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There was a spider on this tree branch. Dark tilted their head, trying to get a better look at it as it slowly used its webbing to construct itself a home.
It was, in Dark's opinion, a beautiful process, really. The delicate silk stretched from one branch to the next. Weaving nothing but string into a masterpiece it would use to ensnare flies and bugs and maybe even birds. This spider might be big enough to do that, right? They had read about large spiders being able to do that, and this spider was larger than the ones that would skitter around inside their house.
Chosen always tried to laser the spiders in their house. Which had always rubbed Dark the wrong way, admittedly, but also… no, actually, they didn't get it! How could Chosen not see these things as cool? How could they not understand how interesting they were? Why discriminate against spiders? Ants always got a cup out the door. Bees were carefully watched as they flitted from flower to flower. Butterflies were looked upon with awe.
What was wrong with spiders? Dark didn't understand. Why discriminate against arguably the coolest bug there was?
Dark watched as the spider started stringing web to web, making it more of a net, more secure. Like something meant to protect it when it climbed up high, not something to catch and trap insects. It was a trick. A facade. Maybe that's why Chosen was unnerved by them. Maybe that's why Chosen was scared of spiders. Chosen didn't like pretty fake words. Dark was always blunt. A bit silly, or blatant in their lies so it was obvious it was sarcasm, but never quite twisted their words in the way their programming nudged them into trying. The Dark Lord was meant to seduce The Chosen One onto their side, or so the story and their name implications go. The Dark Lord was meant to negatively inspire the masses, corrupt the innocent, recruit the downtrodden and such. Evil things and whatever. It showed too—their voice, if they let it, was smooth and calming. They spoke with a growl in their voice, with curses and no care for how it came across, but that was because they cared too much of how it came across.
The Dark Lord was meant to trap people in a web like a spider. Dark was meant to do a lot of things, and really they didn't do shit.
They found themselves on the receiving end of words that sounded so pretty before they took Chosen's hand. Words that were… stilted, like Chosen hadn't had the ability to use their voice for years. Words that were blunt, and more implication and gesture than anything.
Words that weren't a web, but a safety net. Something Dark fell into, and was caught by. Chosen caught them from falling. From falling into what exactly, Dark would never know, but from the way Chosen acted sometimes… it was bad.
(Chosen forgot they could talk occasionally, spending hours-days-weeks without a word as they went through the motions. There were times they moved with a limp, like an old injury on one leg acting up, or something was weighing them down. There were days when they weren't as… responsive as they usually are, Dark having to prod them to eat and drink and rest, unflinching when Dark brought them into a hug as they retreated into their mind.
The night terrors were the worst. Dark had woken up from their side or the room more times than they could count in the middle of the night from their code, because their Mission affected them more than they wanted Chosen to know and the knowledge that The Chosen One was in their room didn't let them rest. When it happened, getting woken up with a jolt of kill them kill The Chosen One they're weak it's your purpose kill them KILL THEM— Dark brushed it off with a few shaky breaths. And, more often than not, Chosen would be shaking.
Chosen was usually asleep, still, but shaking in their bed, on the other side of the room. Dark could see it. They usually stumbled over and put a hand on Chosen's shoulder. Grounded them. Muttered cliche cheesy shit like
You're safe, you're ok, we're here, I'm here
. It worked, usually. Sometimes.
Dark hated seeing them like that. It was always the only time Dark had ever seen Chosen cry. It was the only time Chosen ever spoke with a horrible shakiness in their voice, pleading for—something. Dark couldn't tell if it was freedom or mercy or relief. Dark didn't want to know.)
Maybe spiders reminded them of that. Maybe something bad happened with spiders.
Or maybe it was Dark's fault. Maybe there was something bad about Dark that Chosen saw reflected in the webs. After all, Dark blacked out for hours at a time occasionally as they lost the battle they were always fighting against themselves to not kill their best friend. They didn't know what Chosen saw, or heard, or felt them do. They didn't know what they did. Maybe Dark did something bad, something spidery, and now Chosen couldn't stand the sight of them, even if they were fine with Dark now.
The spider completed its web. It was just as pretty as Dark had expected it to be. The thing crept to the edge of the web and lie in wait as it waited for its prey to unknowingly fly into the shimmering threads.
It would starve if, by pure luck, no creature would stumble across its web. It would starve and die. It didn't get to choose what it caught, or if it caught anything at all.
Though, there was another thing spiders possessed that helped with a hunt. A spider had fangs, and could choose where to bite; It could choose if it wanted to bite at all.
Chosen was scared. Dark couldn’t help them with that, quite yet, but–they wouldn’t be able to use the web to help.
The Dark Lord wanted to use their fangs. They wanted to use them where it would hurt. They were not prey, and they were not a weapon, nor a tool or a thing to be used to execute The Chosen One. They were the fucking Dark Lord.
They had an idea of what to do. On how to help end those night terrors and terrifying days.
The Dark Lord was a spider, and they were going to forgo their web.