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It was not the right time or the right place at all. Everything was blurry and nothing was certain and nothing mattered and no one was here and no one would hear. The screams were purposeless, the cries and wails utterly useless.
The pink one approached, rotting and decaying, always seeming as if he was one second away from being welcomed to the afterlife by Death itself. He always had something brewing, whether that be an intricate new invention or a cunningly manipulative plan to put everything and everyone to shame - to make them all grovel at his feet, to make everyone worship his genius once and for all, to make them feel worthless in the overarching presence of the grand scientist. That mistake. That mistake he made all those years ago was going to be amended any day now. Soon everything was going to fall into place and everyone would finally see him for who he is and respect him and realise he mattered and realise they should care about him and that he matters and that he matters and that-
He growled, forcing those vile, ugly statements out of his mind - there was no need to infect his perfect, brilliant brain with puny, stupid, good-for-nothing thoughts about someone so worthless, the world had forgotten about him in the blink of an eye. Just thinking about that disgusting creature, somehow the same species and faction, made his skin crawl and his nerves itch and tingle and the phantom pains within his empty eye socket return, inflicting agonising pain that reminded him way too much of what used to be and how he used to live.
He was the smart, illustrious and intelligent Subspace T. Mine, the most amazing mind in the entirety of the Inpherno. He had no business in indulging in such platitudes. He would not degrade himself like that to think for even a second about anyone who was supposed to be crushed under his own boot, squished ever so easily, like a meaningless insect.
No one would miss him. No one would miss him. (No one will miss you.)
He was not alone. If he was alone, he’d be nothing, he’d be a nobody. Nothing to his name, nothing to do. But, he had something. He had everything, everything at his fingertips. Everything he wanted and was always within arms reach. Everything he ever wanted he was given (despite the higher ups dissatisfaction and growing annoyance at his constant failure).
But, if he wasn’t alone, then why did the nights stretch out ever so long, minutes feeling like decades - why did his head scream at him whenever he clung to and recalled the few moments of physical affection he received? And, if he was not alone, why did it sting so much seeing someone as stupid, as pointless, as repulsive, as sickening, as foul as him contribute to such a destructive, unstoppable storm inside of him.
The one in red. Wields a blade. Loud. Obnoxious. Seen with the traitor on multiple occasions, theorised to have known him for many years since his betrayal and escape. Adopted child of a deity. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless.
He could kill him in an instant. He could capture him, he could torture him, he could assassinate him, he could skin him, he could poison him, he could execute him, he could freeze him to death, he could force him to do anything he wanted.
He could kill him. He could kill him. He could so easily kill him. He could do anything he wanted to him. The scientist was above everything and everyone and they needed to be put in their place for every thinking they could stand up against him or change him or speak to him or breathe the same air as him.
“Why does he love you .” The words came out, sounding like a desperate yet calculated command - a phrase repeated over a million times within the scientist’s mind, more like a mantra of mockery and regret than a simple question being offered to a demon currently trapped under his shoe. Poison hung pungent in the air, choking and depriving the atmosphere of oxygen - there was a thick, unmistakable and unmissable yet childish abundance of overboiling anger and aching bloodlust, starving and overwhelming whoever was unlucky to have ended themself up at the tail end of the maniacal scientist’s wrath. “Why did he choose you .” The one silently begging for release continued to let out quick, discoordinated, uneven and bated breaths, his complexion appearing shockingly clammy and cold, a stark contrast to his normal, calm, composed and ecstatic nature.
All that spilled from the boy’s mouth were stifled sobs and suffocatingly dry coughs, further serving to laugh and ridicule the Blackrockian engineer, causing the tempest boiling inside him to grow larger and more catastrophic and noxious. Blood from the vulnerable one’s lips crept out quietly, staining the floor with a devastatingly pretty crimson shade. Oh, he loved when they bled. He loved when they were at his mercy and when they knew they were at his mercy. He loved when they looked at him with those eyes, the same eyes he gave him all those years ago. He loved when he had total control.
However, this was different. This time, the thing he found solace in was what made his conscience inside scream and crawl and bite the most. The discontentment and incompleteness asserted a profound, endless ache in his bones, threatening to break him down and cause him to appear weak in front of someone so weak and loathsome. His disintegrating teeth chattered in frustration and impatience, displaying his sheer immaturity.
“Tell me now, boy!!” He shouted out - more an anguished wail for attention than anything else. “You have no place here. I can crush you within a moment’s notice and no one would ever realise you were gone. Learn your place, you insolent childish brat.” He unloosened his mask in an attempt to frighten, barring his sharp, jagged teeth, dyed pink by the rot and the poison that lurked within. He pressed down harder on the child’s chest, desperately desiring that he would hear him cry and kick and try to escape - his pain was music to his ears. Their attempts at escaping were always the sweetest. It was when that final realisation hit them that they were in danger and no one was going to help them. He relished in watching analytically as the glint of hope and liberty faded seamlessly from their eyes.
With cultivated vexation and resentment, the sadistic scientist spawned one of his tripmines, letting it flourish and flicker ever so proudly, as if it were his own kin. He brandished it slowly and assuredly, the toxic fumes flowing freely, further infesting the surroundings. The red one weakly put a palm over his mouth, cutting off the lethal gas from entering his body, his eyelids fluttering unrhythmically. The Blackrockian took this as a gashing, merciless insult.
“Oh, do you not like it?” He sang psychopathically, an attempt to get his strong grasp on the situation back. He was in control. He was in control. He was the one in control. He lent down further, getting a better look at his facial features. He established an iron-clad, unbreakable grip on the boy’s wrist, yanking it away, forcing the smoke to enter his system. The gas snaked and wormed around them entrancingly like bright olympic ribbons, encasing them within a falsely constructed reality of despair, desolation and needless suffering. A wide, evil grin spread across his face, putting on full display how destroyed he truly was, thanks to the work of that stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid engineer he was partnered with all those years ago. “Stupid vile wretch. You think you can stop it? You think you can stand against me?” Tears welled up in the corners of the child’s eyes, definitely caused by the high concentration of nonbreathable and unsafe gas in the atmosphere. “You mean nothing, you are nothing and no one cares for you..!” He added on harshly, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. No matter what he said, the boy did not lose that martyrous, optimistic spark. He continued to breathe and he continued to live and he continued to persist and he continued to fight. The red demon held in a deep breath, staring at the monster looming over him.
A little whisper. It almost went unheard and discarded.
A little whisper into the night, a reassurance but also a ruthless taunt, expertly and scientifically curated to bore its way into the crazed scientist’s headspace and set his emotions ablaze, in an ugly, ruinous and discordant yet still mesmerising forest fire of all his pent-up, loose, fragmented and forgotten trauma and feelings - previously at the surface but never completely emerging. His mental state had been shattered and scattered for a while now, never ever willing to pick up one of the billions of broken shards that held a memory and a regret and a segment of his past self. He did not have time for that anyway. Who was he to lose himself in the art and facade of self-care and healing if there were much more important things to care about?
His job. The revenge. They mattered far more.
He thought his tear ducts had been charred ages ago, but much alike to the naive, frail boy trembling under his boot, tears snuck in the corners of his vision. “You…” He snarled. He so badly wanted to pin him down, chain him up, touch him, hit him, beat him, burn him, crush him, tear him apart, choke him, stab him and leave him to die alone, cold, alone and rejected like the utter piece of rubbish he is.
He… he…! He…
He was able to do it. He was able to do it. The naive boy. The one who is beneath him. The one who should have died decades ago. The one who should have never spawned.
The child was able to get to Subspace’s partner. The child was able to get along with him.
So why couldn’t he? What did he do wrong? What did he do? What could he have done? Why was it so easy? Why did he do it? Why was someone so worthless and purposeless so good at something he tried at for all his younger years?
Stupid. Stupid. No. Don’t think those thoughts. He was the problem. Both of them are the problem. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Blackrock. It wasn’t the higher ups. Everyone loves you. Everyone would miss you if you were gone. It’s all that stupid engineer and his stupid lackey swordsman who won’t leave his side. Like a nagging little pest, a pet, a slave. The scientist pushed down harder and harder, craving even just a miniscule shriek from his victim, but it never came. All he did was struggle against his hold. He tugged the boy’s wrist again, tightening his clutch, hoping he could squeeze it hard enough to splinter a few bones and explode some of his blood vessels, which, for certain, would take a lot of time to heal, and, of course, would hurt an intolerable amount. However, just when he was about to commit to the action, a terrorising ache seized in his eyeball - in the one he had lost all that time ago in the accident he would not dare think about or talk about ever again. In an act of cradling and easing the sudden pain, he let go of the crimson demon’s arm, letting it fall freely back onto the ground. The boy twitched his fingers slightly, half-conscious, analysing the extent of the damage imposed on him - luckily, nothing was broken and nothing big would dwell - only a small, purplish bruise that would inevitably fade with time and be forgotten about within a heartbeat.
The scientist massaged the area that the surge originated from; a single wistful tear fell from the other eye as he shut it instinctively. No one could see him like this. No one was allowed to see him like this. He was weak. He was broken. He was stuck in the past. He was dwelling on something that the world had forgotten and forgiven.
Forget and forgive. Forget and forgive. Forget and forgive. Something he could not risk doing, under any circumstances. They would pay. They would learn. He was to be praised. He was their golden child. He was to be remembered.
His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a sputter from the withered soul; he stared up at the scientist with undying determination and truthfulness. “No.. He… he cares for me. My….-” He let out another gratingly displeasurable cough, then continued. “My.. bro-ther, he.. Cares for me.. You’re wrong..”
The maniac glared at him speechless and overtaken by an insatiable bloodthirst. But despite how powerful he was in this scenario, his nerves froze and he could not move and he did not know what to do. No. He was not weak. He did not show weakness.
“My brother… Med.. he will…. Help…” The name of the traitor. He betrayed him so brutally all those years ago. This boy had no right to talk of him so lovingly and casually. He does not know the horrors. He does not know the trauma. He does not know the suffering. “He’ll.. Help me, he cares..” He cares. He will help. Something that evil teal engineer never would dream of doing. What. Why. What was so special about this boy? Why did he do it, where Subspace failed spectacularly? What did he do wrong. What did he do wrong.
No one would miss you. No one would miss you. That phrase rang cruelly and deridingly in his ears, making him crumble under the weight of being such a disappointment.
A failed experiment. A failed prodigy. A fallen star.
He didn’t understand. It was not fair, just not fair.
A feeling. One that he had felt a myriad of times before.
The feeling that maybe he had been destined to falter from the beginning. Fated to eagerly chase down a path that would lead to his own demise.
He choked out a sob, a fragment of himself wilting away into nothingness.