Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sword was rapidly sifting through his closet, looking for some nice clothing to wear. He knew he had some kind of dress clothing in here somewhere. He held his cellphone to his ear, waiting for the dial tone to stop and Rocket to pick up. 

Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ing… Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ing… Ri-i-i-i-i–

“Hey Sword! What’s up?” Rocket chirped enthusiastically through the speaker, a dull sizzle heard in the background.

“Hey, Rocket, you’ll never guess what Venomshank told me!” Sword nearly shouted, so excited that he could barely control his volume. He picked out a rose undershirt and a maroon blazer, laying the two over the edge of his bed as he went back to the closet to fish out some pants.

“Uhhh,” Rocket began, pausing to think before he continued, “I got nothin’. What’d he say?” He spoke, Sword’s energy contagious.

“He’s bringing me to a gathering of the SFoTHs!” Sword had to refrain himself from screaming.

“What?! No way! Lucky??” Rocket responded, tone growing whiney and playfully envious that Sword got to meet the members of the SFoTH in person.

“I know!” Sword took a deep breath to reign himself in. “Yeah, I just had to tell someone, you know? Anyways, what are you doing right now?” Sword asked, pulling some black dress pants off its hangar, laying them next to the shirt and blazer.

“Me? Oh, I’m just making dinner. Stir fry! They’re probably gonna have some fancy food, like, the forbidden fruit! ” Rocket jested, chuckling to himself he scraped the assorted vegetables and chicken into a plate for himself to enjoy. 

“Nah, if we’re being real there’s just going to be like, a thousand chicken nuggets from chick-phil-a, or something.” Sword joked back, “How’ve you been recently?” He asked, changing the subject from his invitation once again.

“I’ve been good, bought a new game recently, you have to come over and play it with me sometime!” Rocket suggested, the sound of blowing made Sword infer that Rocket was trying to cool down his food faster.

“That sounds awesome, actually. How does…-” Sword’s train of thought came to a halt as his phone vibrated in his hand. He pulled the device away from his ear, seeing that Venomshank finally managed to work the phone. “Hang on, Venomshank’s calling. Gotta go, bye!”

“Oh, alright. Bye Sword! Call me back, ok?” Rocket requested, “Will do!” Sword agreed, hanging up his call with Rocket and picking up Venomshank’s pending call.

“Hey, Master Venomshank. What do you need?” Sword greeted, sitting next to his set aside clothing on the bed. 

“Yes, hello Sword, speak up, I can barely hear you!” Venomshank spoke, although his voice was quiet, as if the phone was far from his ear.

“Yeah, you gotta put the phone to your head,” Sword told him, barely stifling a chuckle.

“Oh, Th at’s not how I’ ve seen you do it? Whatever. We will depart to the hall in two hours. Be ready.” Venomshank quickly hung up after he finished speaking. 

That was fine, Sword needed to start getting ready. He had to look his best for the gods, afterall.

Chapter Text

Sword made sure his long hair was combed to perfection as he looked himself up and down in the mirror. His tie was tied correctly, shirt tucked nicely, blazer hugging his athletic build perfectly, he was ready to go.

Grabbing his shoes from the floor of his closet, he left his room and began the walk down the hall and the stairs to the living area where Venomshank was already waiting for him. Venomshank wore his usual outfit, the military-esque shirt and pants with all the bells and whistles, a vibrant yellow-green rose sat in his shirt pocket, setting the look aside from his every-day attire. It made sense that Venomshank didn’t need to dress up, he already did dress up for every day of his life.

Sword smiled nervously, shifting his weight on his unshoed feet as an idle tic. After a long stare, Venomshank spoke out a gruff “I’ll allow it,”, turning towards the front door to don his own shoes before leaving. Sword did that same, stepping into the sleek black dress shoes as he followed Venomshank out the door and into the back of a nice looking black car. 

As Sword settled himself in his seat, Venomshank spoke. “You are not to tell anyone of the banquet’s location, am I clear, Sword?” Venomshank’s dead serious tone caused Sword to absentmindedly straighten his posture. “Yes, Master Venomshank.” Sword spoke sheepishly, letting his shoulders slack as he heard Venomshank speak once more. “Good.” 

The sleek car pulled out of the driveway and–

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The two stepped out of the vehicle, Sword marveling at the ornate entrance to the large building. Carvings in the wall that seemed to jump out at you of armies, raging infernos, destructive windstorms, frigid blizzards, magic insignia, wandering spirits, and the most prominent of all, a huge statue of what appeared to be white marble of the mighty Illumina stood proud, staring above and past everything that was before the temple. 

Venomshank walked up the steps unfazed by the glory of the building, entering through the large and agape wooden gate. Sword jogged up the could-white stairs, slowing to a walk as he caught up to Venomshank, just because he was walking didn’t mean he couldn’t marvel at the grandness of the whole thing, could he?

A long hallway of grand portraits later, and the two entered into a giant room, a large table with 11 table settings, sat in the center, a long table that was entirely empty sat against the far wall, and towering immortals were talking around the room. Sword was nervous, to say the least. He Swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at Venomshank for guidance. The two vibrant green lenses looked back down at him, and Venomshank gestured to the social circle of demons. Illumina, Ghostwalker, Firebrand, Windforce, and Darkheart stood in a cluster, and all of them have looked over in their direction at least once. After a particularly long stare from Illumina, the towering man in white robes teleported before Sword and Venomshank.

“Greetings, Illumina.” Venomshank spoke up, bringing a hand to rest on Sword’s shoulder, reminding him to greet the god before him. Sword looked up at Illumina, making the mistake of making eye contact. Sword gave a nervous wave, managing to choke out a “Hello, Master Illumina.” Through the nerves. 

“Hello.” Illumina Spoke back, his great voice booming through Sword’s entire being. “You are Venomshank’s mentee, correct?” He asked, knowing the answer. “I’ve heard great things about your skill with a blade. I am happy that Venomshank decided to bring you along. I’ve been waiting to congratulate you in person for your advances.” Illumina praised, Sword could have sworn he saw a smile before Illumina disappeared in a swarm of white feathers, appearing back with the crowd of other immortals. 

“Microphone, Megaphone, and Banhammer are over there,” Venomshank began, gesturing to the chatting demi and semi-demi gods. “You already know them from Phighting, yes?” He added, implying that Sword should go over and say hi. Sword nodded mutely, walking over to the group of three.

The one in yellow waved him over, that wide tv grin on his face that was perfected with make-up. He wore a sleek dandelion suit with a silvery undershirt. Sword waved back, shifting his gaze to the youngest of the three. Dom stood tall, lavender vest over a black dress shirt. His face was still partially shrouded from the hood, but Sword could see the shadow fade to a regular pale skin-tone. Looking up at the tallest, the warden of Banlands himself stood taller, looking no different from his usual battle-ready self. Now that Sword was thinking about it, Windforce was wearing her armor as well.

Fucking i cant write dialogue :////// use your imagination ✨

Their chat concluded, the pattering of light feet echoed slightly off the walls. A small chill filled the room in the presence of Icedagger, the final member to get the banquet started. Venomshank, Illumina, Windforce, Firebrand, Darkheart, Ghostwalker and Icedagger all started to make their way to the table in the center of the room. The quartet of mortals that Sword was a part of walked over as well. Every god took their seat, Illumina at what Sword presumed was the head of the table with Ghostwalker on his right, Firebrand next to them, Dom, Valk, and to Illumina’s left sat Icedagger, Windforce, Banhammer, Darkheart, Venomshank. The only seat left was the one at the other end of the table, the rose red napkin that his cutlery sat atop made Sword think that this seat was just destined for him.

He took his seat, looking around the table of gods nervously, yeah he interacted with them from time to time, but never all ten of the divine at once! “I believe it is time we formally address something.” Illumina began, scanning the faces of all the divine demons before locking onto Sword’s eyes with the intense and burning gaze of a god. “Sword,” the demon in red couldn’t break away from Illumina’s gaze. “Welcome to the family.” Warm and friendly smiles found the faces of the gods, and a small applause was heard for a brief moment.

“Now, to get on with it. Icedagger, have you been managing the Blackrockian borders?” Illumina inquired, “Yep!” The smaller demon in blue chirped. “Ghostwalker, how many souls are waiting to be spawned at the fountain?” Illumina asked again, “106,777.” Ghostwalker responded, adjusting their glasses. “Windforce, do you have any plans?” He asked, “None for the near future.” She answered, “What about you, Firebrand?” He gestured to the respective god of fire, “I don’t either.” “Perfect, you two work together, as of late the forests in Playground are getting out of control, you two know what I’m implying.” The demon in white ordered. “Darkheart, refrain from a phrenzy for now.” Illumina spoke once again. “We understand,” Darkheart confirmed. “Sword,” Sword’s attention was snapped back to the periwinkle demon. “Clear your schedule, after dinner, you are needed for a ritual, and are going to need a week or so to recover from its effects.” Illumina explained, looking at Sword expectantly. “Yeah, I’ll do that-” Sword said, beginning to pull out his cellphone before a small jolt of green magic shocked his hand. “No phones at the dinner table, he meant once you leave here.” Darkheart reprimanded, holding up a gloved hand and wagging a finger back and forth. “Sorry,” Sword apologized, dodging the gaze of everyone.

A loud clap brought him back. He looked up to see Illumina with his hands still clasped together. Sword noticed several demons who look similar to Illumina hustling about, bringing platters of food to the longer table against the wall. He couldn’t watch for long, as one of the servants had walked right up to him, pouring a dark red liquid into his glass. The same demon wordlessly filled all the other gods’ glasses as well, skipping over Icedagger for a different servant to pour a much more recognizable apple juice into the small snow deity’s glass instead. 

Once the servant walked away, everyone except Sword raised their glass, although he quickly followed suit. After a short moment of quiet, everyone brought the glass to their lips and took a sip. Sword took a small sniff of the liquid, it had no scent. He took an apprehensive sip and was surprised by the bold flavor and violent sting. He fought back the urge to cough as he watched everyone else happily swallow their drink. Sword blinked the tears welling in the corners of his eyes as he forced himself to swallow the liquid. Clearing his throat as quietly as he could manage, he looked around at everyone to see what they were all doing. 

Most were just swirling the dark liquid in their glass, Icedagger was happily sipping his juice, Banhammer downing his drink like he was taking shots, Dom and Valk were chatting amongst one another. Sword glanced over at the other table, which now had food of all different types laid across it, all the servants were nowhere to be found. 

Without warning, Illumina commanded “Fill your plates.”, And Sword watched as everyone but himself and Illumina stood, taking their plate with them as they walked over to the table. Sword got up as well, taking his plate with him as he wandered over to the table where everyone else congregated. He needed something to get the bitter aftertaste out of his mouth, anyway. 

Sword settled on a modest cut of roast beef, an adequate side of mashed potato and a hefty spoonful of fresh fruits. He sat back down, letting out a shaky sigh as his head grew a little light. He eyed the glass, the drink mocking him and taunting him almost. He sucked it up and began eating his food. But be assured, he wasn’t going to let some drink win, that’s for sure.

Chapter Text

A few bites of food later, Sword took the glass of the dark liquid to his lips as he took his second sip. He readied himself for the sting and it was like it only got worse. Fighting back the urge to cough it back up, he swallowed, feeling it singe his throat on its way down. He gave a cough, trying to clear the burning sensation from his mouth as he began eating again. 

Most of the others were nearly done with their first glass, and he’s barely touched his. He sighed in slight defeat, continuing to eat his meal. He could hear to his left that Dom and Valk are chatting about some things, like their T.V. show, upcoming phights, upcoming performances, and whatever you’d expect the idols to be talking about. He could see that WIndforce and Firebrand were talking to each other, from the looks of things, it was getting a little heated. Banhammer was on his, what was it, fourth drink? Darkheart and Venomshank were talking amongst themselves, Sword could hear a few praises of his skill in their conversation. They were talking about him as if he wasn’t there. 

Sword looked across the table, meeting gazes with Illumina once again. The taller one was just staring, he didn’t even have food on his plate, his cutlery was untouched, and his glass was nearly full. How long has he just been… Staring? Was a question that tugged at Sword’s mind.

The meal continued, and a fight nearly broke out between Firebrand and Windforce, Sword couldn’t even make sense about what the issue was, but a cold glare from Illumina had them both sitting down once more, continuing their meal in bitter silence.

Sword lost count on what drink Banhammer was on, but the large demigod was drunk in earnest. He was just leaning back in his chair, oblivious to the world. Valk had excused himself, disappearing down a hall and behind a door. Dom looked a little worried, so much so that he had stopped eating, even when there was still some perfectly good food on his plate. Venomshank and Darkheart were still talking as they were earlier, glad to know that those two were getting along at least. 

Sword looked around, almost every plate but Dom’s, Valk’s, and his own was nearly empty. A few more minutes went by and Valk returned, taking a seat and smiling wide, although the makeup having been washed off his face and the fact that he looked even paler was slightly off putting. 

Illumina clapped and a few of those servants walked into the room, clearing away plates. One even took his plate, even though he wasn’t really done. Whatever, that was fine. 

“You two,” Illumina began, looking at the two idols. “Watch Banhammer for us,” He ordered, then ominously turned to stare at Sword once more. “We have that ritual to get to. Come,” he spoke, standing from the table. The other gods rose as well, and Sword was swift to follow. He waited for the room to stop shaking before standing fully, walking behind the group of gods. They went down the hall that Valk did, passing the room that he ducked into, the ajar door revealing it to be a bathroom. They kept walking, though. 

Illumina stopped at a door that had a servant standing in front of it. The servant had what looked to be a large white cloth draped over their arm. The servant walked up to Sword and set the large garment, that was revealed to be a robe, in his arms. 

“Go in there and get changed,” Illumina ordered, ushering Sword inside the room. “A servant will fetch you shortly.” He continued, shutting the door after he was done speaking. Sword held out the garment in front of himself. It was much like Illumina’s, although the accents were a pale red, the color bordering pink.

He struggled slightly with the buttons on his blazer, but was eventually sitting in a comfy armchair with the robe on. It was quite big on him, tailored in a way to fit a broad-shouldered man, someone like Banhammer, but he wasn’t nearly that muscular, his body lean, yet athletic. The robe dragged on the ground when he walked, he felt tiny in the thing, it was weird.

He didn’t have too much time to dwell, as someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” He said. The door opened and one of the servants was out there waiting. Sword stood, lifting the dragging robe like it was a skirt, as he followed the servant further down the hall. A short walk later and both he and the servant entered a vast room, where the 7 gods stood, encircling a raised platform in the middle. 

They all wore black robes, accented with the color of their horns, Except for Illumina, his robes were still white, just far more ornate than the already ornate clothing that Illumina usually wore. There was a certain unease in the room, as if the air was stagnant and dusty. Illumina stepped forth, stepping onto the raised center and beckoning Sword closer. 

“Come forth,” He began as Sword stepped up to be standing right in front of him. Illumina extended his wing as he continued. “Kneel.” He commanded, Sword followed the order and he heard the familiar sound of Venomshank summoning his blade, followed by a staticky crackle, a howl of wind, the crack of ice, the cry of spirits, and the growl of fire. Sword peeked upward to see Illumina summon his own blade in a silent flash of light. 

“P r e s e n t   y o u r   h a n d.” Illumina spoke, voice echoing through the room and Sword’s very soul. His blade was pointed downwards towards Sword’s kneeling form. Sword shakily lifted his right arm, palm up and out to Illumina. He felt the sting of pain as his skin was sliced and crimson began to drip down his arm. He hissed as he watched the wound bleed, noticing how Illumina’s eyes were glowing, a pale purple tint within the pure white. 

He heard a chant in some unknown language begin, but he couldn’t hear it finish before his senses faded out. He shut his eyes as he felt the burning pain of his wrist. It felt like the weight of every action he’s ever made was crushing his form, he used all the strength he had to remain kneeling.

He felt a sudden surge of energy before it stopped abruptly.

Chapter Text

Floating around in a starry black void, Sword was confused. He was wearing his usual outfit of tank top and sweats, but his accessories and sword were nowhere to be seen. He twisted his body, searching for something that he could use to ground himself. 

There he saw it, the rose-red blade, floating just as he was. He tried to swim over to it, but he couldn’t move through the void. He felt it call to him, beckoning him closer. 

“Draw your blade.” 

“Draw your blade.”

“ Draw your blade! ”

He focused hard on attempting to call the sword to him, imagining a line drawing it closer. He heard the whine of metal on metal and…

He stood in the center of the raised platform, sword raised high above his head. It pulsed with a foreign energy, beating in tune with his heart. He didn’t remember bringing it… 

The ache in his head set in, tension behind his eyes uncomfortable as a bed of nails. His body was exhausted, aching as well, he had no idea why. Was this the effect that Illumina warned him about? Oh well, he’s dealt with sore muscles before a good night’s rest and he’ll surely be feeling better.

Back to the present, he looked around at the gods that encircled him. They all looked proud to some extent, all but Illumina.

“You were slow.” He jabbed, “I expected you to be better in-tune with your gear.” He elaborated, glaring at him with jarring disappointment. “Venomshank praises you too highly. Find yourself, and then your real training may begin.” Illumina’s word’s hurt. To be cut so deep by someone he looked up to? He wasn’t even sure what most of that meant. He only understood that he was bad. He needed to get better.  

“I un-” “I didn’t say you could speak!” Illumina barked, cutting Sword off. “Your form is sluggish, and you cry like a child.” Illumina continued to berate. “Unmanifest your blade and go home before you waste any more of my time.” He ordered, turning to face the other gods, telling them to return to duty as well. 

Sword was devastated. Hadn’t Illumina just praised him on his progress when he first arrived? He watched as the other deity’s weapons dissipated into dust, disappearing into thin air as they began to leave the room. Sword was stunned in place. His hand went slack over the hilt, the Sword disappearing before it could clatter to the floor. By now, there were three left in the room. Himself, Ghostwalker, and Illumina. 

The two gods turned their heads to look at Sword, Illumina speaking some unheard words as Ghostwalker teleported away. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?” Illumina questioned, closing the distance between himself and Sword. Sword was hesitant to answer, the question seemed rhetorical enough.

“Ye-” “ Then why are you still here?! ” Illumina boomed, holding a clawed hand in a threatening gesture, wing flaring behind him. 

A tense silence passed. “Go home.” Illumina demanded harshly. Sword obliged, leaving the ritual room with his head hanging low. 

—

The aching in his body only worsened with time as Sword lay awake in bed. He had changed back into the clothes he arrived in back at the temple, but hadn't bothered to change into sleepwear once he got home. His entire body hurt, and the slice in his wrist festered with something evil. He asked Venomshank about it but he had said not to tamper with it, and that it would heal on its own. 

Sword groaned in discomfort, writhing as he stretched his muscles, attempting to rid himself of the horrible ache. It felt like his skeleton was twisting in its place, his chest felt extra tight, and his head was stuffed with cotton. This was the worst he’s ever felt by far, he had never had a sickness keep him up at night before. Grumbling, he sat up, shuffling into the attached bathroom to fish around for some ibuprofen. He just wanted to enter a coma and not wake up.

Chapter Text

The aching in his body only worsened with time as Sword lay awake in bed. He had changed back into the clothes he arrived in back at the temple, but hadn't bothered to change into sleepwear once he got home. His entire body hurt, and the slice in his wrist festered with something evil. He asked Venomshank about it but he had said not to tamper with it, and that it would heal on its own. 

Sword groaned in discomfort, writhing as he stretched his muscles, attempting to rid himself of the horrible ache. It felt like his skeleton was twisting in its place, his chest felt extra tight, and his head was stuffed with cotton. This was the worst he’s ever felt by far, he had never had a sickness keep him up at night before. Grumbling, he sat up, shuffling into the attached bathroom to fish around for some ibuprofen. He just wanted to enter a coma and not wake up. 

—

He whined pitifully, sitting up and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He woke up about an hour ago, but just didn’t want to get up from how bad the aches still were. Getting up from bed, he found his comfiest sweatshirt and a clean pair of boxers as he went into the attached bathroom for a shower. 

Reaching past the shower curtain, he turned the knob of the shower to warm. Setting the pile of clean clothes on the closed toilet, he sighed. Looking at his own face in the mirror, he could see the redness in his eyes from a sleepless night of suffering. The pain remained into the morning, it hurt to make any exaggerated or sudden movements, and his back felt like it was burning. 

Shimmying out of his clothes, he checked the water temperature. It was warm enough. He stepped into the shower and sighed as the warmth of the water somewhat soothed the insatiable ache in his entire body. Finally able to move without agony, Sword showered, savoring the soothe that the water brought to him. He didn’t even mind that some soap stung the slow-healing slice in his wrist, he was too relieved of the rest of the pain to care.

Once clean, Sword reluctantly stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. He put on the clothing he set aside, gathering all the dirty stuff into his arms to be tossed into the hamper once he got back to his room. Recalling something from last night, he remembered that he had to clear his schedule. 

Grabbing his phone, he stared at the notifications. A text from Valk, “ Don’t worry, I already got a substitute for you. ” That was nice of him. Sword unlocked his phone and replied with a curt “Thanks”. He looked at the rest of his notifications. A missed call and some messages from Rocket. Right! I was supposed to call Rocket back- Stupid! Sword berated himself, knocking his own forehead and grimacing at the intense pain that brought. Wasn’t his brightest moment.

Rocket

 22:56    Sword?

              Sword! 

Rocket: Come on, how long is that gonna take?

9:24

Rocket: Earth to Sword! Are you okay, dude?

10:33

Sorry, man :You

—

Sword felt bad for accidentally ghosting Rocket, the latter was probably at a phight anyway, it might be a while before he gets a-

Bzz! 

Well.

Rocket

10:33

Sorry, man :You

             All good, I was just a little worried

Rocket: You feeling alright?

— 

Sword debated telling the truth, he wondered if he was even allowed to disclose the details of what happened with anyone, so he settled on a simple lie.

Rocket

             All good, I was just a little worried

Rocket: You feeling alright?

Hungover :You

             No fucking way

Rocket: There was drinks?

Yeah        

Mad headache :You

             Damn alright

Rocket: Drink water, eat something

T hanks :You

—

Maybe eating something would help him feel better. The idea sounded slightly better than laying motionless as the pain consumed him, anyway. 

Chapter Text

Laying near motionless in his bed, Sword attempted to ignore the pain, laying on his back and focusing on his breathing, a technique he picked up to reduce the soreness after training; he could adequately exist without wanting death. He got up and ate something earlier, a quick sandwich that he threw together on the spot. He didn’t feel like being on his feet long enough to make anything more filling. 

Now, he had nothing to do, other than lie here and dwell on the world. His mind meandered to the memory of Illumina cutting into him, the words hurting just as much as the awful aches. He was slow, slow with what? He wasn’t sure. He could ask Venomshank about it when he got home, he wasn’t going to bother him with something so trivial anyway. More in-tune with his gear? He wasn’t even sure what that implied. He was still confused on how he got his sword last night, he didn’t bring it, and there was no way the return-to-hand call would have reached all the way back home? Yet another thing to bother Venomshank with. 

The last time he checked the time it was around two PM, by now, the sun filtering in through his window was growing dimmer as the sun arced over the west side of the building, moving away from Sword’s east-facing window. If he had to guess, he’d say it was about 4:30. Had he really spent 2 hours doing nothing?

He didn’t have the chance to answer that when he heard the chirping birds of his ringtone. Sucking air through his teeth as moving to pick up the phone aggravated his aching muscles, he picked up the phone and saw Rocket’s profile picture and name staring at him. He smiled involuntarily, pressing the “pick up” button and turning on speaker. 

“Hey,” He spoke, voice slightly hoarse from a lack of use. He wondered what he was going to tell Rocket now? Surely he wouldn’t believe it if he said he was still hungover. He glanced up at the time as he spoke. Yeah, it was actually a little closer to 6 PM than he could have guessed, oh well. 

“Holy shit dude, are you alright?” Rocket asked with concern that even I, the autistic writer, would have been able to notice. Sword wondered if he really sounded that terrible.

“Yeah, I’m good. Nothing to stress over, really.” He fibbed, clearing his throat and fighting back a hiss as a shock of pain racked his form from doing so. He slowly moved to lie back down on his back, pressing a palm to his forehead as he attempted to will away the intense pain. 

“Are-” Rocket hesitated, “Are you sure?” He finally asked, concern manifesting in a voice-crack. Sword would have chuckled if not for the unbearable pain. His head strained out of nowhere, causing a wince of discomfort to escape his throat before he could affirm his previous statement. 

“Dude, what’s going on?” Rocket pressed, a slight desperation in his tone as he attempted to squeeze an answer from the demon who tended to downplay his own problems often.

The pain worsened, as if someone was compressing his skull and body, the bone feeling as though it wanted to crumple in on itself. Sword wanted to just say he was fine, but even if he could get the words out Rocket wouldn’t let it go now. He settled on a wordless whine to not leave Rocket without an answer. 

“Oh my Illumina, what’s wrong?!” Rocket spoke exasperated. Illumina… Sword felt a spike of pain in his head. He knew what was wrong, alright. His brain felt like it was melting, exploding, being stabbed,-- all of it! “I’ll be there as soon as I can, hang in there, alright?” Rocket decided, background noise indicating a hasty departure was imminent.

“ Please… ” Sword whimpered, tears welling in his eyes as he felt the world shake. Wait, it was him shaking. That wasn’t helpful to the debilitating pain he felt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay on the phone, just–... Do you know what happened?” Sword could hear the vague sounds of a few doors quickly opening and shutting, the final being a harsh thunk of the truck door, the ignition of said truck allowing Sword to assume that Rocket had begun his commute.

“ No–... It hurts. ” Sword winced pitifully, he wasn’t sure if the phone even picked up on his voice, so broken and quiet.

“Oh gods uhm– Should I call Medkit once I get there?” Rocket asked, Sword could hear a panic in his tone. 

Sword wanted to say yes, but something in his mind hissed at him to say no. He tried to debate with it, but doing so only made it hurt more.

“ No… P-please… ” Sword whined, letting out a breath of air that he didn’t know he was holding. The pain eased when he listened to that voice, good to know.

“Alright… Uhm, I’ll be there in 6… 7-ish minutes, hang in there.” Rocket spoke, trying to see if he could reassure or soothe Sword at least a little before getting there.

“ Ok… ” Mumbled Sword, still grappling with that excruciating pain.

Chapter Text

Now sitting up, shaking, and silent, Sword held a glass of water as Rocket patted his shoulder, unsure of how else to soothe him without making things worse. Sword’s eyes were red, and puffy from all the crying. He was about as confused as Rocket, what caused that? That referring to the sudden spike of pain so bad it jerked him to tears. 

Was it just… Anything?? Like, he could just be sitting there, existing, and… Pain. The thought more than just unnerved him. It scared him. Sword wasn’t notorious for being fearless, getting flu shots was still hell for his trypanophobia, but it wasn’t usual that Sword would just… Be debilitated by fear.

That itself was scary, and Rocket shifting next to him caused him to flinch, expecting another spike of agony straight from hell. Rocket looked at him with pity, carefully wrapping him into a gentle hug, careful not to agitate any of the aches. Sword was thankful, thankful that Rocket was patient with him, thankful that Rocket was being at least a little normal, thankful that he was here.  

Sword couldn’t help but debate if this was normal for friends. The dropping whatever they’re doing to rush to his aid, not the hugging. He liked the hugs, him and Rocket hugged all the time. When greeting each other as they waited for a phight to start, to celebrate a win, to say goodbye, when they slept over and… and shared a bed- okay maybe it was a little more than friendship? The thought strained his tired mind in a THANKFULLY not painful manner, instead only tiring him out. 

He wasn’t sure.

He had… erm… Experimented before, flings and one-night stands leaving college and entering young adulthood, but no real relationships, not any that lasted more than a few months, anyway. He had just never really felt anything for any particular person, you know? Just agreeing to ‘date’ for their sake, and Sword not wanting to make them upset by rejecting them. Eventually, all these relationships fell through as the two slowly drifted apart. 

But with Rocket? They just clicked. Conversation rolled easily, hugs, fist bumps, high-fives, and hand holding just felt natural. They’ve known each other since middle school, phys ed, the memory always made Sword smile.

–

Sword sat uncomfortably, a bunch of other guys swarming him and trying to talk to him, to be his friend. He didn’t like many of these guys, a lot of them were brash, or out-right mean. He looked between all of them wordlessly, wanting to muster up the courage to tell them to leave him alone, or even just to get up and walk away, but he couldn’t do that, that was rude… 

He looked over one of the guy’s shoulders, noticing a scrawny looking kid sitting alone, resting his head on his hand as he looked around the room. He looked sad. Sword frowned, that kid looked as sad as he felt agitated by all these random people swarming him. 

Sword got up, forgetting about his previous thought of being rude as he walked over to sit next to the kid with blue horns. 

“Hey.” He said, looking over and shrugging his shoulders. The blue-horned demon looked up at him, a small look of disbelief on his features before he smiled wide.

“Hi!” The kid chirped, straightening his posture and balling a hand into a fist as he flapped his arms slightly. “I’m Rocket, it’s nice to meet you!” He continued, extending a- WOAH?!

Rocket had a robot arm, that was SO COOL!

Sword marveled at the silver arm, veins of electric blue seen slightly through the splits in metal where the joints were. He regained himself, remembering he had to introduce himself too.

“I’m Sword, it’s nice to meet you too.” He spoke, looking back up to the Rocket’s face. The smaller demon was still beaming, Sword liked Rocket’s smile.

– 

Sword shifted his blank gaze over to Rocket, watching as the blue demon’s expression changed to a slight look of shock, and then to a sweet, soft smile. Sword was smiling too, able to forget about the pain momentarily as such a happy memory drowned it out. 

Sword wasn’t scared anymore. He was just happy, and this nice and comfortable warmth radiated from his chest. 

Chapter Text

Days passed, and it wasn’t getting better or worse. There were spans of hours where he felt barely anything at all, and then a sudden jerk of pain would flood his body, sparking hell all over again. And there were the good days, the days where the pain was manageable, and he could do something with his time, like focusing on meditation.

Oh, yeah, he spoke to Venomshank about what Illumina had meant. Venomshank explained that every geardemon has a link with their gear, in the divine, that link is stronger. After the ritual, Sword’s link was strengthened, but not quite to the level that the other demi-gods were. He needed to practice summoning and connecting with his blade, a way to do that was through meditation.

Sitting still, closing his eyes, slowing his heart rate, imagining the sword in his hand, the weight, the texture of the grip, the way it felt as it cut through the air, the whine of metal on metal as he finally draws his blade from within the link.

A second faster than last time! He congratulated himself, pumping his fist in the air in victory as he unsummoned his blade, preparing to do it all over again. The action of drawing his blade using the link had become as natural as breathing, it was just taking some practice to get it faster.

As he slowed his breathing once again, he began to mull over the recent events. The banquet, the ritual, and the recovery. It was the supposed last day of his recovery, and he couldn’t wait to get the draw quick enough to be viable. Using this technique in a phight would surely keep the enemy team on their toes!

He couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning, feeling refreshed as he usually did after a good night’s sleep.

Chapter Text

Eyelids fluttering, Sword slowly woke up.

His chest felt clear, his mind felt rested, and his body didn’t ache one bit! He felt more energized than he has since he heard he was going to that banquet. He sat up, stretching out his limbs before standing up and trying to get some of this unnecessary energy out. 

Who could blame him for being so ecstatic? He’s been practically bed-ridden due to the spontaneity of the pain spikes to the point where he couldn’t really leave the house in fear of breaking down in public. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table, watching as the screen turned on and he was greeted with his lockscreen. 

It was… A picture of himself, and… a demon in blue– Rocket! How could he forget? That was Rocket, his best friend. Best friend. Right. He saw the notification for a text pop up over the pair’s faces, from Rocket. (Oh god here comes the gayass texting format)

Rocket.

9:47

Rocket: Good morning

Morning :Sword

–

He replied quickly, setting his phone down onto his bed as he walked over to the attached bathroom. Flicking on the light, he–

What.

His gaze found a winged demon in the mirror, large feathered limbs sprouting from his own back. He stared in a shocked silence, mouth dropping open in disbelief. He was dreaming, there was no way.

The wings slowly unfurled, the front sides of the wings looked sleek, and smooth, all the feathers neatly in their rows. The pale grayish white of the feathers higher on the wing faded out into a brilliant red at the tips of each feathered limb. The same color as his skin, fading into the same color as his horns. 

He turned his body, slowly and clumsily wrapping the wing around himself to see the back. Similar to the front, only the gradient started a little higher, and there were noticeable stripes in the gradient, darker reds where the background was lighter, and lighter where the background was darker.

He was still in shock for a long moment. He felt his head lighten as he realized he was holding his breath. He took a loud gasp of air, grabbing onto the wing frantically.

He felt it, and it hurt.  

This wasn’t just a dream, it was real. This was real? No way, surely not. Regular demons like him didn’t have wings, that wasn’t how it worked. This– this wasn’t real.

His vision blurred as the world began to feel distant, his body trembled, wings shaking with it, quivering as they slowly returned to a resting position. 

He heard a scream, locking eyes with the demon in the mirror, he could see their mouth open, as their body slowly crumpled in on itself.

The whine of metal on metal, drawing his blade and roughly grabbing the left wing, forced it to spread out, the limb began to tremble in horror as one of the sharp edges of the blade lightly pressed against the feathered skin. His own hand refused to go any further, his own will not bend to the intrusive thought to carve up the flesh of this foreign part of him.

His hands shook, flinched, and twitched, causing the weapon to unexpectedly press against the fragile underside of the wing. Pain bloomed through the area where the sword still pressed against, red beading along the metal of the blade and more red bleeding through the feathers, going towards the edges and dying them redder than they were before.

He screamed belatedly once again, his hands falling open, letting his sword disappear and his wing go to flail unrestrained. Shortly after the door to the bathroom opened in a hurry, an unmasked Venomshank worriedly staring down at Sword, who was sitting on the bathroom floor, right wing limply draped over the right half of his body, left wing attempting to flap the wound away, tears streaming down his face with a look of utter horror painted across his features.

“Sword!” Venomshank’s strong voice cried out, dropping to his knees to try and assess the situation. Sword was terrified, but found himself paralyzed as Venomshank attempted to help him up, gently holding the injured wing still and encouraging Sword onto his feet. Sword’s legs didn’t want to support his own weight. He looked into the mirror again, eyes wide and unfocused, body still shaking like a leaf, his wings trembling the worst. 

This wasn’t real. It wasn’t.

Chapter Text

He sat on his bed, motionless and distant to the world. What happened to him? Venomshank explained it, but he just couldn’t understand. He glanced down at the foreign limb tucked comfortably under his arm. He felt a surge of anger the longer he looked at it. It wasn’t him. That wasn’t his!--

Before he could begin to tug at the feathers, Venomshank’s hand grabbed his wrists, holding them still before Sword came back to himself. He looked down in defeat, jerking his arms out of Venomshank’s grip. He balled his hands up into fists in his lap, still struggling to come to terms with his new form.

Venomshank had his own wings out, dark and iridescent feathers similarly tucked beneath his arms. Sword glanced up at the taller immortal’s still unmasked face. His eyes were narrow with worry, mouth curved downwards into a frown. Sword looked back down at his hands. Destructive. Childish. He berated, turning his right hand over to look at the scar made from Illumina’s blade. 

He felt Venomshank’s hand rest on his shoulder, dragging his attention to the immortal. The god smiled at him, a bittersweet smile, before once again reassuring him that this was supposed to happen, and it was normal, and it was a part of him now– but NO!! 

It wasn’t him, it wasn’t his! It– 

Venomshank had to pry his hands away again. 

He just wanted to wake up, to end this nightmare.

–

Sword sat up from the bed, feeling refreshed as he had right before discovering the wings on his back. He looked behind himself, no wings! It was just all a nightmare, a really bad, fever dream from the pain medication. He was fine now, he was fine. He picked up his phone, checking the time.

3:12? Why was he up this early? Probably from going to bed so early the night before, oh well. He slipped his phone into his pocket, quietly shutting his bedroom door as he walked down the stairs to get some breakfast. A bowl of cereal sounds divine right about now.

He found himself in the kitchen, grabbing a bowl, spoon, the carton of milk, and the box of cereal. The box looked dull, a light gray with absolutely no pictures or text. He opened the box up, shaking out the starchy flakes into the once green, now teal bowl. He set the box down, getting out the milk and pouring it over the colorful spheres. 

He lifted the spoon from the counter, using it to scoop some of the flavorless, textureless, nameless, descriptor-less cereal into his mouth. Tastes like ☠︎✌︎💣︎☜︎☹︎☜︎💧︎💧︎. He took the bowl from the counter, carrying it over to the dining room table. 

He took out his phone to check the time, 💧︎♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ⚐︎🕯︎ 👍︎●︎⚐︎♍︎🙵. He didn’t remember being up this early. He took another bite of the cereal, looking at his lock screen. Him and R̶̛̯̦͖̬̠͍̺̜̳͇̙̻̤̖͙̘͔̬͔̯͔̺̬̥̙͈̙͎͈̪̖̹͛̒̑͂͑͑̉̃̈́̈́̆̒̾͋̉̅̔́̓̇̈̾̄̂̚̚͘͜͝͠͝ͅẅ̶̛̗͖͕͙͇̺͍̻̝̜̫̰͉̬́́̋̀̒̔́̄́̊͝O̷̰͖̊̌̈͋͂͆̍͋́̕͝ị̷̢̛̛̛̲͐̉̐͒̓̀̈́̍̒̄̿̋͋̒͑͒̏̄͝͝Ċ̶̡̢̨̡͕̯̱̠̞̘͖͇̰̳̦̬̲̫̠̠̻͕̙̝͗͂̋̅̈̏́̓͌̾͂̔̒̓͐̊̎̾̎̾̀́̌͑͆͘͘͘͘͠n̶̼̰̩̼̪̹̰̘̼̹͙̱̦̦͉̭̗̭̤̠͈͙͎̤̍̽̂͌̇̽̾̆̆͑̽̈̒̾͋̄̔̇̚͜͝ͅK̴̨̧̛̰̻̭͎̥̟̱̬̠̻̼̟̝̰͇͎̫̥̥̞̿̒͌̃̆g̷̨̧͈̫̰̖͚̜̥̱̯̩̮͕͍̫̐̐̋̈̿̀̍̈́̀̐̃̍̑̃̈̆͌̚͠ͅͅẾ̷̲̻͍̞̯͛̈́̆́̀͋̃̑̐̓͊ş̷̢̢̢̱͈̤̱̪̗̪͎̰̘͓͔̹̭͉͍̗̭͔̮̰͚̬̖͛̌̓̅̽̈́̂̋̔͐̚̚͜T̶̢̛̯̤̰̱̠̹͎̱̘͔͉͎̝̩͚̼̜͎̩̲̦̓̾̅̔͒̑̋̏̒͆̑̌͋̓͊͗͗̑̕̕͜͜͝͝. Best friends. Him and Į̶̡̡̛͇̳̮̳̘͈̥̤͈̗͖̝̜̮̣̝̫̞͎̼̪͇̙̺̰̥̟̬̭̪̬͓̲̣̱͔̪̹̫̳͍̙̩̻͍̞͕̑̅̍̔̀̃̏̉̉͌͒͐̃̀͒̿͑̊̎́̽̀͐͐͆͐̄͛̑̌̀̽̑͌͛̓̑̏͗́͛̓͂͐͐̒̑͘̚̕͜͠͝͝Ļ̴̨̧̛̼̤͉̦̜͙͚̳͔͎̗̬͖͉̺͖͕̖̝̹̪͖̭̯̯̹͇̙̠̥̙̲̱̥͉̰̯͍̼̼̯̞̪̠̇̃͗͗́͆͛̀̋̓̽͗͂̊̅̌̃̍̇̆͆̿͑͌̉͒̿͘͜͝ͅͅŴ̴̨̺͔̖̎́̈̾́͗̋́͑̅̃͝͝ͅL̸̢̛̛̛̥̥̳̥̗̫̠̊̒́̐̆̽͑̓̍͐̐̈́̈́͗̿̌̽̄͐͗̿̓̅̓́̓̉͑̌̃̂̃͒̽̋̏̅̄̆̔̊̓̓̽̿̔͂̑̓̌̀́͒̚͝͝͝U̶̢͚͈̺̰̱̣͈̪͚͎̖͈͍̣̪̪̰̮͈͔̭͈̳̼͍̤̼͙̪͍̲̱̥̪̘͈̭̠̥̹̬̯̠̜͖̻̯̭̓͒̏̊̍͆͒́͌͐̈́̓̍̇̃̎͌̊̅̌̈́̐͗̉̈́̑͆̓̈́̅̇͒̓̀̏͆̐͊̊̚͘̚̕͜͝͝Ī̶̢̧̢̗̘̖̜͔̗͍̩̰͍̯̪͍̭̲̹͚͉̙̥̠̲̙̫̦̱̦͓̖̻̬̤͔̰͕͖̜̳̤̻̱͊͆̊̀̈́͌̔̽̈̆͗̂́̈́̀̀͒̐͋̽̋̔̐͒̍̔͑̽̑̓͒̃̿̌̾͗̏̾̽̆̾̕͘͜͜͠͠ͅͅM̷̧̡̡̨̧̟͕̖̟͔͚̳̦̟̬̖̘̪̟̖̥̗͓̦̘̙̥͈͉͓͙̦̦̮͙̠̦̪̹̑̈̉̋̇́̓͆̅̔͋̔̀͘͜ͅĮ̷̢̨̧̖̞̬̘̞͇̰̻̖̣̪̲̜̪̟̳͙̝̞̱̺̭͙̥͓̜̤̺͚͚̪͓̰̲̞̱̻̜̰̼̪͇̺͇͈͍͉͚̟͙̦̯̏̔͗́̾̌̾͊̏̒͆̆̇̊̀̑̏̈́͑͋̍̈́̒͒̏̐͛̆̔̒͋̑̒̌̀̃̈͌̒̉͗̿̃̊̚̕͜͜͠͠ͅͅͅN̸̡̡̧̛̯̙̺̘̦̟͉̞͕̪̗̜̪̝͍͙̗̙͈̜̗͚͎̳̱̖̟̬̼̜̘̜̞̳̼̞̤̭̞̰͕̟̥̰̳̺̿́̈̅̂̆̃͂̋̓̽̃̑̊̓̀̋̀̂͊̔̀̈́̽̐̃͗́̓̇̊̄̓͆̍̔͘͘̕͜͝͝Ņ̵̢̢̡̨̢̭͉̪̰̤͈͈̼̘͓͈̹̠̖̬͈̣̬̯̖̗̺͎̞̮̮̥̣̺̙̪̜̺̫̹̟͓̱̲͎̞̤̼̥̘̟̋̉̄̓̂̐̓̄̔̓̎̌̑̀̀́̅̂̍̂̍͑͐̊̇̑̈́̏͋̈͊̇̌̾͂̐͘͜͠͠͝͝͝ͅȀ̶̢̨̨̨̛̛̘͖͔͔̟̺͇̟̰̘̦͖͎̣̻̖̼͓̞̘̲͉̻͓̰̦̜̠͚̰̦̳̬͇̞̜͎̬̩̼͍̘͖̮̝̹́̈̀̄͑̓̈́͑̂̂͗̒̈́̓͐̏̑̿̕̕ͅG̷̡͕͕̖̖̩̤̺̳̦̦̔̎̌͊̓̀͛̂̅̌͆̀̉̅̽̃͛̀̋͊͒̓̇͊̏̓̈̌̄͗̀͊͂̕͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅ Best friends. 

He put the phone down, Taking another bite of the cereal. He looked down in the bowl, the letters floating at the top spelling out a humorous message. “Wake up”, what does that even mean? He chuckles to himself and takes another bite of the W̸͙͖̦̯̗͇̅́̀͋͑̽̃́̂͑̾̐̐͛̓̉͗̆̆͗̊̓͒͆͛̈́͌̿̔̋̀̎̏̎̍̓̓̈́̓͒͐͒̚͘̕̚̚̚͝͠͝ͅä̴̙͔̰͕͚͖͓̹͙͈̺̗̳̩̹̜͙̮́́k̵̢̡̨̧̧̡̠̫̻͈̲̮̖̖͎̣̰̖̪͈̬̩̻̟̗̺̲̞̖͇͚͉̲͓͔̬̹͇͐̏̊̏͌́͜͜͜͝ͅē̴̢̨̢̛̻̩͍͖̣͇͉̫̫̻͙͍̖͉̜͕̹̲̖͎͌̄̊̿̆̃̀͋̾͊̀̓̒̽̽̉̚͝͠ͅͅͅ ̷̢̢̢̛͔̼̲͙͈͓̫̳͚͕͚̤͉̝̻̼͕͇͍͚̫̤̲͚̓͊̇͂̇̓͗͆̓́̌̌̀̍͆͒̋̌̀̉̔͛̇͗͊̒̆̃̍̑̿͂̐̑̋̌̾̚̚͝ư̸̝̟̺̼̼̟̪̭̠̤͓͉̳̗͈̦̙̺͋̇͂̿̆͋̿̓͛̌̑̑̏̎̆̓̍̎͗̈́͜͠͝ͅp̵̨̤̖͎̳̝̯̝̩̱̗̻̠͓͍̟̪̗̰͔̝͕̘̖̞͓͎̪̼̤̏̓̄́̎̌̅̃̕͜͝ͅ.̵̧̳̝͈̘̬̜͉̫̈́̾̽͘

He checked his lock screen again, his left arm and wing was wrapped around Rocket in a side-hug, both of them were smiling. His wings.

–

The sensation against his back was strange, like his skin was burning away to reveal the folded wings beneath it, and another layer of fresh skin beneath that. It was like those alien movies when the xenomorph or whatever crawled out of its human puppet from the back, but with two large feathered appendages instead of another living being. 

It didn’t hurt, at least, Sword didn’t think it did. It was a strange feeling, that’s for sure. Like when you get a bad sunburn, and the skin starts to flake off, and then the layer of sensitive, new skin is underneath it. 

The wings flapped, finally able to stretch after one long week of growing in. It felt good to get them moving again.

Again? He just got these, why did it feel so natural? 

Was it him?

–

Sword jolted awake in a cold sweat, grabbing onto his wings for comfort. The feathers were soft in his hands, like a comfortable quill, or the stuffing of his favorite pillow. He sat still for a moment, eyes darting around the darkness of his room. It felt like he could see a little better in the dark, able to make out the slightly ajar bathroom door in the darkness.

He guessed that he forgot to close it when he– oh, wait.

He looked down at the red and white wings tucked under his arms. He lifted his hands from the soft feathers, looking around the room again as he brought his hands together to fidget with his thumbs. The wings shifted uncomfortably behind him, unable to find a comfortable position while he sat there, still trying to grapple with how truly strange that dream was.

So… This was the reality. As much as he tried to reason his way out of this, he couldn’t possibly have wings! That was for divinity only! He recalled the banquet, 

“Sword”... “Welcome to the family.” 

Illumina’s voice echoed in his mind, feeling as if it was really there . He was part of the family.

Was he–?

No. Don’t think like that. That’s bad. You aren’t a god. You’re merely a disciple. That was blasphemous just to think that.

Wait…. Why was he thinking that?

Chapter Text

Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ing… Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ing…

Sword held the phone to his ear, nervously fiddling with his fingers. His wings shifted behind himself, he was still struggling to come to terms with the whole wings thing still, but he had finally accepted that this was real. At least.

Ri-i-i-i-i-i-ing… Ri– “Hey Sword! What’s up?” Rocket chirped. 

“Hey,” Sword began, Rocket still didn’t know about the wings, and Sword was planning on telling him at some point during this phone call. “Can you video call right now? I have something important to tell you.” Plan A, get it over with, is go!

“Uhm, yeah, what do you need to tell me?” Rocket spoke, voice picking up a slight note of worry as they converted the call to video. Rocket was sitting down on his bed, similarly to how Sword was.

“Uhh, promise not to go crazy?” Sword asked, his phone close to his face in a way where his body didn’t show at all.

“Yeah… What is it?” Rocket replied, voice now clearly showing worry, similarly to how his face twisted, preparing himself for something crazy.

Sword pulled the phone back, hesitating before spreading his wings, the bright and colorful feathers immediately catching Rocket’s attention. The latter was stunned into silence, his jaw dropping as he stared at the sight on his screen.

Sword felt his face burn with embarrassment as he put the phone down on the bed, screen and camera pointing to the ceiling. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Sword asked, voice sounding distraught as he thought of Rocket now seeing him as some kind of freak because of his new feathered limbs. 

“W-what? No, no, no! Not bad!-- ” Rocket assured, voice sounding similarly exasperated. “I-its…” He stuttered, trying to come up with the right word. “It’s stunning. ” He decided, much to the surprise of Sword.

The demon in red felt his face burn even harder, he was glad that the camera wasn’t on him, otherwise Rocket surely would be teasing him right now. “W-what?” Sword squeaked, now flushing from the fact that his best-friend-but-maybe-crush just called him stunning. No, not even stunning, stunning, tone and all.

“It’s unique!” Rocket quickly responded, defensively. “I-I just… Anyone would be stunned by their beauty– w-wait, I mean uhh… Coolness.” He continued, video showing the smaller demon in blue placing a hand over his face, hiding away.

Sword couldn’t help but chuckle a little, reaching forward to pick the phone back up to see Rocket’s video better. He watched as Rocket peered through his fingers, hiding away with an embarrassed groan once again as he saw that Sword was definitely looking at him. 

Sword checked the small video preview box, you know, that thing where you can see your own video? That. Sword checked that, seeing that he was blushing as well as his chuckling similarly faded to silence as he realized he might actually be blushing more than Rocket was. How was that even possible when the other looked bluer than the sky at this point. No matter, they were both idiots in a hopeless slow burn.

“Uhm..” Sword stammered, unsure of what to say next.

“It’s… It’s not bad, that’s for sure. Can I just… See them again?” Rocket asked, Sword wondered if it was because he liked the wings or just needed to get a better look at them.

Regardless, Sword once again pulled the phone back, once again hesitantly flaring the wings out behind himself, the sleek feathers catching and beautiful. Rocket couldn’t help but stare, not just at the wings, but at Sword. The way that the red still clung to his cheeks, the way a couple stray strands of his long platinum hair framed his face, the way his eyes failed to meet the screen, Rocket couldn’t stop himself from imagining how soft the wings must be. “They’re nice…” He found himself murmuring under his breath. 

Sword found himself looking down at his own wing, maybe they were nice… It surely felt ‘nice’ to not hate them for one second since discovering them. Maybe they were nice… Sword couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He finally lifted his gaze back to Rocket, still smiling at the smaller man. He was so glad that he could trust his best-friend-and-now-definitely-crush.

Chapter Text

Today was a big day for Sword!

After a week of being stuck home he was finally about to get back out there and continue his career as a Phighter! He climbed out of bed and stretched quickly, his wings extending behind his back. He let out a satisfied sigh as his back popped with a crisp crunch .

He walked over to his closet, pulling out a tank-top and a pair of gray sweatpants. He walked into the bathroom to fix up his hair, preen his feathers, and make sure no lint stuck to his clothes before re-entering his bedroom.

Getting out his shoulder-pad and other accessories, he put them on and grabbed his phone and wallet, looking into the mirror with a final feeling of self-doubt as he stared at his wings. 

How would they all react? Would they be as stunned as Rocket was? Or… 

He’d rather not think about it too hard. He did have a bus to catch, after all.

Chapter Text

Sucking in a breath of apprehension, shaking his shoulders out to loosen the tension, Sword stepped through the gates of the lobby. 

He looked around, everyone was here, all conversing in their respective cliques. His own presence wasn’t unnoticed either. 

“Oh, Sword’s back! Hi Sword!” Shuriken chirped, interrupting his sister as he gave a high wave to Sword. 

Noticed already? He thought as he gave a sheepish wave back. He sees many other Phighters acknowledge him, waving or shouting their hellos, and as his head is turned to wave back at someone, he is unexpectedly tackled by a flash of blue. 

“Rocket?” He asks, hardly fighting against the surprise hug that the smaller demon subjected him too.

“Ahh! I missed you so much!!” He shouts, finally letting Sword up after a particularly tight squeeze. “You don’t even know how much I’ve been meaning to hug you..” He jokes.

Sword gives a small chuckle, reaching behind his head to scratch his neck. “Well uhh… sorry to keep you waiting?” He replies, keeping up the joking manner before his attention was grabbed by Medkit. 

“Sword, why were you gone for so long? I’ve been concerned.” He spoke, crossing his arms.

“Oh uhh..” He began, “I was sick?” He decided on, shrugging.

“You never get sick.” He replies, voice cold. He seemed to not buy it.

Sword stared back in a nervous silence, still unsure if he’s able to disclose the details. He really should ask someone about that, shouldn’t he?

Medkit flicked his eye to the wings that were folded neatly behind Sword’s back. Oh.

“It’s family stuff, I-I’m not really sure if I should say anything..” Sword explained, nervously reaching a hand back to grab the end of his wings, fiddling with some of the bright red fore-feathers.

With a sigh Medkit replied, “Very well, welcome back nonetheless.” Before walking off.

Looking back at Rocket, Sword gave a confused look.

“Oh, Yeah. Dom and Valk came and said to not mention.. It.” Rocket offered an explanation. 

“Oh. That was… nice? Of them?” Sword replied, still sounding a little confused.

Internally he stewed with those thoughts, They really do see him as a freak, don’t they?? They had to tell everyone to.. To act natural? Was he that unsettling? That everyone else had to be… warned? 

“... Hey…” Rocket voice cut through the haze, Sword’s vision snapping back into focus. “You good?” He asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He replied curtly, turning his gaze away hoping to distract from his blush.

“You’re good? Why don’t you prove it!” Rocket spoke, playfully shoving Sword’s chest. “Phight’s starting soon!” He added before sprinting off.

Sword watched him go, smiling to himself as his previous thoughts were replaced with something a little more light-hearted.

Chapter Text

Sword was nervous, standing beside Medkit as their team waited for the round of annihilate to begin. Himself, Medkit, Shuriken, Banhammer, and Boombox were all clad in red, waiting to launch from their respective spawns.

The map was domino valley, Shuriken was going to go upwards on the flank and surprise the enemy Hyperlaser who was likely going to be sniping up there, Boombox and Banhammer would go on the left, he and Medkit on the right. That was the plan, anyway. Things could get quite chaotic during Phights. 

3…

2…

1…

PHIGHT!

Sword and Medkit launched forward, watching down the valley for the enemies as they did the same. The first two they clash with was Katana and Subspace, Subspace rushing right up to Medkit with his mist. With Medkit distracted, Katana used the opportunity to attack Sword, however the winged demon used his superior mobility to out-maneuver the older swordsman, delivering quick slashes and rapid damage to his opponent.

Unfortunately, he can’t dodge every attack, taking a few powerful hits before his and Katana’s blades lock together at the hilts. He looks over his shoulder to find Medkit, able to hold his own against the mad scientist, but quickly growing tired as their fight wore on. But Subspace, in his poorly proportioned pride, was taken out not too long after Sword had checked in on their brawl.

Attention back on Katana, Sword broke from the clash with an upward dolphin slash, hitting Katana with a swift combination of some regular slashes paired with an air slash to take him out too.

“Nice work.” Medkit offered as a congratulation. 

“Thanks, you too.” He spoke, feeling a new rush of energy course through him as Medkit’s crystals restored his health.

Setting off again, Medkit is quickly occupied with assisting the rest of the team, and as Sword approaches the front lines, he notices a few explosions, and rockets, coming from the right flank. He smiles to himself, using an overturned pillar to climb up onto the elevated cliffs to give his friend a little surprise.

Chapter Text

He used an overturned pillar as a ramp, climbing onto the cliffs and seeing Rocket, shooting his projectiles into the fight below, unnoticing of Sword. Sword smiles, 1 versus 1’s with Rocket helped them both improve, not to mention that he just liked to be around the other. 

Getting close enough, he lunged with his blade, taking Rocket by surprise.

“Ugh-! Not– fair!!” Rocket shouted, giving an invigorated laugh as he rocket jumped upward, hovering for a moment as he fired three quick rockets, all of which hit Sword dead-on.

“All’s fair in love and-” Sword began, before experiencing a full-body flinch, all his muscles contracting as he fell to his hands and knees. His eyes widen, vision blurring and ears ringing. His wings flapped, the only part of his body he feels he could move. 

What… is happening..? 

The world blinks away, and he’s floating in that void again, he sees his own blade, only a few feet away in front of him. He looks around, scanning for something else, and very very distantly, he sees it.

A sword seeming to project its own glow, blade white and hilt periwinkle. 

“ Fear not, Child. ” A voice speaks to him, omnipresently. 

He looks around for its source, unable to see any other being in the void. 

“ Resist not, Child. ” The voice spoke again, Sword felt his body go numb as his consciousness returned to the real world.

He tries to swivel his neck to look around, but he can’t. He can’t even move his fingers, and he can hardly move his eyes.

He sees his body rise, belatedly realizing that he was standing. He saw Rocket, worriedly mumbling things and hesitantly reaching out at Sword before deciding against it. He hears a laugh exit his own mouth, something sadistic in the tone. His head turns down to his sword, laying on the ground a few steps away. 

His arm reaches out for it, picking it up and examining it. “ Interesting .” There it was again, that voice. 

“S-Sword? Sword are you alright?” He hears Rocket speak. 

He watched as… No!- He wasn’t going to only watch anymore!

He channels all his energy into trying to move, to speak, anything! His efforts counteract the force moving his body before, causing its smooth movements to become choppy and stuttery. 

Sword doesn't know how he knew, but this force controlling him… it was going to use his body to hurt Rocket! He couldn’t let that happen. 

“ R-R– ock- et… R-unn ” His voice rasps, everything hurt, this burning sensation over every part of him that was being… almost puppeteered. 

Breath coming in short gasps, he fought the force hard, his own movements counteracting the force trying to move them. 

Breath coming in angry huffs, he hears Rocket’s footsteps as the other retreats, his own body growing weaker to resist.

A final sigh leaving him as the limpness returns once again, his wings flaring outwards and expression twisting. He feels the leather grip on his weapon bite into his hand as it gripped the thing tightly, suddenly he feels himself lunging, breaking into a sprint. 

His right wing quickly tucks under his arm, causing a slight imbalance as the left remained folded at his back, despite this, he watched as his body sprinted on, the stop was abrupt when Banhammer grabbed the back of his shirt. He saw that everyone had stopped fighting, Rocket looking shaken and everyone staring at his sudden appearance in his peripheral vision. His eyes wouldn’t leave Rocket.

“Unhand me, Banhammer.” Sword’s voice, sounding slightly deeper than usual demands, his body otherwise unmoving.

“Nuh uh, yer’ bein’ weird.” The warden replied, unrelenting in his hold. 

Sword noticed Medkit approach slightly, attempting to gauge the issue. He also noticed the unnerved expression that came over his features as he drew closer. His left wing twitches, wait- he can move it? 

With the revelation, he begins to flail the wing, causing his own body to twist in an attempt to look at it. “ Cut that out. ” He hears the voice hiss, he wasn’t going to listen to it, though. As he continues to flap the wing, furtherly annoying his puppeteer, he hears a quiet growl leave his chest.

“That is enough! Release me at once!” He hears his voice shout, body twisting to bring his sword up, cutting himself free and falling to the ground. Quickly gaining his barings, his body lunged for Rocket, only to be stopped by a few others, all somewhat struggling to hold him back.

“ I am doing you a favor, this man is a horrible distraction. ” the voice within hisses, only to shout something unintelligible moments later as he is restrained. 

Sensation returns to his body, his arms immediately flying up to his face to cover it, almost falling over as he regains his balance slowly. His legs wobbled, feeling sore from all the struggling, his eyes burning with tears as he his body shook. 

Everyone looked surprised, and a little startled, of the sudden change of behavior.

Rocket looked as scared as he felt.

Chapter Text

No one understood what happened, not even the other demi and semi-demi gods. Just as Sword was hoping for things to get better, of course it had to be ruined.

Thankfully, everyone was ok. Perhaps with this newfound god-hood, it’s some kind of ferality? Like Venomshank? He thought, trying to come up with some kind of answer. He can just ask his mentor once he returns home.

–

Walking through the door and removing his shoes, he is immediately greeted by Venomshank, who was waiting for him.

“Hello, Sword.” He spoke, voice sounding somewhat urgent. “Illumina is summoning us to the temple, there's been a change of plans and you are needed. Go get ready.”

“... What?” Sword spoke softly, change of plans? Get ready? It sounded important, he should go look presentable. “Oh, alright.”

He left his shoes by the door, rushing up the stairs and to his room. Once inside, he riffles through his closet to look for a clean shirt, settling on a simple red t-shirt. He also tugs on a sweater, going into his backroom to fix up his hair.

Only minutes after his ascent, he descends the stairs to see Venomshank still waiting right where he was before, must be important…

“Sword, one of my undead will be your chauffeur, safe travels, and make haste.” He says, gesturing to the door. 

“Alright, goodbye, Master Venomshank!” He says, putting his shoes back on from where he left them by the door and jogging over to the car.

–

Arriving at the temple, Sword exits the car and gives a small wave to its undead driver, walking up the stairs, through the hall of portraits, into the high-ceilinged room where the banquet was held, and- 

Wait, he didn’t know where to go. Thankfully, a servant found him standing around doing nothing, and wordlessly escorted him to a room that appeared to be a study of some kind. 

“You’re here.” Illumina says, voice sounding calm, yet there was some kind of undertone that Sword couldn’t seem to grasp. “I have decided to make you a disciple,” He says without letting Sword get a word in, pulling an old-looking tome off a bookshelf and presenting it to Sword. “Study this to learn the Language of Old,-”

“Wait, wait, disciple? Like, a student? But Venomshank is already my-” Sword interjects, hesitant to take the leather-bound book.

“Was I asking?” He replies, looking down at Sword with a scolding expression. He pushed the tome closer to Sword, urging him to finally take it.

Sword relents, taking the book and quickly being startled by how heavy it was. Illumina was able to hold it in one hand, so he didn’t think it was that heavy. 

“As I was saying,” Illumina speaks, a bite behind his voice. “You will study this tome to learn the Language of Old, you will let me know once you have finished. Am I clear?” He continued, not giving the mortal much of a choice.

“Uhh, Yes, Master Illumina.” He replies with a bow, recalling the verbal beration that follows upsetting the god.

“Good, if you wish, you may return whenever you please to use this study and be free of… Horrible distractions. ” He spoke before disappearing in a swarm of feathers.

Sword stood, now alone in the quiet of the room. He didn’t have any plans today, right? Might as well start now.

Sitting down in the cushiony chair at the desk, Sword set the book down, opening it to the first page. He didn’t recognize the symbols at all, turning the page, he noticed regular letters, as well as the strange symbols. First, there was a string of symbols, and below it, a phrase in more recognizable text. 

The first intelligible phrase read: “In the beginning, there was an expanse of infinite dark ocean and The Spawn, then, emerged Light.”

Interesting… 

The second: “Light flooded the dark, and soon The Spawn, where six other beings surface.”

The third: “Spir, Pyre, Hure, Dol, Vahn, Frie.” Something special about this line is that each of the symbols corresponds to a single word of (kinda) intelligible text.

Sword kept reading.

“The beings exert their powers, Frie froze over the oceans, Hure moves the ice to sculpt mountains and valleys, Pyre heats the seafloor, laying the land in a sheet over the scape, Dol creates the husks, Vahn charges the land with magic, and Spir begins to weave souls.”

“Light, satisfied with their creation, rests, plunging the world into darkness.”

“They continue their work, spreading the lands.”

“When Light returns, Spir has finished with the first soul.”

“The Spawn glows with energy, Spir guiding the soul to it to be born.”

“A mangled being emerges, appearing without a head, too many limbs, a creature knowing not but pain and hate.”

“Light sees this, ‘How will this creature serve me?’ He asks Spir.”

“Spir bows their head, calling for Pyre and Vahn to create a realm for this creature, where it will never emerge again.”

This would make an interesting movie, Sword thought, turning the page. He ponders why Illumina tasked him with reading this.

“Study this tome to learn the Language of Old…” He recalls Illumina saying. 

Was this the Language of Old? He turns the page back, studying the symbols, counting them and seeing that each symbol corresponded with a letter, or in some cases, a whole word.

He shrugs, reading the first few lines over and over, memorizing each correspondence. 

–

Hours pass, and Sword has gotten good enough to actually read the symbols as is, only needing to consult the translation when coming across a new symbol. Having gotten through a couple hundred pages, Sword continues to read.

“The demons cannot unite, causing conflict after conflict. They kill, causing souls to become lost, distracting Spir from their work. ‘Light,’ Spir asks, ‘the demons are fighting, I cannot create more followers.’ ‘Divide the lands,’ Light commands, ‘separate the fights with expanses of ocean, then continue your work.’”

“Spir commands Pyre to melt the foundations of the land, creating 5 islands with hours of space between them. Peace befell the infinity, societies rising, and demons were happy.”

“Life continues on.”

Sword yawns, wondering what time it was. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, looking at the time displayed on the device.

11 pm? He glances down at the book, seeing only about 30-40 pages left. He wonders where Illumina is, so he can ask the god if he could take it home, and just as he was wondering that, he hears a knock on the study’s door.

“Come in?” He says, putting his phone away.

In walks Illumina, “You have been here for hours, are you done yet?” He asks, still looking down at Sword.

“Ah, not yet, but almost! I have about… 30 or so pages left.”

“Hm. Have you learned the language yet or not?” Illumina asks, approaching and leaning over the desk, placing a hand over the pages of the book, gaining Sword’s full attention.

“Mostly, I can read it.” He states, shrugging.

“Very well, you learned quickly.” Illumina states as he pulls the book away from Sword, closing the covers and picking it up. He walked over to the bookshelf, slotting it back into place and grabbing a different, similar looking book. 

“You can take this one home, tell Venomshank or me once you have read it.” He says, setting the similar book in front of Sword.

“Oh, but I wasn’t done with that other one-” Sword challenged, pointing over to the bookshelf.

“That one was just vague retellings written and translated, this new one is far more in-depth, and there are no translations.” Illumina explained, “Now, go on, Venomshank is waiting for you at home.” He continued, walking around the desk and encouraging Sword to his feet.

Sword took the book in his hands, studying the first page for a moment before closing it and tucking it under his arm. “Alright I guess, thank you.” Sword spoke as he began to walk out of the room, glancing over his shoulder to see Illumina…

Actually smile. Not the way that a mortal would smile at another, or even that a king would smile at his subjects, a smile that just screams " Satisfied. ”

Chapter Text

Yawning, stretching, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sword sat up in bed, blinking the room into focus. There was an uncomfortable pricking feeling on the back of one of his wings, the right one. He examines it to see a small cylinder of keratin, he picks at it for a few seconds and it flakes away, revealing a brand new feather within it. Like a bird. Neat.

He got up, stretching again before walking to the attached bathroom, turning the shower on and waiting for the water to warm.

He looks at his reflection, noticing his horns appear (oh very slightly) longer than normal. They never stop growing, everyone learns that in middle school, but such a growth spurt (as an adult no less) was unusual. It was probably fine, if they got too long he could just get a horn-carving kit to trim them when needed. 

He puts his hand under the water, a comfortable temperature.

–

Standing in the shower, he looks down at his wrist, the one Illumina cut all that time ago, there was still a scar, and it almost appeared that there were some symbols of the Language of Old etched into it, but that could just be a coincidence, as a lot of the symbols are quite simple.

–

Sitting at the dinner table, munchin’ on some delicious corn phlakes, his phone buzzes with a notification, text from Rocket.

“Hey Sword! Wanna hang?” The text reads.

Picking up his phone and unlocking it, Sword hesitates.

He should get a start on that book, it’s better to get this out of the way then procrastinate and upset him , right? 

He looks down at the text for a few seconds, before letting the nerves get to him as he sets his phone screen down. 

He finishes the bowl of cereal, rinsing it out and heading back up to his room.

His phone vibrates in his hand again, but he can't bring himself to check it this time. He walks up the stairs, entering his room and grabbing the book, opening it to the first page as he begins to read.

Chapter Text

This one was far less interesting, it was a log of some place called “Phyera”, like the type of things you would learn in history class, but from the cold, calculating perspective of the gods. Except, he didn’t recognize this civilization, by name or description.

He thinks back to the text, feeling the curiosity of what was in it overcome him as he takes out his phone. “There’s a new arcade opening up towards the north of crossroads, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me” Sent about 35 minutes ago. Sword sighs, the arcade would take too much time, valuable time that he could spend studying instead of wasting his energy on frivolous activities with That Horrible Distraction Rocket.

Wait… What? He shakes his head, attempting to clear the fog. Why did he think that? His attention is brought back to the screen by another notification.

“I see u reading the texts”

“Reply!”

Sword let out another breath, hesitating still.

“Sorry, can’t.”

He decides, setting his phone down on his bed. He looked back down at the pages of the book, dread swelling in his mind and gut. He decided he needed a break, looking around for something to use as a bookmark, he decided on a pen, closing the book around it after making sure the cap was on.

He stood from the bed, walking over to the attached bathroom, looking into the mirror. He stared long and hard at his reflection, he hasn’t felt like himself recently.

His gaze shifts from his eyes to his wings, spreading the limb to stare at the feathers. They’re beautiful… They’re… 

He still doesn't know what to think of them. Bending the wing around his arm and looking at the back, he saw that the patterns were more pronounced now, the stripes having darkened to more of a maroon color. Carting his fingers through the feathers, he feels that familiar hate brew inside him again.

This just doesn’t feel right… Well… they do feel right… That's why it feels so wrong! 

It felt like an extension of himself, something he’s had his whole life, despite only finding them on his back a few days ago. His hand pauses near the edge of the wing, and those destructive and sinister thoughts come back.

Would it hurt to pull out a feather? He thinks, index and thumb pinching a flight feather and tugging lightly. He could feel it tugging on the skin, a unique pinching feeling as he accidentally pulls too hard and plucks the feather out. Breath hitching from the sudden pain, he realized it wasn’t that bad. 

Should I really..? The thought pulled at his mind as he tugged on yet another of those large feathers at the tip of his wing. This is unsafe… He thinks, shaking his head, but failing to rid himself of the thoughts. He lets the wing go, staring at it in the mirror once again. 

Does it even matter?

Chapter Text

Sword shrugs, splashing some cold water on his face to help him come back to his senses. Realizing how stupid that was, he dries his face off with a sigh, leaving the bathroom and going back to his book. 

He focuses on the reading, wondering if he should be taking notes. 

–

An hour, maybe a little more, passes. Sword is nearly done with the thick tome. He hears his name being called.

“Sword?” Venomshank called, presumably from just down the hall. His voice sounds more emotional than usual, strange.

“Yeah?” He calls back, turning the page and scanning the words. 

“I would like to talk.” He says, voice sounding closer to the door now. Sword raises a brow, not that Venomshank could tell or anything.

“Yeah, I’ll be right out.” He says, reaching over for the previous pen to hold the pages open and keep his place. He walks over to the door, opening and closing it as he walks through, greeted by an unmasked Venomshank who looks… worried? “What’s… What’s wrong?” He asks, confusion evident in his voice.

“Sword… Are you.. Feeling alright?” Venomshank asks, hands folding together in anxiety, an emotion that a god shouldn’t really feel.

“I-... Yeah?” Sword shrugs, hand moving up to scratch the back of his neck. His wings fidget behind his back. This was… Weird.

“Are you sure?” Venomshank asks again, the corners of his abnormally shaped mouth downturned in a way that makes him look like a sad lizard.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess.” He thinks back to the intrusive thoughts he had earlier, cringing as he remembers the feeling of the feather being pulled from his skin. His wings spread a little, showing off the primaries.

Venomshank seems to notice, frowning as he notices the missing feather. “What happened, Fledgling?” He croons, slowly reaching out to examine further.

“Oh uhh, it fell out. Happens to a few of the little-er ones up here too-” He trails off, quickly carting his fingers through the aforementioned ‘little-er’ feathers as one or two fall loose. “See? It’s fine,” He attempts to excuse, being cut off.

“No…, The primaries don’t shed that quickly, what really happened, Fledgling.” He says softly, yet his voice takes on a slightly more assertive tone.

“I uhh… Pulled it out..” He says, voice softening in embarrassment. 

“Why?” His mentor pressed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I-.. I don’t know. It was an intrusive thought, I…” He began, stopping to gather his thoughts. Venomshank waits patiently, as a good father would. “I’ve been feeling off recently. And today specifically.. I’m just caught up in something that happened yesterday.” He explained, being vague to possibly spare himself needed to explain in detail.

“Which was…” Venomshank urged him to continue nonetheless. Pros and Cons of having a caring father figure, I guess.

“I don’t know what it was… But… Rocket and I were facing off and- I lost control over my own body…” He spoke, recalling the event nearly made him tremble in fear. “I was.. Really scared…” He spoke, voice quieting in an attempt to hide the tremors within it. 

“Ah, I see. Illumina informed me that may happen.” Venomshank spoke to no one in particular. “Come, sit. I’ll explain it to you.” He adds, gesturing for Sword to follow him down to the living room. 

The pair sat on one of the couches, Sword’s wings nervously fidgeting as Venomshank inhaled deeply.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be the case, but you may have inherited my… Condition.” He explained, Sword knew what that meant. He’s had to warn Venomshank that he was showing the early signs of an outburst many times. It started with unexplained twitching, then excess saliva being produced, and lastly a dry throat and scratchy voice. The creepiest part was Venomshank seemed to be unaware of the symptoms until he was informed.

“But, I knew it was likely, if you would like, for the safety of everyone involved, I can have a mask similar to mine created for you.” He offers, seeming sincere enough. Sword smiles weakly at him.

“Thanks..” He says, looking down at the floor. He wants to believe Venomshank, he really does, but it just doesn't add up. Surely someone would have noticed twitching, or drooling and told him before.. It happened. But he doesn't understand what else it could be yet.

He continues to think, how would people react if he suddenly started to show up to fights wearing that mask. How Rocket would react to seeing it. 

He was lost so deeply in thought that Venomshank had to physically shake him out of it. “Sword? Are you alright?” He asks, once having gotten his mentee’s attention.

“Huh? Yeah, just thinking.” He says nonchalantly. 

“Ah, alright. As I was saying, I can have a mask similar to mine fashioned for you. Would you want that?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It would be nice. Thanks..” He answers, looking away again. 

“Perfect, I’ll have a tailor in tomorrow to take measurements and talk design.” Venomshank says chipperly, before pausing himself to shift his tone to something a little more sentimental. “If you ever feel stressed about something again, you can always talk to me, alright, Fledgling?”

“Yeah, definitely..” He says, unable to hold eye contact. He feels… He’s not sure how he feels about it.

Chapter Text

“Good…” Venomshank says, sounding relieved. “Illumina also told me to tell you that he truly does believe that you can do this. Even if it doesn’t seem like it. He was never the best with emotions.” Venomshank jokes, smiling wide.

Sword smiles too, “Tell him I said thanks.” He replies, standing up. “And that he scares the shit outta me!” He adds on as a joke, walking back upstairs to his room. Once behind the closed door he shakes the tenseness out of his body, what was he worried about? He had a loving family here with the SFoTHs. It was great.

He should finish that book.

Right after he checks his phone, of course. Rocket could have texted him.

–

Unfortunately, Rocket did not text him, boo hoo no blorbo moments…

Oh well, he was almost done with the book, after that he’ll tell Venomshank and then he can goof around with Rocket after that.

–

Admiring the illustration done on the very last page, he lets out a sigh as he flops the heavy hard-cover shut. 

Done!  

He takes the tome under his arm, grabbing his phone in one hand to text Venomshank about its completion. After only a few seconds he sees “Venomshank Mentor is typing…” Thinking about how quick that was, he sees the message bubble update as Venomshank’s text appears.

“Wonderful. I will be back shortly. I am at The Temple, I will ask Illumina for the next book before I leave.” 

For some reason Sword feels like Venomshank used speech texting for that. Whatever, he thanks him and opens his conversation with Rocket.

“Hey Rocket! Finally not busy anymore.”

“You still up to hang out?”

Wings flapping slightly in anticipation, a giddy smile forms on his face as he sees “Rocket. is typing…” 

“Just got back home from the arcade”

“Went with some other friends and I’m kinda tired”

“U wanna call instead?” 

Oh, that was fine.

“Sure” 

Shortly after he sent the confirmation, his phone buzzed with a call from Rocket. He took a second to admire the picture of Rocket smiling that was set as his profile picture before picking up the phone and putting it on speaker.

“Hey!” Sword says happily.

“Mm, hey.” Rocket says, sounding tired. Of course he sounds tired, he said he was tired. Damn stupid brain.

“How was the arcade?” Sword asks, laying back.

“It was nice, would’ve been better with you there, though.” Rocket says with a small laugh. “What were you busy with anyway?” He asks, a little bit of fabric shifting suggesting that Rocket was moving too.

“Oh, I was just doing something that Illumina told me I had to do.” He explains nonchalantly, hand that wasn’t holding the phone idly twirling a strand of his hair around. 

First, a stunned pause, then, some laughter came from Rocket’s mic. “Dude I forgot that you’re like… A god now. How’s that feel?” He jokes, some more stifled laughter picks up.

“It’s horrible and I hate every second of it.” Sword says sarcastically, only a little serious. He hears Rocket laugh some more. He liked Rocket’s laugh.

“Yeah, It’s pretty ass.” He continues, barely containing his own laughter. “My wings are heavy and they make my posture worse.”

“The tragedy!” He hears Rocket joke back, the shorter blue demon also barely containing his laughter.

“They are pretty soft though. Might be worth.” He replies, bending the wings under his arms as his free hand sinks into the feathers. 

“Yeah, they look pretty soft.” Rocket replies, letting out a quiet swear, seemingly not having meant to say that out loud.

“Dork.” Sword playfully insulted, chuckling quietly as he heard Rocket laugh too. 

“Don’t act like you’re any better!” Rocket accused. “I saw the way you looked before the phight yesterday, your cheeks were redder than your horns.” He states. 

Running out of ideas for comebacks, Sword pulls the classic. “You looked at my face? Oooh you must like me or somethingg.” With a teasing and playful tone. Rocket laughs too, causing Sword to smile warmly. He thanked the SFoTH’s (And by extension himself) that this was a voice call, if it was video he probably looked dumb as hell.

“Yeah, it’s crazy. Almost like we’re best friends. ” Rocket retorts “Dumbass.” He tacks on, likely looking smug as hell.

“Damn, got me there.” He sighs out. He liked talking to Rocket.

Chapter Text

It was the next afternoon, Sword sitting down on the couch, messing around on his phone as he waited for the tailor, or stylist or whatever it was Venomshank was sending to get started on that mask for him. While he appreciated the gesture, he was missing a phight for this, so he hoped that the tailor stylist got here soon. 

Whatever, he was looking through PhaceBook, seeing what everyone was up to. Teasers and leaks for the next phestival, random rants about weird robot stuff– Subspace– Boombox promoting his spotiphy, oh, something Rocket posted yesterday.

It was him at the arcade, with some other people in the background. The caption was “Lol @Sling.shot sucks at this game”. Sword looks at the picture again, recognizing slingshot’s signature jacket and horns, seemingly focused on the doom-like zombie shooter.

He likes the post and scrolls down, when he hears a knock on the door. Turning his phone off and sliding it into his pocket, he goes to answer it. 

“Hello.” He says to the slightly shorter demon that stood outside. They looked posh, wearing fancy clothes and a weird hat.

“Hello there, I was called by Undead General Venomshank to take measurements of “Sword”, is that you?” They ask, head tilting to the side. The large feather on their hat bounced.

“Yeah, that’s me, come in.” He says, stepping aside to allow the other in.

“Thank you,” They say, walking up to the couch and setting their briefcase-looking thing onto the coffee table, opening it and rummaging through it. “Take a seat, I’ll measure you and then we can talk about the mask itself.” They continue, procuring a tape measure and gesturing to the couch.

Sword walks over and takes a seat, trying to stay still as the cold plastic is pressed against his face. After each measurement is taken, the tailor turned back to the coffee table, pulling the feather, which Sword saw to be a quill, out of their hat as they jotted down the information. They quickly got through all the necessary measurements and mumbled a few numbers under their breath before turning back to Sword.

“Alright, Sword.” They said to grab his attention. “Where should we start, functionality or design?” They ask, returning the feather to their hat. 

“Oh, uhh, I don’t really know.” He says, drumming his fingers together.

“ Wonderful, ” He hears them murmur sarcastically. “The mask will have a similar function to Venomshank’s, correct?” They speak slower, brows raising as they wait for Sword’s response.

“Yeah, I guess.” He replies, looking away because fuck eye contact.

“Alright, how do you want it to look?”

“I uhh.. Haven’t really thought about that yet.”

“ Great. How about Venomshank’s, what about that design do you want on yours?” They ask, seemingly frustrated at Sword’s lack of knowledge on the subject.

“Well, I like the beak, it looks cool.” Sword begins, “But uhh, not the brown. It’s not really for me.”

“ At least it’s something.” He hears them murmur as they turn around to jot down some more notes. “Anything else?” 

“Oo, Also the uhh, the eye part, I don’t like that, it’s pretty hard to see through those lenses, I don't know how he deals with it.” Sword explained, gesturing to his eyes. 

The tailor turned around to note that down. “Alright.. And for material? Leather is fine?” They ask, Sword nods.

“ Perfect .” He hears them mumble again. 

A few seconds later they pick up the paper, examining it for a moment before showing it to Sword.

It had the measurements at the top, as well as some other notes, and a quick sketch of the design at the bottom.

“Is this good?” They ask, presumably asking about the design.

“Yeah! Looks awesome.” Sword says, looking at it.

“The locking mechanism would be at the back, a clasp with a sort of child-lock-esque mechanism. You would have to pull the hook over one of two metal loops, to unlock it, you would need to thread the hook through a gap between them. Understand?” They explain.

“Yeah, I think I got it.” Sword answers after a moment. 

“Perfect, I’ll contact Venomshank to let him know the design has been settled, it should be done by the end of the week.” They say, extending a hand. “Pleasure doing business.” They add as Sword grabs their gloved hand to shake. 

They gather their papers back into the case and go to leave.

Chapter Text

Sword sat on his bed, about a day later. He was reading the new book that Venomshank had brought to him from The Temple. This one was more familiar than the last, about Blackrock’s ‘Era of Iron’, which lasted for about 100 years, happening a good 500 years in the past. It was like history class, reading about the economy, politics, relations, blah blah blah.

He tries to focus, but an insatiable itch holds his attention. It felt like it covered his wings, both the front and back, like several pinches all over it. Folding the left wing around his body, he takes a look at it. It looked fine, but whenever he tried to locate a particular itch to scratch it, a few smaller feathers would fall from the wing to the bed. 

It unnerved him a little, like when you’re in the shower and your hair is falling out more than usual. Regardless, he was at a metaphorical crossroads. Deal with the itchy-ness (not an option, due to how distracting it was), or scratch the itch (and be eternally concerned about his health.). Both of these options suck.

Huffing in frustration, he marks his place in the book and leaves it on his bed, leaving the room to go knock on Venomshank’s door. 

Moments after Sword knocks, Venomshank answers, looking unmasked down at Sword. “Hello there, Fledgeling.” He greets, corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. 

Sword smiles back, waving a little. “Hello, Master Venomshank. I just wanted to ask you about, uhh, something?” He speaks, shrugging his shoulders.

“Ah, of course. Would you like to sit?” Venomshank responded, gesturing inside to the room. It appeared to be a study, or office of some kind. 

“Yeah, thanks.” He says, walking past Venomshank and taking a seat in an armchair, hearing the god shut the door and watching as he sat down on another armchair opposing him.

“What is it you need to ask, Fledgeling?” Venomshank spoke, making the face he always did during an inquiry. (Compared to the other gods, Venomshank was really expressive.)

“Yeah, so, uhm, my wings… Are really itchy, and when I scratch them, some feathers fall out, so I was just wondering what that meant..” Sword speaks, curving a wing around his body to glance down at the unsettled feathers. 

Venomshank seemed to ponder for a moment, an eyebrow scrunching in the way it always did when he thought. “I see…” He says idly, really considering… something. “You may be molting, have you preened your feathers at all?” 

“What?” Sword answers stupidly. He felt stupid for asking that, anyway. 

“Oh, right. You brush through your wings, like this-” Venomshank spoke, one of his own iridescent wings folding around himself in a similar way to Sword’s. He ran his fingers through the rows of feathers, actually ruffling one loose. He squints down at it before looking back up to Sword. “It’s quite simple.”

Sword sees this and copies the motion, a few feathers coming loose and falling. He looks down at them for a moment before bending over and picking them up from the floor. He hears Venomshank laugh a little, looking up at the god, Sword sees a kind smile.

“Don’t worry about that, Fledgeling.” He assured, “Any other questions?” He added, feeling as though the ‘my feathers are falling out what do I do’ question is satisfied.

“Uhh, not really- wait actually yeah, how do I know if the feather is actually loose or if I’m pulling too hard?” Sword asked, cautiously brushing through the feathers on the wing again.

“Just apply a light pressure, any molting feathers will come out on their own from that.” Venomshank answers, wing having folded back out of sight. 

“Oh, thank you, Master Venomshank.” Sword spoke, bowing his head slightly to show gratitude. 

Venomshank let out another light chuckle. “I think that’s enough of the formalities, I’m more of your father now if anything, Fledgeling.” He spoke, a kind smile on his face and in his eyes.

Sword blinked a few times, Does that mean I call him dad now..? “Oh, alright. Thanks… Father?” Sword hesitated, voice pitching up as though he was asking a question.

“You are welcome, Sword.” Venomshank spoke, voice light hearted as he watched Sword stand and leave the room.

Chapter Text

It was quite calming, the repetitive motion of his own hand releasing the loose feathers. 

He was sitting down on his bed, gently preening his wings. He was done with the right one, so now he was clearing up the left. The now minimal itch was far more bearable, and it was only being quelled further by the removal of those molting feathers. 

The clearness in his mind allowed him to think for once. He wondered when that mask was going to be done, he would hate to have another outburst during a phight again. Just thinking about it made him feel down, how he ruined it for everyone else. He decides to stop thinking about it.

He looks away from the wing and pauses, making a face at the pile of feathers which he would have to pick up when he was done. Whatever, nothing he could really do about it. He resumed preening his wings, his hand twitching closed and tugging on a few feathers. Ow…  

Whatever, it was fine. He was almost done anyway. 

–

Picking up the last couple feathers and walking to the door, his leg kicks unexpectedly, nearly causing him to fall over. Thankfully he didn’t drop any of the feathers. He walks through the door and towards the kitchen, dropping the pile into the garbage bin. His throat felt dry, he was already in the kitchen, might as well get a glass of water.

After filling and downing a cup, his throat still felt dry. That’s… Weird. 

He fills it again, drinking a little slower this time. His throat is not feeling any better still .

He feels wetness on his lower lip and chin, bringing up a thumb and swiping at the corner of his mouth. The fuck?

He was drooling . But wasn’t his throat dry- OH MY SWORDS.

He ditches the cup on some countertop, running up the stairs with heavy steps, sliding to a stop on his socks in front of his bedroom door before quickly going inside it and slamming the door shut. He slides down the door, chest heaving and heart racing.

He didn’t have the mask yet, what if Venomshank comes to check on him after hearing the door slam and-

“Sword?” Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

“Sword are you alright?” Venomshank repeated after not getting a response.

Sword feels his throat close slightly, eyes widening as he feels his muscles burn. Was this what Venomshank felt? Right. Yeah. Venomshank was still at the door. 

“Sword? I’m coming in if you don’t reply, Fledgeling..” He says, a hint of concern piquing in his voice.

Sword tries to come up with something, but instead he feels the collision against the back of his skull as his head slams backwards into the door. “FUCK!” He shouts, lurching forward and clutching his head in his hands. “D-DON’T..” He added, groaning as a sharp ache set in his skull. 

“Fledgeling?!” Venomshank replies, sounding exasperated. He twisted the doorknob rapidly, trying to open the door but Sword blocked it. “Fledgeling are you alright?!” He continued, still trying to push the door open. 

“NO- DON’T- hhHRAGH .!” Sword tried to warn, wearily standing and turning the lock, walking over to his bed on shaking legs. His wings flap a few times, attempting to steady himself but ultimately failing as Sword collapses against the bed. 

“ Fledgeling! ” Venomshank repeats, voice taking on a quality similar to Darkheart, like another voice, sounding a little different was also speaking the same words. “ Fledgeling, open the door. ” He attempts to demand calmly, but the panic in his voice was clear, and definitely not helping Sword calm down either. 

Sword’s head hurt. He could hardly think straight, what was..? What was going on? Venomshank was banging on the door, saying some other stuff too. Fledgeling? That was him, right?

Awh… But the door was so far away, and the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t wanna get up.

Oh, look, Venomshank got the door open.

**

A few splinters of wood come off the frame and fall onto the floor but Venomshank didn’t care. He looks down at his son, barely appearing conscious. His rage and fear quells slightly upon seeing him in such a state. It wasn’t like the emotions went away, no, they merely morphed into shock.

**

He looked different then he usually does, too. His eyes widened, and pupils (which usually covered most of his eye, sort of like a dog) were condensed into slits. His hair, usually pure white had a slight green light to it, and his horns were glowing brightly. He wasn’t sure if he'd ever seen one of the deities' horns glow. 

But his expression appears to soften after a moment. He rushed over to Sword, turning him over onto his back. The light was really bright… Sword lets out a quiet sound of disgruntlement. 

“Fledgeling…. ok?” He hears, he guesses there was more than just that, but he just wanted to sleep. His head still hurt, like, really hurt. Like his head was pounding hurt. 

His shuts his eyes, the light was too bright to look at for so long. After a few moments a cold hand presses against his face, words swimming back into focus.

“Fledgeling? Are you okay?” Venomshank spoke, voice as calm as it could be given what just happened. His eyes blink back open, only to be mostly blinded by the bright light. Why was it getting brighter?

–

He was back in that void once again, the pain in his head felt a little more distant now, and he could see a familiar blade not too far from him. It was a lime-green bladed rapier, Venomshank’s sword. But it looked unclear, hazy in a way. Like it wasn’t really there. It’s too far to grab, not like he would do that anyway. 

Twisting around in the space, he once again sees another familiar blade.

Distantly once again, that periwinkle and white sword shone brightly. 

–

Why wasn’t he back yet?

The initial panic was over, but instead of waking up no longer in control of himself like the first time, he was still there, floating idly in the void. He had already looked around, so much so that he could tell anyone that asked exactly what it looked like anywhere in the space.

Nothing.  

Other than the two swords floating with him, it was just nothing. At least there were stars the first time, this blows!

The longer he waited, the more he could think. With the throbbing pain in his head a little more distant, he could collect his thoughts.

What happened just now? Sword’s original conclusion of ‘I’m about to go feral’ didn’t seem that plausible the longer he thought about it. I mean, it was kind of a crazy coincidence that once he thought about it a little, he started to experience the symptoms out of nowhere. 

That’s actually another thing, he noticed it was happening. Venomshank never noticed when he was twitching, or rasping. What was happening, then? 

He tries to search his memory, but only comes up with a single plausible answer. He remembers some rant Rocket went on a few months ago, something about a placebo effect? Was that what it was? He was so stressed that he might go feral; he actually tricked himself into thinking he was?  

And it took the not-so-clear clarity of literally hitting his head against a wall (door, whatever) to realize it? 

It didn’t even matter if that was right or not, ‘cause he was still stuck in this stupid void!

Chapter Text

Sprinting, running fast to escape his pursuer, a towering demon-adjacent figure barely perceivable. The trees seem to be repeating, an endless loop as he tires. 

Suddenly, the forest floor drops off, plunging him into a plummet. Twisting in the air, futally flapping his wings in hopes to slow his descent, it was pointless.

–

Sword jolts awake, groggy with his head throbbing. Laying down unmoving was pleasant, if not for the blinding light on the ceiling of his room. He sits up to avoid it, wings stretching outwards before folding around himself in a one-person hug. His memory was a little fuzzy, but a few things were clearer than others. 

Like Venomshank now being gone from the room. 

Sword looked around, bringing a hand to firmly run his temples. The door was shut, but the frame appeared to be splintered, right around where the lock was. 

The room felt warm, was he coming down with something? Feeling his forehead, it did feel a little warm, hand reaching up too far led to the discovery that his horns were hot. Like a freshly microwaved plate hot. It was unsettling, what could cause such a random spike in temperature? Should he contact Medkit about it? He decides to stand, using the walls to stabilize himself all the way to the attached bathroom.

He looked into the mirror, nothing particularly seemed out of the ordinary. It was whatever, he turned on the sink water to splash his face with the refreshing coolness, managing to cool his horns of the mysterious heat as well. He returns to his bedroom, having to squeeze his eyes shut after accidentally glancing up at the light. 

He once again walks along the wall, making his way to the switch to flick it off. Good riddance. He makes his way back to his bed, face-planting into the soft mattress and sighing in relief. Moving to lay down in a more comfortable way, he finds himself not tired, so sleeping isn’t an option. 

Maybe he could get back to his studies? His vision in the dark has been improving every day, and he could read the title of the book, so why not try and get the next few chapters knocked out while he didn’t feel like getting up.

**

—

Venomshank, extremely unable to calm himself from the slew of sorrowful emotions as his son slipped from consciousness, let out an uncharacteristic sound, something to express that sorrow, a sob as some would call it. I witness through his senses, feel through the remnants of my own being left from hundreds of reincarnations, it is unfit for a god. 

I rise from my seat, a few feathers falling from my wings as I conjure my abilities.

Aiyk rquar, rgw kufgr lkkiqa nt xibreik.

I feel the warmth of the light pour through my fledgeling follower’s sockets, his eyes sparking to life as they shoot open and my control sets in, uncontested. I raise his arm to grab the collar of Venomshank, seeming to shake some sense into the thing. 

“Nuisance.” 

I say, being sure to convey the repremandment in my tone.

“Leave, I need you here not.”

Like a good lesser deity, he follows.

Like he even had a choice, that is.

Chapter Text

Admiring the illustration on the final page of the book, Sword closes the cover. His headache has since been forgotten, as he stands there’s not an ounce of pain, lovely.

Standing up and stretching, he places the book on his bedside table, walking over to his door to open it. He makes his way down to the kitchen, eyes needing a moment to adjust to the bright light as he begins to pour himself a glass of water. His wings shift, bringing attention to a few pin feathers, he would deal with those later, for now, he was hungry. 

Opening the fridge and looking around for a moment, he pulls out a few different ingredients, setting them on the counter as culinary creativity fills his mind.

–

Eyes flicking over to the pot of sauce, Sword continues to stir the pasta, turning the heat on the stove down a few notches so the pot doesn't over-boil. He hears light and cautious footsteps down the stairs, taking his attention away from the pots, he turns his head to see the owner of the footsteps.

It was Venomshank, he looked anxious. 

“Ve-... Dad, is something wrong?” Sword asks, tilting his head slightly before turning back to the pots to check them. 

“No, I… Nothing is wrong, Fledgling.” The god assured, joining Sword in the kitchen. “Are you feeling alright?” He added, masked face tilting sideways. 

“Hm? Yeah, I’m good. Making spaghetti, do you want any?” He replies, tacking on a question of his own.

The undead general paused, posture stiffening before calming again. “That sounds nice.” He answers, voice soft, kind, thankful, and a little relieved. 

Sword nods, making sure to add a little extra rosemary to the sauce. 

–

Using a serving spoon to pour some sauce over the second bowl, Sword smiles at his creation. Two bowls of long, thin pasta with a thick coating of red tomato sauce over the top. Seasoned with salt, pepper, thyme, oregano and rosemary. man i gotta make myself some pasta soon bru

He grabbed two forks, bringing everything over to the kitchen island and setting them down accordingly. He pulls out his own bar stool, taking a seat and starting to mix the sauce into the pasta, making sure the noodles are fully integrated before twirling a forkful and eating it. (dont look at me like that how detailed do you want the eating spaghetti scene to be/silly)

Venomshank sat down across the island, unclasping his mask and setting it to the side. He similarly took a bite, humming softly and smiling. “It tastes amazing.” He comments, quickly taking another.

“Thanks, I added a little extra herbs, since I know you like that.” He replies, continuing with his bowl.

“Thank you, that was considerate.” Venomshank smiles, the corners of his mouth tilting up in an abnormal grin. Sword couldn’t help but smile as well, he liked to make others happy.

The two continued their meal, no conversation, but the silence wasn’t tense. Just the clicking of forks against bowls, the occasional endearing hum from Venomshank, and the faint, almost non-existent sound of feathers rustling together as Sword struggled to find a comfortable way to rest them. He really had to do something about those pin feathers.