Chapter Text
Comet hates his fucking life.
The former Archon sat on a splintering crate in the warehouse, knees pulled to his chest. He looked like a disgruntled child, blackened lower back wings curled at his sides. Aventurine stood infront of Comet, arms folded as he seemed rather unsure on were to go from here. They found out about Comet still being alive, after all. After Comet spent so long trying to hide until the right time.
The Stoneheart doesn't even know why they are after Comet. Yes, the other is from a bygone era, but was he that important? To the point where they are starting a fucking manhunt across every planet?
Aventurine eyed the manic god, who's dull gaze was fixed on the ground. The other was, naturally, upset. He was worried - Comet was already unstable enough. This will not end well at all.
"Go."
Aventurine was snapped out of his thoughts when Comet suddenly spoke, tone low. It didn't look up at him. The Stoneheart hesitated, wanting to insist on staying - but that'd be a bad idea. Comet would just drag him out either way, and the last thing he needs right now is getting an ear ripped off. The ma just steeled himself, resting a hand on Comet's head and pressing down before letting his arm drop back to his side, turning around and slowly walking out. He pulled out his phone to call Ratio.
Comet looked up, sharp eye watching Aventurine until the blonde was out of sight. He then grumbled to himself, sliding off of the crate and waltzing over to his work bench, the Visions on his person jingling with his movements. He stopped at the bench, poking around the scrap bits of metal and half-made gadgets. He wanted to work on something.
To get his mind off of things, even for a moment. But his hand shook and grabbed nothing. He grit his teeth. He eventually relented and just crumpled to his knees, burying his face into his arms that were now rested on the table.
He should've been killed alongside them all. Maybe then this nightmare would end.
Even if he wants to rip them apart for everything they've done, can he really do it? It's been so long, and he hardly even has a grip on himself. Does he even have enough power anymore to take down the reconstructed Heavens?
Comet growled. He stood up abruptly, bumping his work bench and rattling the items on it - a bolt or two rolling off and clattering on the cold concrete floor. Comet disregarded it, though, summoning his Gnosis with a wave of his hand. The former Archon suddenly threw it as he spun around the other direction, watching the glass chess piece shatter on the ground, releasing a wave of Anemo over the floor. Though as quickly as it broke, everything went gray as time reversed, the piece snapping back together with a ting before clattering back onto the floor. Still glowing. Unscathed.
The God's eye twitched at the sight. No matter how many times he tries to destroy it, it doesn't. Comet dropped to his knees with a painful thud and just screamed into his arms, fingers digging into his hair. Oh, where did it all go wrong?
The day they came.
This was not their home. And yet they forced it to be.
He hasn't even done anything yet! Why are they after him? Comet hasn't truly seen them since that day. Why do they see him as a threat, when he's weaker than he had been?
He hates being weak.
Comet's thoughts were quickly overrode with screams and cruel hisses. Sneers insulted his very being, the twisted voices quickly becoming painful in his ears. Comet tried knocking on the sides of his head to silence them, to little avail.
Eventually, the former bard reached down to his belt and pulled his pistol from his belt. He pressed the cold barrel against his temple, pulling the trigger as soon as he felt the metal graze his skin.
Bang.
Comet sat there for a moment with his head tilted, feeling the blood roll down to his neck. His expression was flat except for a twitch in his eye. Now that things were quiet, he just silently stood up, sliding his gun back into the holster on his belt before driving claw into the new bullet wound, ripping out the metal pellet and tossing it aside.
It hit the ground with a quiet clink. Comet pressed his sleeve against the bleeding area, staring blankly at the ground.
This was his life now. He'll just have to cope with it.
Whether he likes it or not.
Comet took a deep breath. Damn. Now his head hurts. Oh well!
He turned around back to his workbench. Now with the peace of silence in his head, he grabbed a smoke bomb he was working on and then a wrench.
He's oddly enough gotten quite into mechanical stuff. Primarily self-taught, considering he's never had any sort of "mentor".
That's how it's been for most things. He figures it out himself, since- well- what else can he do? Who can he go to?
Nobody.
Yes, he has Aventurine and Ratio by now. But he keeps them at a far arms length. He doesn't want them getting killed by being dragged into his shit.
Comet doesn't like how much he cares about them.
The hushed whispers started up again as his thoughts drifted. He shook his head before fixating his gaze onto the device in his hands- which were shaking.
Ugh, he gives up. For now, atleast.
Comet tossed the metal bits onto the table again, the steel clattering against the wood loudly and sending echoes through the empty warehouse.
The former bard headed for outside, pulling a lighter from his pocket. His head still hurt from the gunshot.
What a surprise.
Comet pushed open the creaky heavy door to outside, turning to the wall. He scaled it swiftly, pulling himself onto the roof where he perched with his legs dangling off the edge. He took a cigarette from a pouch on his belt.
This was his life now.
Comet flicked on the lighter, now thinking more while the voices are hushed.
So, they have found him. Somehow. He thought he was more discreet? Maybe someone who works directly under them spotted him and snitched. Bastard.
But how? He's hardly recognizable at this point..
Comet exhaled smoke, head falling back as he looked up at the empty sky that lacked stars from light pollution from the city. A shame.
This is his life now, and he has to deal with it whether he likes it or not.
But it's been upwards of twenty-thousand years. Can he really keep doing this?
...
Yes.
Yes he can.
And he will.