Chapter Text
A red figure was slumped on a rock, and one look at his bloody, bruised body, one would assume that the life inside had ceased.
But miraculously, this stick survived.
And this Stick was The Dark Lord.
He was flung into the sky as a huge boulder cut through the air and slammed into the bruised body of his. He groaned, though the younger, orange child whose eyes glowed a bright green, showed no remorse.
The Second Coming sneered, bright green energy floating around him lazily.
“ Don’t you hate it when nothing goes your way? Because I do, and let me tell you, it isn’t fun.”
“Come and fucking go at me, bitch.” Dark growled, his eyes darkening into a pitch black.
“Alright.”
The Dark Lord collided into layers of rock, his left arm ripped off clean. Blood pooled around him, his head a poor victim too.
His dull eyes stared at the sky.
He was going to die.
-
-
Dark groaned as the memories of the battle replayed in his mind. His whole body was aching, and as he prepared to stand up, he suddenly noticed how much blood was coating around his left area.
He glanced down, and almost threw up.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” He screeched. In place of his arm, was a bloody stump.
He lost his arm.
What the hell? How did THAT happen?!
‘Your arm got ripped off when the orange brat practically threw you to the ground, idiot.’
‘This just shows how useless you are, you couldn’t even defend yourself from a literal child.’
“Shut the fuck up…” Dark mumbled, rubbing his head. Tears sprung into his eyes as he accidentally brushed his hand across his left (arm)?-stump. He whined in pain, gasping for breath.
“Fuck…” He choked out.
How was he going to go back to the shed now? He couldn’t even stand up.
-
Chosen blinked as the cursor carrying the fondly dubbed ‘Color Gang’ flew away, leaving Chosen alone on with nothing but his thoughts. He started his fireballs, feeling his hands heat up and sweat.
He flew up, scanning the area for the old, worn down shed. He’d figured that he’d clean up the place and tend to his injuries.
A few minutes passed with nothing but the grass and jagged rock. “Damn it….where is it?” He muttered under his breath, starting to feel a bit frustrated. He found a place where he could land, and slowly descended down onto the patch of grass.
Once as he felt the soft blades of grass tickle his feet, he paused the heat in his palms, almost tumbling down due to his feet still aching from the bites the Virabots gave him.
Speaking of the bites, the parts of his skin where the sharp teeth of the robotic spiders had sunken into his skin was turning into a murky purple, it was probably infected. Dried blood coated his knees and cuts littered all over his body.
Suddenly, he saw a red figure slumped against a huge rock, blood pooling around them. Chosen’s heart sank.
There wasn’t any way.
He was supposed to be dead .
Dark was supposed to be dead .
Why did the red figure look eerily similar to him though?
Chosen walked hesitantly toward the limp figure, opening his mouth nervously.
“D-Dark?” Was his hushed whisper.
He wasn’t going to like this.
-
Dark stared tiredly at the sky, his vision blurring and him diving in and out of consciousness. After a few or so minutes, the blood started to feel comfortable, the stickiness now coating his entire back side and part of his upper body, and the pain in his left area started to numb, now just weakly aching, nothing more than that. Weak gasps of occasional pain escaped his cracked lips, reminding him of how weak of a fight he had put up.
“I fucking swear to god…” he cursed his self-deprecating thoughts. He really didn’t want to deal with those right now, when his literal left arm was ripped off, and was close to passing out or just dying out of exhaustion. He discarded the idea of someone helping him, who the hell would be out here?
Right when he thought the pain had gotten to him, and his vision started to dim, a hesitant voice called out to him, making him momentarily freeze.
“D-Dark?”
Oh no. Nonononononononono.
That voice was familiar. And it wasn’t something that Dark liked.
“Cho?”
Was all the red clad teen could say before his head dropped back down onto the rock, hard .
Dark’s vision blacked out as Chosen rushed towards him, too tired to reassure his former best friend that he was fine.
He really wasn’t anyway.
-
Dark opened his eyes to a bright light blinding his vision and soft, white sheets under him. He seemed to have been tucked into a bed, tucked away in a corner. He could feel thick bandages wrapped around his head, a few around his legs and some half-way healing cuts and bruises.
Some shuffling could be heard from across the room, but Dark couldn’t decipher the cause of it.
He decided to get up, his head still heavy and his vision still blurred. He could faintly hear some muttering, the voice low and gravelly, but strangely comforting.
“Ugh…” He groaned softly, clutching his head.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I was worried.”
Dark sucked in a breath as Chosen approached him from the desk and towered over him.
He…looked horrible . Scars and bites were scattered all across his body, as well as bandages loosely wrapped around his legs, a bit scuffed at the edges. Red marks, presumably from where the Virabots had sunken their claws in. Dark winced.
The red hollowhead opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. It was like he had lost the ability to speak. He sighed in frustration.
He noticed a notebook lying near to him, so he snatched that, found a pen, and began writing with his only arm.
Fine, could be doing better. You?
Chosen squinted his eyes to read, then responded.
“Fine. I cleaned up the bites. Didn’t know how to fix that, so I just wrapped it up.” He gestured to the left side of Dark’s body, which was completely(and poorly) wrapped in bandages.
To the place where an arm had taken place, now a pathetic nub, some blood still coating the soft, white fabric.
Dark sucked in a breath.
“Damn…” He croaked out, his eyes becoming wet.
He lost his arm.
Of course, he had realized that once he had woken up back outside, slumped against a rock, but he hadn’t really let the information sink in before passing out.
He couldn’t use his left arm.
The only way he could fly now was with his right arm, but he wasn’t sure that the fire flaming from it would be strong enough to lift him up in the air.
Chosen was looking at him, but his expression was unreadable.
“I don’t forgive you.” Were all the cold words he uttered before leaving the shed.
Dark reached an arm out.
“Cho, wait-”
Chosen paused, before speaking up,
“I don’t expect us to be the same ever again, The Dark Lord. I don’t forgive you.”
He then stepped outside of the shed as if nothing ever happened, and Dark just stared at the direction he had left in.
Tears pricked his eyes as his breaths were ragged and uneven.
Just when did this all go so wrong?
-
“So your name is The Chosen One?”
“Yes.”
“That’s cool. I’m the Dark Lord. yeah, it really isn’t that cool of a name like yours.”
“I don’t really care what you’re called. Let’s just get out of here.”
-
“Wanna be best friends?”
“....alright.”
Chosen chose to ignore how the corner of his lips tilted upwards, and how a faint blush danced on his cheeks.
x x x