Notes: Sorry about how short this chapter is; the next one, I promise, will be longer. The end is closing in...
Chapter 49: Not-So-Pure Imagination
"This fog is as thick as a rat's skull..."
"I think you mean pea soup, Cat," remarked the Hattress.
"You eat what you eat, I'll do likewise," hissed the Cheshire Cat.
"Will you two stop talking for even five minutes?" snarled Batman.
Silence was the only response he got.
The Dark Knight sighed; the route to the Dollhouse was shrouded in smog. The Knave's tentacles had guided them out of Queensland, and onto the proper path.
"There is no method in this madness," the Knave's disembodied voice left as parting words. "Make your survival mean something, or EVERYONE'S head will be off."
Now, they were moving through a dark, empty area; the ground was hard beneath Batman's feet. It felt like stone...
Suddenly, he stopped short.
"Look," he said, pointing ahead.
Alice Liddell squinted through the fog, a gloved hand on the brim of her hat. The Cheshire Cat sat beside her, yellow eyes shining like lamps in the mist.
A pinprick of warm, golden light glowed not so far ahead.
"Are we nearly there?"
"I hope."
They continued on, moving toward the light.
The Cheshire Cat stopped abruptly. The two others followed suit.
"What's the matter, Cat?"
Cheshire growled softly.
"I hear something," he said, simply. "And I don't like it..."
As they moved closer, the noise became apparent...
"Help...help, please..."
As they approached – now moving faster – the source of the cry grew visible.
A tall lamp post – shaped like a candy cane, oddly enough – shone it bright flame through the fog. Tied to the post, under the lantern, were the words "You're Next."
They were written in blood.
On the ground was a grisly sight indeed: the Gnome Elder – who had helped Batman on his last journey – was crawling in the dirt.
Well, what was left of him, anyway: the Elder's gray hair had been allowed to grow to a horribly long length, and his eyes were bloodshot, one of them bruised black. His gnarled hands were scraped and actually had small pieces of rock embedded in the skin, his face had a hideous, X-shaped scar covering it...
And he had been sliced in half at the waist.
The wound was black and dark red, as if it had been cauterized the instant it had been made.
The Elder stared up with piercing, pained gray eyes at the approaching party.
"Mister...Wayne..."
"What happened to you?"
"Oh, Gods of Anarchy," moaned the Gnome, and heaved himself forward on his hands, heavy breaths moving through his cleaved torso. "You're back...bless you..."
Batman flinched back as one aged, bloody hand wrapped around his ankle.
"Don't desert us again...don't ignore my words..."
"Why do you suffer, Elder? Where are your people?"
"The D-Dollmaker...my people f-f-fled farther into the Dollhouse realm...Oh, GODS, don't be a mirage..."
The Gnome coughed.
Tar spattered the ground.
"Ruins," snarled Alice, eyes blazing.
"The Knave's power has dwindled...he holds no sway over-"
"Our enemies come and go, B-B-Batman," the dying Gnome gasped out, a single tear running down his aged face. "This new fiend's malevolence eclipses even the conquered Clown's..."
He coughed again. More tar fell from his mouth.
"Help my people...find Fort...Resistance..."
"I'll do what I can."
And that was a promise.
The Gnome Elder smiled, and collapsed into the dirt.
A rattling sound came from his throat.
He was gone.
There was a moment of silence, and then all three continued into the fog.
As some of the mist behind them cleared, one might have seen a pale, ghostly figure trace their movements from behind.
Thin, white lips peeled back in a bloodstained smile.
"We've plowed, we've sowed, we've reaped, we've mowed, we've got our harvest in..."