Chapter Text
"Nilly, please, don't let them do this."
No reaction.
"You love all cookies, right? A-and we spent some time together. It wasn't all bad… was it?"
Still nothing.
"Pure Vanilla, please, look at me. I-I can't go back there. I'm not ready to disappear."
Shadow Milk was just straight-up begging at this point—he had no other options left.
He was aching all over, bleeding from multiple wounds—the worst of which was unfortunately on his forehead, dripping blood into his eyes and making thinking more difficult than it really had to be.
"How dare you speak to him like that! Like he hasn’t already given you more chances than you ever deserved! Like you didn’t spit in his face again and again! Like you didn’t twist his kindness just to break his heart!"
Oh, she was furious—the Guardian of the Silver Tree. Protective of her best friend and still mad at him for killing Elder Fairy. Time had done nothing to dull her fury—not through the long, chaotic years of war that followed.
Shadow Milk would be embarrassed later—about the way he flinched at every word, how he scrambled backward despite the sharp ache in his limbs. But right now, all that mattered was putting as much space as possible between himself and the cookie he probably feared the most.
He couldn't go back into that tree. He couldn't.
He would survive—he always did.
The Beasts were immortal, their magic living on even when their bodies perished. But what would be left of his mind after another century in isolation?
After a millennium?
An eternity?
He didn't want to find out.
But the choice wasn’t his to make.
The heroes were closing in, their weapons still raised, their expressions grim.
"Please, I..."
He was still looking at his counterpart, still trying to get the other to just look at him. With his own eyes or his staff, Shadow Milk would take whatever he could get at this point.
But Pure Vanilla kept his eyes resolutely closed, both his staff and his body half-turned away from his beaten foe. Yet as long as he didn't turn away fully, there still was a chance.
There had to be.
Despite what everyone might think now, Shadow Milk was well aware that he didn't deserve mercy. Or another chance. And especially not forgiveness.
But Pure Vanilla knew that—and had offered him a hand over and over anyway.
He hadn't appreciated it enough before.
But he had taken the heroes hand once.
To trick and use him, of course.
He had pretended, smiled, played along—a game of keeping just enough truth in his words to make his lies believable. And all the while, he had spread his influence in the shadows. With the help of his faithful minions, he'd worked to crumble the very foundation of the Vanilla Republic his counterpart had built atop the ruins of his old kingdom.
And Pure Vanilla had known.
Not everything. Not the full extent. (Probably.) But he had seen the cracks forming. Had watched as trust faltered. Had looked at Shadow Milk and saw all the lies tangled between the truths.
And still, he had reached out. Had tried to show Shadow Milk there was another way.
And the jester, oblivious to just how much the hero really knew, had kept going.
Let the rumors fester. Let small wounds deepen into permanent scars. Had whispered into uncertain ears and let doubt take root where it hurt the most—between friends, between families, between those who had always stood side by side.
And by the time Pure Vanilla finally acted, the damage had already been done.
Friendships shattered. Councils divided.
Some wounds only emotional—some far worse.
And when Pure Vanilla finally confronted him about it all, and Shadow Milk learned that the other had known but waited—had held onto the hope that there could be a peaceful solution—the jester had laughed.
At his own stupidity and Vanilla's alike.
Until he saw the look in the other's eyes.
Betrayal, disappointment, and hurt, morphing into something harder. A determination so cold he never would have thought the compassionate healer capable of it.
That look had never left Shadow Milk’s mind since.
Even now, after years of war, it surfaced in the quiet moments, in every retreat that followed, in that hollow ache he refused to name.
Because that had been the last time Pure Vanilla had reached out his hand.
And now, as Shadow Milk cowered before him once more, he knew there would be no hand this time.
No warmth.
No kindness.
Only that cold determination to do what must be done, and resentment where once there had once been hope.
"Nilla… Nilla, please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…"
He choked out between sobs he couldn't hold back any longer, as Pure Vanilla showed no signs of hearing him at all, while the other heroes were slowly closing in.
"White Lily, let's get this over with," Dark Cacao said with a finality that made his heart race.
He was running out of time.
He couldn't stop himself from slowly scrambling away further, nor could he repress the absolutely pathetic whimper that tore from his throat when his back hit the wall. He was hyperventilating so badly he couldn't even form the words to try and convince them to stop.
To give him another chance.
To do anything but this...
Not that they would listen anyway. That was always the problem of the liars—no one believed them when they were telling the truth. But right now he just had to make them believe—somehow.
With his back against the wall and no escape, his desperate gaze fell onto Pure Vanilla once again. And when the ancient Light of Truth slightly turned his staff to look at him one last time, the former Virtue of Knowledge had one last, absolutely desperate idea.
"Wait! Please!"
When everyone paused for just a heartbeat, Shadow Milk seized the moment to tear the Soul Jam of Deceit from his chest and extend it towards his other half.
Everyone froze.
For a moment, the only sound that could be heard in the giant arena—where the fight between the last Beast and the heroes had taken place—was Shadow Milk Cookie's heavy breathing.
Well, at least he still knew how to capture an audience.
He definitely had Vanilla’s attention now.
"What…?"
The question was soft, incredulous.
Shadow Milk couldn’t blame him. He could barely believe it himself. His hand trembled, the weight of his Soul Jam almost unbearable in his palm.
"T-Take it."
His voice was shaking even worse than his hand. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his throat felt tight and his breathing was labored.
"Do…" He hesitated, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. "Do w-whatever you need to… do with it."
Crack it, break it, disintegrate it—anything but
this
.
"But please, don’t…" He choked on his own horror again, but forced himself to finish the damn sentence before it swallowed him whole.
"Don’t seal me away again. Please."
Silent tears were uncontrollably falling down his face at this point, as he waited for Pure Vanilla to please just accept his offer. It was the only thing he had left.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain—and Shadow Milk realized he wasn’t the only one waiting.
None of the other heroes moved to take the Soul Jam.
They all just stood where they'd stopped, their gazes shifting between him and Pure Vanilla—some uncertain, some shocked, others expectant.
Until finally, Pure Vanilla’s hesitation hardened into something like grim resolve.
His jaw tightened. His shoulders squared. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and took the Soul Jam from Shadow Milk’s trembling hands.
It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil, not to clutch his most precious possession to his chest like a lifeline.
Giving it away like this was terrifying. But he really had no other choice.
He still feared that he might regret this.
There was something dark in Pure Vanilla’s gaze—something final.
Whatever fleeting hope to be spared the Beast might have clung to, shattered the moment their eyes met.
Pure Vanilla would do what had to be done to protect his friends and his people.
And yet… behind the cold determination, there was regret. An apology.
"I'm sorry. I wish it wouldn't have had to come to this."
Then, without another moment for Shadow Milk to comprehend what the hero was going to do, bright shards of light pierced his Soul Jam of Deceit and Darkness, shattering it in an instant.
It was pain unlike anything Shadow Milk had ever known.
Worse than when the witches had originally split his Soul Jam in two.
Back then, they had cleanly sliced away the part that he had been rejecting anyway. Now, Pure Vanilla's light mercilessly carved into the deepest, darkest part of his soul and watched his everything shatter into a million pieces.
The pain was blinding, suffocating, all-consuming.
He hoped desperately that he had been mistaken—that he wouldn’t survive this. That maybe his soul was so inextricably bound to that gem that its shattering meant true annihilation.
Death would be mercy.
No matter what kind of punishment awaited him in the afterlife, it couldn't be worse than this.
When the light finally retreated after what might have been seconds or hours, the pain faded with it.
Slowly. Agonizingly. Not completely.
But it got better. Slightly more tolerable.
Which probably meant that he was still alive.
That was really the only realization Shadow Milk could grasp right now.
His body still ached all over. His mind felt far away. His very essence had been ripped apart. Shredded.
He couldn’t feel anything but pain. Couldn't hear, see, or smell anything at all.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to cry.
Maybe he was? He couldn’t tell.
Then, there were hands.
Touching him. It hurt.
Moving him. That hurt even worse.
Wasn't he suffering enough?
(No.)
Did they really have to keep hurting him?
(Yes. He deserved it. He would finally get what he deserved.)
His body had nothing left to give.
The last thing Shadow Milk felt was a hand on his forehead before everything dissolved into sweet oblivion, and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.