. Hope as an infant, giggling hysterically at the antics of her parents. Joining her, a recording of Queen Regina’s coronation, when peoples of all realms had united in joyous support. A jubilant Storybrooke High School football team celebrating a win over their new rivals from Agrabah. The wildest group dance from Robin and Alice’s wedding reception. And then, despite never having had the chance to identify the final camera, another hijacked feed: the night when Ursula had joined the community symphony for a command performance, her regained voice simply enchanting.
The Master took a step back, shuddering and pressing both claws to its head. It was in obvious discomfort as it growled,
“How… how have you…?”
Killian drew one of the daggers from its bandage sheath, then the other. “Not such a pain enthusiast when you’re the recipient, are you?”
“Turn… it… off!” snarled the creature, taking another step toward the doorway. It shook and curled in on itself like a dying spider. Killian allowed himself a single preparatory breath before he struck.
The first dagger clattered against monster’s thick carapace, barely even nicking its immaculate waistcoat. But the second buried itself to the hilt in the creature’s thick jowls, eliciting a roar of rage and pain. Echoing its animal howl, Killian snatched up the sword, vaulted over an unconscious slave, and swung with all of his strength.
The blade bounced harmlessly off a shielding pincer, sending shock waves all the way up to Killian’s shoulder. Just the faintest of dents in the chitin hinted at the blow’s landing zone. With another yell of exertion, he lopped off an approaching tentacle. The severed end convulsed on the ground and leaked the same purple blood that now spurted from the spasming stump. Killian kicked aside the mess and couldn't help feeling a small spark of glee. To the accompaniment of monstrous shrieks, contrasting wildly with the looped positivity feeds, Killian aimed for the Master’s unprotected throat. He ducked a flailing half-tentacle and drove the sword forward in a mighty thrust. The adrenaline of the moment and certainty of victory muted every pain, leaving only focused determination. Now this demon would die.
The Master’s pincer seemed to move faster than physically possible. It shot forward to catch the blade in an iron grip, ceasing all momentum. In desperate frustration, Killian heaved his weight on top of the sword, trying to yank it from the claw. But it was stuck fast. And then the Master rose, fiery hatred blazing in its eyes. Violet flecks sprinkled its face and clothing. It straightened to its full, towering height, no longer quivering, no longer vulnerable.
Killian slipped on the Master’s blood as it wrenched the sword from his hand. He went down hard, but even on hip and elbow, he fought. The fallen dagger lay just out of reach. He rolled stiffly over, stretching, reaching…
His fingers closed around the hilt, and he felt a surge of frantic hope. But then the remaining tentacle lassoed his wrist. Before he could even struggle, it jerked upward with such force that it wrenched his shoulder right out of its socket. Killian cried out, managing to keep a futile hold on the dagger as he was hauled to his feet. Never had he wished harder to have his other hand back. Despite the pain in his shoulder and a rush of dizziness, he lashed out with the ring in his wrist, aiming for the blade still embedded in his Master’s neck.
He missed. The tentacle pulled sharply and he could do nothing but follow as his damaged shoulder instinctively protected itself. His ring was caught by the half-tentacle, which retained its functionality despite the blood still flowing. Two crab legs stabbed down atop his feet, pinning them in place. And hopeless tears filled Killian’s eyes. Now he awaited only his death. The plan had failed.
Emma would hear.
Casually, his Master used its unoccupied claw to pluck the dagger from its neck. A purple trail soon stained the cotton collar below. It inspected the bloodsoaked blade for the space of a heartbeat, barely glancing at Killian before plunging the weapon into his chest.
Killian screamed. Hope laughed. The high schoolers cheered and the revelers applauded.
The Vocivore brought the point of the sword up under Killian’s chin. It fastidiously brushed down and straightened its waistcoat before speaking, a faint raggedness to its tone giving the only hint of continued strain.
“Very clever, Tripod. Just not enough. But I will admit, you almost succeeded where no one has ever come close before.” It pressed harder with the blade, and Killian lacked the strength or will to pull away. His Master watched the tears fall, read the surrender in its slave’s eyes. And it lowered the sword ever so slightly. “You will die. Not out of revenge or hatred, for you are still my favorite Voice. But out of respect for you as a foe, and out of necessity because of the threat you still pose.”
The Master allowed the sword point to rest on the ground. “That isn’t to say that I won’t extract every ounce of energy from you first. I don’t know how you’ve resisted my will for so long, nor how you managed to hide your scheme from me. But your final hours will be spent wishing you had surrendered at the first. Begging me to end it.”
Carelessly, his Master tossed the sword at the power strip; sparks flew as it severed the cord, and the sounds of victory cut to the silence of defeat.
Quaking with shock and anguish, Killian could barely keep to his feet. He felt his Master stroke a claw down his cheek, and it whispered,
“But I’m still your Master, Tripod. And I will decide when you are to die.”
*****
Emma sat frozen, staring at her phone, silent tears streaming down her face. Waiting for the inevitable, for that final blow, the last scream, the last beat of Killian’s heart. The atmosphere was heavy with failure despite the happy moments projected on each computer screen. Neither one of the room’s occupants could hear the looped audio chaos anymore.
Jones’ face darkened with resolve. He got to his feet, closed both laptops within reach, and marched to Emma’s side.
“We’re not done yet,” he announced. Emma blinked up at him through puffy eyelids.
“You heard the bastard: it’s going to kill him.”
No ounce of hope tempered her words; she spoke robotically, as if her soul were somehow with Killian as he was dragged from the surveillance room. Jones took her hand in his.
“Aye, but there’s time yet. What do you say we put it to good use?”
Emma looked at him with such desolation that he was tempted to throw up his hands and allow her to grieve in peace. But he would never forgive himself for that… and he already had the first inkling of a plan. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
