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.
Chosen simply lays there, weakly gasping for air as Dark tries and fails to apply pressure to the massive wound. The red around them both continues to expand as the black stick figure begins to tremble. Shaking fingers slowly lift and try to grasp Dark's fingers, only for them to slide through the ghost and drop to the ground with a splash.
A panicked sound leaves The Chosen One's mouth when Dark says they will go get help, "no-! S... stay... please..."
There is so much blood. It nearly reaches the edges of the room and yet Chosen neither dies nor stops bleeding. How could there be this much blood?
"C... cold..."
"I cant let you die... not because of me, I... I cant.. there is people who can help, just..."
despite his words, he couldnt manage to move an inch. it was too late, his own denial wouldnt change that.
the dark lord had measured countless fail-safes for if he actually tried to kill chosen, but none for actually managing to kill them. it hadnt even occured to him that he even could. despite everything, they always felt so untouchable. back then he would have been envious of them for it, now he just wished it was true.
what hurt the most was chosen begging for their killer, of everyone, to stay.
they really didn't have anyone else besides eachother. Dark had to ruin it for both of them.
the least he could do for them was comply with their last wish.
so, as if his entire body wasnt trembling, he kneeled down into the ever growing pool of blood, by the only person he could ever grow close enough to consider a friend. he reached for their hand, even if he knew he couldn't hold it.
small murmurs came out of his mouth as he tried his hardest not to audibly sob. just barely comprehensible, they were apologies. ones he'd owed them throughout his entire life. his voice cracked at least twice, this was the most vulnerable he'd ever been, it was the least of his concerns right now.
Blood continues to flow, perhaps faster now. It has reached the edges of the room and has started to rise. Chosen stares up at Dark from the blood and weakly smiles at him and whispers three words.
"I forgive you."
There is nothing more that The Chosen One could possibly say to The Dark Lord. No grand gasped up message, no asking for forgiveness of their own, no taunts, no plea for help.
Just a simple acceptance. The past happened and they can't change it. Neither of them can do anything about the fact Chosen is dying. All he can do is try and ease some burden of the future from Dark's shoulders.
The blood continues to rise, slowly filling up the room. After a few minuets it is getting close to the still wheezing Chosen's face. He's going to drown in his own blood.
'you shouldnt' dark was about to refute, his own selfish ego couldnt find the voice for it.
he felt something warm slowly rise up his legs.
blood. it was rising. why... was it rising? how did Chosen even bleed this much!?
most importantly, he could feel it. while he couldnt touch chosen if it would kill them, the blood stuck to his skin not any different than the countless lives he'd purposefully took before.
suddenly, Dark couldnt make sense of it. of anything.
he remembered he never even heard his chosen speak a word.
a minor disruption in the physical realm, and a slip-up in the dream itself. enough to bring Dark to his senses.
this was a nightmare.
well, it went on for long enough! time to wake up!
he did not.
well. okay- he had never stayed asleep long enough after recognizing it was a dream to try it but if anything he could figure out that lucid dreaming thing.
he stood back up, despite his efforts, the blood rose the same, covering most of chosen's face by now. he ended up averting his gaze from the sight. trying his best to ignore the last of the quiet pleas of his companion, he focused on the room itself.
he realized above the concrete walls, the ceiling was glass. weird. oh. the door! that means theres thecnically an outside! he tried phasing through it and hit his head right on it. okay. apperantly the only thing he couldnt touch was chosen! great! he attempted to open the door the normal way, it still would not budge.
he ended up trying to kick it open, burning it, trying to explode it, and, despite knowing it would do more damage to his body than the door, in his desperation he even tried ramming his shoulders onto it, this had went on for several minutes.
still nothing. he was trapped, worst of all he had exhausted himself.
As Dark comes to his realizations, the blood continues to rise. Even standing it is nearly hip deep by the time he exhausts himself. It is warm and thick, a slight struggle to move through that there isn't in normal water.
Looking up, the glass ceiling has lowered to the point where if he reaches up, he can touch it with his hands. Above the thick glass stand six people in a circle, staring down at him.
Red.
Chosen.
Victim.
Granny.
Chosen.
Sky Anon.
They all stare down at him in blank silence as the blood continues to rise, ever warm and thick. They will not help him, only stand there and watch him eventually drown in the gore of his own making.
