Chapter Text
A flash of white light. A sense of weightlessness. A repeating mantra pounded through his head.
Mission.
The Dark Lord.
Destroy.
The Chosen One.
Dark blinked slowly, waiting for his vision to return to him. His body ached all over and his ears were ringing. But possibly, more importantly, he could have sworn whatever was in his head hadn’t been there before. Before…
He screwed his eyes, trying to remember. What happened? Had he been in a fight? He remembered flashes of red. Something orange. And then he was lying here.
As Dark’s vision cleared, he found himself in the middle of a crater. Debris lay around him, freshly charred from heat. He propped himself up, groaning in pain. What, in the goddamn world happened for him to end up like this? Sparks of green flew off the discolored red of his body. Curiously, he reached out with a hand to poke at his chest, where the injury seemed to be the worst.
“Argh!” He hissed as a sharp jab of pain blossomed from the spot. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this, for this long. Normally… normally…
…Wait, why did he know how long injuries typically took for him to heal?
As Dark racked his brain once more, the words repeating in his mind washed over him. Mission. The Dark Lord. Destroy. The Chosen One. A dark energy washed over him, cooling down his injuries. He could sense a foreign power coming from the chant as his coloration slowly returned to its familiar unblemished bright red.
Before long, the pain subsided as well. The only unpleasant feeling left were the words insistently demanding his attention. He wanted to follow it. Not because he wanted to reduce himself to becoming a follower of whatever had gotten into his mind, but because it seemed to be the only lead in his predicament. How did he end up here? Who fought him, who, evidently, was powerful enough to defeat The Dark Lord himself?
And… who was The Chosen One?
. . .
No matter how long he searched, Dark was nowhere to be found. The sun had already set hours ago.
After his fight with Dark, Chosen had some time to reflect. They were both angry at each other. No… he had been unreasonably angry at Dark. His friend had dug up memories in him- memories that were better off buried and forgiven- with the invention of those cursed Virabots.
Memories, Chosen realized, he’d never shared with his friend.
Chosen had lashed out. In the heat of the moment, he’d thrown the first punch. And, it seemed, he’d indirectly thrown the last, when the orange stick shot Dark across the sky. Chosen had been thankful then, but as the reality of the situation set in…
…Dark wasn’t coming back. His friend, his partner, his roommate, if nothing else. He’d been hit by a laser beam- a beam immensely more powerful than his own- and was blasted halfway across the city. Even with his resilience, there was no way he’d still be up and running.
Then why couldn’t he find the body?
Chosen gritted his teeth and reignited the flame in his hands. He’d started using his own fire as a light source when the fading sunlight proved to be insufficient in his search. He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d kept it up, but he was starting to feel the strain take a toll on him. He was tired. He’d been running on pure adrenaline since the end of their fight and hadn’t allowed himself to rest yet.
But he wouldn’t stop. He would find Dark before he allowed himself to rest. Because the least he could do, after everything, was to apologize.
. . .
Plunk.
Dark kicked a stray stone lying in the grass. He’d already hit a wall despite his earlier determination. How in the outernet was he supposed to find The Chosen One in the middle of an empty field?!
To make matters worse, every second he was out here raised even more questions. He knew the voices in his head were from a command- an invasive code embedded into his being. How he knew that was as much of a mystery to him as the why. Who wanted The Chosen One dead to the point where they’d code a command into him?
He fiddled with the black armbands on his wrists. These, too, were a bag of questions. Why was he wearing them? What purpose did they serve, other than make him look sharp as hell? And why did he feel a strange attachment towards them, as if they were made for him?
He picked up another rock, ready to see how far he could chuck it, when he noticed light in the distance. A grin erupted onto his face. There was the starting point he needed!
. . .
A couple more hours passed, and the sky was lightening up again. Chosen had scoured every inch of the trail the beam had scorched into the earth.
Every inch, that was, except the hill in the distance that had been reduced to half its size. But that couldn’t be right. The resulting explosion caused a shockwave. There was no way Dark wouldn’t have escaped before it came to it. Dark wouldn’t have- couldn’t have been caught up in that explosion.
But it was the last place Dark could be.
After climbing to the top- his fire powers had long since sputtered out- Chosen found a crater- the one, he supposed, Dark made when he fell. But at the center of it, where Dark’s body should have been, were only a couple drops of blood.
Where was he?
A wave of panic washed over him as he searched the surrounding area frantically. The entire peak was a mess of broken rock and vegetation. He overturned a particularly large rock, ignoring as the sharp stone cut into his hands. They’d heal. What wouldn’t heal was a dead stick.
But his efforts turned out to be futile as Dark was still nowhere to be found.
Chosen crumpled to the ground as the last of his adrenaline escaped him. He’d long since switched to using his laser vision to see, and he finally noticed the burn in his eyes. He tried to rub them furiously, but his arms felt unreasonably heavy. Not just his arms, but his entire body, including his heart.
Chosen curled up into a ball.
Dark was gone. And it was his fault.
A stifled sob broke out. Nothing ever seemed to work out for him. The stick named The Chosen One. Since the moment he was created, he’d been fighting a losing battle. His own creator enslaved him. His friend was compelled to destroy him.
The dawn echoed as Chosen couldn't contain his tears any longer. Even now, after everything, he was still so haunted by his past that he'd killed his best friend.
He was so tired. So fucking tired that the only things that mattered were the only things he couldn't have.
Freedom.
Peace.
Dark.
Chosen felt his eyes grow heavy as the last of his sobs drained what little energy was left in him. He tried to move but his body wouldn't budge.
He knew he couldn’t sleep out here. He’d seen the wanted posters around town. He couldn’t afford to sleep out in the open, where he was most vulnerable.
But what did it matter? Dark was gone. What was the point of keeping himself safe when his friend was dead?
But what if he wasn't? A desperate thought slipped into his mind. What if Dark had been found by someone else? What if he was still out there, alive?
Like poison, hope bloomed from the thought. Chosen quickly latched onto it, refusing to let go.
He couldn't sleep out here… But Dark…
Dark, wherever he was, had to know he was searching for him.
It’d be okay… just this once.