Chapter Text
While Pittoo didn't like admitting it, he knew he couldn't compare to Pit. Pit was the original, the good one; Pittoo was just a clone. A broken one at that. He was supposed to be a mindless puppet for Medusa, but he couldn't even serve that purpose. He was nothing; he shouldn't of even existed.
So, after everything was said and done, he ran away like the coward he was. They didn't have any use for him anymore, so they wouldn't mind, he was sure of it. Who would want to deal with a snarky fake anyways? It wasn't long before the sun began to set, and Pittoo started losing stamina. He was in a dense forest, in area that didn't look even slightly familiar. Too tired to care, he slumped down below the nearest tree, his brain still somehow on overdrive. 'You're worthless. A piece of trash. You knew you couldn't keep up the tough guy act forever, so you ran away. You should just die out here. No one will miss you anyways.' Pittoo cried himself to sleep that night, falling into a troubled slumber.
A solid week had passed, and it was taking a toll on the dark angel. While angels are more sturdy than humans, they still need nourishment. Bags had formed under Pittoo's eyes from nightmare filled nights, and he struggled to walk along the littered forest floor. When night rolled around once again, Pittoo finally passed out from the exhaustion.