Chapter Text
The air rushed into Rocket’s lungs as she gasped for air.
A rhythmic breathing was set in her mind. In and out, in and out. His eyes opened to see the sky above him, carefully tracing the skyline as his eyelids threatened to flutter shut once more, weighted down by his exhaustion. His breathing came out in bursts, a silent desperation in keeping that rhythmic movement of his lips opening and closing. The side of her head felt wet and if she was to guess, that would possibly be her own blood smearing against the side of her face and her horns.
All he could remember seeing was Sword’s face. It remembered the feeling of its hands touching his face and how Sword said nothing when it did.
Wait, he should be dead.
Rocket turned his head to his left to see a figure sitting beside him. The brim of the hat glowed a dark, sickly green and the figure’s face was shadowed but he watched its chest rise and fall. Calling that thing a person was pushing it but it was alive, if Rocket was to guess. It turned to look at Rocket, meeting eyes with him as it did. Rocket felt like she was staring death in the face, shadowed eyes staring back at her with a sickening wide grin on the thing’s face. Her breath got caught in her throat as she anxiously turned away again, daring not to make further eye contact.
Staring at the sky once more and bleeding to death in the grass.
Waiting.
…
This whole death thing was taking a really long time.
“What gives?” Rocket parted his lips, voice hoarse from not talking as he turned to look back at the figure. It didn’t say anything to their question before they cocked their head to the side in the direction of Rocket’s laying body, “The mortal life is such a fragile, tiny thing,” Darkheart grins from beneath the shadowed brim of their hat. “Wouldn’t you agree, Rocket?” Darkheart’s voice remained layered as if backed up by several other voices in the mix. In some scary way, he could even hear his own voice and his father’s in that horrible mess.
“How do you know my name?” Rocket whispered, staring at the figure.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Darkheart responded. “Ah, let us think about your past life.. Rocket, son of the infamous B. Zuka, and a famous Phighter wielding a rocket launcher with such a clumsy, careless attitude.” Darkheart drawled on and on about Rocket’s life as if they knew everything.
Rocket pressed a hand to the gaping wound in her chest, cringing at the shallow pain that followed. “You’re kind of weird, you know that, right?” She scoffed. What sort of weirdo just decides to show up and start to tell you about your own life story while you are laying in the grass bleeding to death. A harsh and amused laugh sounded from Darkheart, snorting as they found humor in Rocket’s statement. “We get that a lot..” They hummed, grinning ear-to-ear. “Though, we are not here to tell you what you are and are not,” Darkheart pauses before rising slowly to their feet once more, their tattered coat picking up stray leaves as it stood up. “We are here to offer you a deal that you certainly cannot refuse, young one.” Darkheart loomed over Rocket, summoning its gear in a quick swing of its arm.
“Rise to your feet.” Darkheart demanded. Rocket stared at them, dumbfounded before slowly, and painfully, moving onto his knees and then standing upright. He held an arm over his torso, ignoring the blood pooling in his mouth as he managed to keep his head straight.
“Become our Follower and we may help you avenge what you’ve lost,” Darkheart proposes, grabbing the sword by the blade and offering the hilt to Rocket. “If you take this proposal, you will be subjected to our oh-so loving care and eternal life..” Darkheart cheerfully explains. “You can kill whoever, whatever, whenever!” Darkheart finishes sharply, tauntingly waving the sword in front of Rocket.
Rocket parts her lips in an attempt to respond before snapping her jaws shut once more. She needed to think about this.
He wanted to save Sword. He didn’t care if he died in the process. He promised Sword he’d follow him to the ends of the world, through hell and back and to the gates of eternal peace.
Rocket didn’t know this godly figure but he felt inclined to trust them. He felt drawn to the sword, slowly reaching a hand out to take it as it was waved in his face. Take the sword, save his lover and everything can go back to normal.
Her blood-stained hand wrapped around the handle of the sword. She watched as the sky, the grass and the world faded into darkness. He watched as the grass died around his feet with each staggering step he took and the burning sensation that ran through his prosthetics, burning as it reached the gaping hole in his chest.
Rocket gasped for air, clawing at his throat as he fell to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see.
All he felt was the warm, gentle embrace of death.