Something small slowly slinks out of the shadows behind Dark, darting a limb out and swiping hooked claws across the back of his calf. Somehow they make contact with the ghost thanks to the magic infused into them, a darkness comes over the ghost's vision as he is forced to sleep.
When the red stick "awakens" from his slumber, he finds himself in a cold, grey room. The walls are made of concrete and there is a door cut into the wall he is facing. Despite there being no windows, a breeze blows through the room, cold enough to make Dark shudder and feel something sticky drying on his hand. Some liquid that is almost the same color as his skin.
Before The Dark Lord can truly take in and understand whats going on with his hand and what coats it, a wheeze comes from behind him. A sound the powerful stick knows well.
The sound of someone's dying gasps.
The sound of prey.
However, when he turns, Dark does not see Prey. He sees Chosen laying there on the ground with deep, claw like gashes in his chest and stomach, red spilling out across the floor as they wheeze and cough weakly, looking up at Dark, mouth moving like they with to tell him something but they are to weak to form more than a tiny plea to Dark.
"Please... Don't... Go..."
@the-nightmare-anon
startled, but unable to react in time, the Dark Lord stood no chance against the poison in his system. he fell down with a graceless thunk, startling Carnage, who, upon assessing that he was still alive, and taking a look at the --compared to her-- huge, scary creature who had him in their grasp, decided to hop on his head and settle back down, like it was a cozy nest just for her.
Dark's half-hazed state of mind only cleared when he recognized the figure in front of him. a sobering punch right on his stomach.
on impulse alone, he ran to their side. his brain suddenly ran a mile a minute, thinking of what could have caused this. they were always meant to be by eachothers side! protecting eachother! how could Dark let this happen to them?
their voiceless words pleading to them shook Dark to his core.
"who..." he was about to ask, 'who did this to you?', before the sticky, red substance in his hands suddenly made sense, and everything clicked in his brain.
he, did this to chosen.
he, had completed his mission.
"no... no, no.." confusion and worry found its way to anger and grief.
"fuck, Chosen. why!? why would you let me do this to you!? we've been through this! youre better than this!" he chastised them, as if trying to pass the blame to chosen themselves would absolve him of any guilt. it did not. he felt awful, saltwater started dripping from his face and he didnt even feel it.
this was salvageable, right? yeah, he just had to apply pressure on the wounds for a bit, they were the chosen one, they always healed fast, theyd survive. they'd-
his hands passed right through the torso of the stick figure beneath them.
of course. all he was good for was to destroy, even in death. he didnt know what else he expected.
"just- survive! Ill bring someone, ANYONE, who can help, dont you dare die on me!"
in his panic, he failed to remember that, even in his dreams, his Chosen never spoke a word to him.
