Chapter Text
Medkit had grown used to the sounds of the battlefield. Bloodshed and merciless kills came hand in hand with defending Lost Temple’s supposed “honor”.
The wars between Blackrock and Lost temple seemed never-ending, for most of his life it had been all he’d known.
Since the age of five, he’d been raised a soldier.
By six, he could shoot a bullseye from 75 feet away.
By seven, he’d been sent into battle multiple times.
By eight, he’d killed more people than he could count, than anyone could.
He couldn’t remember the times without rations, the times without betting on kill-counts in the hopes of a little extra cash.
Truly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been squeamish, the last time he’d hesitated. So why now? Why now did he hesitate where he stood?
With his hand firmly gripping his faction issued pistol, a hand-me-down that had gallons upon gallons of blood spilled in its history, he hesitated.
The man that laid below him appeared to be around his same age, he couldn’t possibly be older than 25. The man was around his height as well, with four pink curved horns that framed his face.
Above all, he adorned a bloodstained blackrock military uniform.
The sharp cuts of the 3 hitched mountain symbol stitched to the mans uniform mocked him as he loomed over the figure.
For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
They were two sides of the same coin, weren’t they? He could tell neither of them wanted to do this, so why should he?
The warmth that dripped down his cheek should’ve been a motivating factor. He was partially blind now due to the man, he’d be lucky if he’d get a week off to heal. But he’d done the same back to the man below him. An eye for an eye— as he’d been taught. Maybe he’d followed it a bit too literally, but now they were even.
What had ultimately been holding him back from killing the demon was something that had left him dumbfounded. The demon that now sat at his mercy could’ve killed him. The pink demon had him pinned moments before, but in a moments hesitation he’d allowed Medkit to counter his attack.
He’d seen something excruciating in the mans eyes as he’d hesitated. It was the same bone-crushing hurt he’d seen reflecting back at him whenever he looked into the mirror.
It was the same type of pain that hollowed you out, that left an unfillable abyss within you somewhere you couldn’t reach.
He’d seen a look that said “I don’t want to be doing this”, a look that said “I’m sorry”.
This look, it wasn’t one he saw every day.
Honestly, it wasn’t one he’d seen ever.
The man couldn’t run, Medkit knew this. In the tussle, he’d horrendously disfigured his ankle, that much was clear at the sight of the bone jutting out from beneath his skin. The demon had nowhere he could escape to.
Running from him would only mean running to another death, at least this one seemed quick.
Why would he shoot him when he’s already down?
In a split second, he’d made his decision.
He clicked off the guns safety, and took his aim.
The man that lay splayed on the grass before him winced at the noise.
“Play dead” Medkit demanded.
“…—huh??” the man below him questioned, clearly stunned at what he presumed was an act of mercy.
“Play dead.” Medkit firmly repeated.
He shot the grass to the side of the Blackrockians head, purposely missing by a few inches.
At the shot, the man fell limp. Medkit watched as his breaths slowed to an undetectable rise-and-fall. His eyes fell closed, and the act was complete.
Medkit let himself smile.
So he was smart enough to play along? Or was he dumb enough? Who knew.
What he did know is that he had a plan,
he just hoped it would work.