Legacy's Wake

The rain continued its relentless downpour, drenching Stitch's hair and uniform while Mendy flitted anxiously around her, unsettled by the storm. Each raindrop tapped against her skin, but she hardly seemed to notice, her mind preoccupied with distant thoughts.

It wasn't exactly an enjoyable walk, yet she didn't mind the shift in atmosphere. If anything, she found herself gazing up at the swirling, stormy sky. "Maybe I'll run into Pippin and Nia," she mused aloud, unaware that they were nothing more than illusions born from her curse—figments of a past that never truly existed.

Yet, despite that, other thoughts weighed heavily on her mind, ones that tugged at the corners of possibility.

"I wonder what life is like beyond the sea…" she murmured, eyes drifting as she imagined it. "It must be incredible—to roam the Vast Expanse freely, to explore every hidden corner of the world. Maybe…" Her words trailed off as her gaze locked onto a dark silhouette in the distance.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the figure lunged straight for her. A moment of confusion flickered through her mind, but instinct took over before reason could.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening in terror. She barely managed to throw herself out of the way, a startled scream escaping her lips. The impact sent her tumbling to the ground, one of her needles snapping against the hard pavement.

For a fleeting second, her vision went black. When clarity returned, she found herself staring up at a familiar figure, her body frozen in fear.

Notch's cleavers scraped against the ground, the sound grating like metal on stone, catching the moonlight with their cold steel sheen. He raised one of the blades, the right one, and rested it on his shoulder, his expression unwavering as his eyes locked onto Stitch.

"Well, well, looks like we meet again," he said, his voice deep, mechanical, almost unnervingly flat. "Last time, you managed to get away. You should consider yourself lucky—if that girl hadn't shown up just in time, you'd be a pile of scrap by now. But this time, she's out cold, and you're all alone. No one to save you."

He continued to close the distance, each step heavy and deliberate, as Stitch stood frozen in place, her fear palpable in the air.

"Look at you. Terrified, completely paralyzed. And you still think people will treat you well? No, they won't. They never will. Weak, crying girls who jump at every shadow aren't worth anyone's time," he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "That wound you got? A light warning. But trust me, girl, death's what you really deserve."

He halted a few feet away, the looming threat of his presence filling the space between them as Stitch stood motionless, her fear locking her in place.

"It's you…" she breathed shakily, gripping her remaining needles with trembling fingers. "N-Notch."

Swallowing hard, Stitch scrambled to her feet, standing her ground despite the fear clawing at her chest.

"I've grown tired of lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment," Notch's voice echoed in the stillness, his words dark and foreboding. "Now, the time has come to take what is ours. I'll be removing your limbs so that our lord can finally walk, move freely. They'll be much more useful in its hands than they ever were in yours." With a swift motion, Notch swung his cleaver, creating a terrifying whirlwind of steel. The gleaming metal sparkled in the moonlight, its deadly arc sending a chill through Stitch as she watched in horror.

Suddenly, two more figures emerged from the darkness. One was a faceless shadow, a mere silhouette that seemed to bleed into the night itself. The other was a woman, her crimson eyes glowing eerily in the distance, casting a sinister light. She strode forward confidently, her posture commanding, as if she were the leader of the group.

"Good evening, Mendy," the woman said, her voice smooth and cold as she addressed the floating doll. "I trust you understand that your time has come." Her gaze never wavered from the lifeless puppet, and Stitch, confused and unnerved, stumbled back slightly, her eyes darting between the woman and the doll. "M-Mendy? He's just a puppet," she muttered under her breath, trying to make sense of the situation.

"A puppet, yes. Perhaps you're correct," the woman—Harvester—responded with a hint of amusement in her tone. "But do you know what it truly is? It's the reason I'm going to harvest your heart. All we need are your limbs, your face, and your heart. Then our lord will be whole again. It has been a mere toy for far too long." Her words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Stitch's mind began to race as she slowly pieced together what the woman was referring to.

Backpedaling, Stitch kept her eyes locked on the floating doll, an unsettling feeling crawling up her spine as she moved to the other side of the district, trying to put as much distance between herself and the terrifying figures. "You... You're the reason they've been after me, aren't you? You... are they even real?" She asked, her voice trembling with fear, the weight of her own confusion and dread settling heavily on her chest as each second passed.

The woman's crimson eyes glowed brighter, and she smirked as she took a step closer. "Have you never wondered why so much misfortune seemed to follow you? You had that doll with you your entire life, ever since you were just a little girl. Your life, before it, was incredible. But then, you found the doll—the one cursed by Hollow. A curse that was meant to shape your new life, turning it into nothing but a disaster. That's the misfortune that has haunted you, Stitch." Harvester's voice lingered in the air, chilling Stitch to the bone as the truth began to dawn on her.

"Hollow and Mendy… they're related? Connected somehow?" Stitch asked, her voice trembling as she stared at Harvester, a cold sweat dripping down her cheeks. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the words, but the more she heard, the more confused and fearful she became.

Harvester's crimson eyes glowed even brighter, and she answered with a cold, unwavering tone. "Yes, we are all connected. Hollow is our creator—the one who birthed us. We are mere spirits, ghosts that have been haunting you for as long as you can remember, each of us with a single, relentless goal in mind. Our mission is to gather all the necessary parts, to collect everything required to restore Mendy's life. To give it a proper, physical body. You see, Mendy is like a figurehead to us, a vision that guides us. It is our 'caller,' the entity that provides us with direction. We are its children, bound to its will."

Stitch's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. Harvester's words twisted in her mind like a dark riddle, each phrase making her feel more and more like a pawn in a sinister game she never asked to play. Harvester continued, her tone chilling, as if explaining a twisted inevitability.

"You were never meant to be just a bystander, Stitch," Harvester said, taking a slow step forward. "You've always been the cursed one, the one who has carried the burden of this dark fate. But in a strange way, you are also fortunate. You've had people around you, people who protected you, even when you couldn't understand why. They've kept you alive, unaware of the true reason you were marked, unaware that you were the one meant to play a key role in Mendy's resurrection."

Her words sank into Stitch's soul like a dagger, the truth of her life's misfortune settling in with terrifying clarity. "We," Harvester said, her voice now like a whisper on the wind, "are the imaginary 'hunters' that you've feared. We are phantoms that can only be summoned from the ashes when the time is right—when Mendy's body is free to reclaim what it needs. And you? You are just one of the many pieces required. A part of the puzzle we've been chasing all along."

Stitch's heart hammered in her chest, and she could barely hold onto her composure as the weight of it all crushed down on her. She had been nothing but a tool in a much larger, far more terrifying scheme, and now, she was forced to confront it.

Hearing Harvester's words, something strange happened inside Stitch. The fear that once gripped her heart began to dissolve, like mist lifting from the ground at the touch of the morning sun. In its place, a new emotion emerged—one that was unfamiliar, yet undeniably strong. It was a mixture of determination, confidence, and a burning sense of bravery that surged through her veins, propelling her to stand tall despite the overwhelming odds.

"If that's the case," Stitch said, her voice steady, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade, "and if all this misfortune that I've carried, all the chaos that's followed me and my crew, is the result of Mendy's curse... then I have no use for that doll anymore." With a swift motion, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pack of needles, her fingers expertly slipping them between the gaps, one by one. The gleam of the steel reflecting in the dim light.

Mendy, watching from the corner of her eye, could feel a shift in the atmosphere. There was a tension in the air, a subtle undercurrent of anxiety as the needles in Stitch's hands began to gleam ominously. Her hollowed, lifeless eyes locked onto the woman's hand, and something about the way she held those needles set her unease into motion. It was as though she could feel the power in them, the raw intent that Stitch now carried.

Stitch took a deep breath, her expression darkening as she turned her gaze toward Mendy, the doll now floating ominously before her. "When I was just a little girl, Hollow—an infamous pirate—took away my vision," she began, her voice growing heavy with the weight of the memories. "He stole my sight, my sense of everything around me, and then used my body as a tool for his own twisted experiments. He wanted my blood. My very essence. He stitched up my wounds with it, like I was nothing more than a canvas for his sickening designs."

She paused for a moment, her grip tightening around the needles. Her eyes burned with a fury that made the air around them feel charged, as if the very space was reacting to her emotions.

"Then," Stitch continued, her voice low and seething with anger, "I figured it out. He didn't just want my blood. He mixed it with Mendy's. He used that cursed doll to complete his dark ritual. My blood, my life force, was the catalyst for the curse that's plagued me all these years. That's why I've been followed by misfortune. That's why I've been chased by these shadows, by these phantoms. Hollow wanted to twist me, bind me to this fate where I'm a prisoner to his twisted machinations."

She adjusted her eyepatch, feeling the familiar weight of it on her face, hiding the left side where her eye had been stitched together long ago. That eye—her left eye—had been lost to Hollow's cruelty, an ever-present reminder of the pirate's dark influence on her life. Stitch's hand tightened around the needles once more as she focused her gaze on Mendy, though the left side of her vision remained a blurred, empty void.

Her right eye, clear and burning with hatred, locked onto the doll. "Hollow," she hissed, her voice thick with loathing, "you don't even understand what you've done. The anger, the pain, the despair you've caused—it's been eating at me from the inside out. But now, hearing all of this, now that I finally know the truth, all I feel is... fury."

With a swift, violent motion, she shattered one of the needles in her hand, the sharp snap ringing through the air like the breaking of a long-held promise. The broken needle fell to the ground, a symbol of the anger she could no longer contain. "Hollow, you don't know how much I despise you now that I understand everything! You thought you could control me, use me, break me down—but you've only made me stronger."

The intensity of her words, the fire in her heart, reverberated in the silence that followed. Stitch stood taller than she ever had before, her fear replaced with an undeniable, burning resolve.

Harvester's eyes narrowed with cold determination as she rotated her twin-bladed weapon, ready to do whatever it took to claim Stitch's heart.

"You can hold onto your hatred for Hollow for as long as you like," Harvester sneered, "but it won't change anything. Your time has run out!" Without another word, she launched herself toward Stitch, moving at an incredible speed.

Stitch, however, was ready. With quick precision, she pulled out a longer, larger, and sharper needle from the casket she carried.

"No," Stitch retorted, her voice firm and unwavering, "it hasn't."

To be continued...