Chapter Text
As he awoke, the first thing Subspace registers was the throbbing pain on his right arm—it beats to the same rhythm as his heart—a living reminder of what happened.
It’s been a year since.
The energy crystal tightly secured by a bandage on his chest itched from sweat, but it was necessary to prevent ‘the rot’ from reaching his heart.
From his countless research, the one hypothesis he could conjure was that the rot spreads through his veins, takes over his blood cells, where the pink lacerations would finally surface from its effects.
The crystal is only there to source enough strength for his body to keep functioning, and atleast try to slow down its spread.
Subspace laid there, stretched out on his bed, he looked at where his arm is, the room was dark but he could tell the rot had grown further towards his collarbone and soon upwards to his neck.
Though he had another energy crystal strapped on his arm. He knew it was too late.
It aches. And it hurts so much–
But soon the pain will die down, just like the one on his face did. Now, a dull ache.
Yes. A proud blackrock scientist like him shouldn't whine over small things. Blackrock reigns supreme. He will achieve great things and lead Blackrock onwards to its promised future.
“I must get to the lab.”
With a sharp sting from his right arm Subspace got up for his usual routine; He avoided the mirror in his bathroom, closed his eyes when he showered, swallowed the readymade purée with no taste, took his usual dose of painkillers, and let his Gamma Biograft assist with dressing his wounds–
During so Subspace could see the small lesions on other parts of his body, the bright pink veins underneath his skin. It is as if the rot is slowly taking over his body, he is still unsure if it is an ‘organism’ overtaking him or just a sickness.
It must be rooted deep within.
-
The poison induced by the rot is fatal to those around him, but as it was produced within his body, it can be contained if he wears a gas mask.
Having it on is uncomfortable, so Subspace enjoys working alone for this reason—it is also helpful that the others never approach him unless necessary. Though he believes their presence would only hinder his progress.
Subspace stared behind the safety of his bulletproof glass, which had long stained a pink hue from the poison produced by the specimen—sat unmoved within the all-white box it is encased in.
The specimen—after being injected in multiple areas with the rot—had long since lost the mobility of its arms, now just a pink sleeve of corroded flesh.
Though the specimen’s horns had long since fallen off from decay after being infected, Subspace took note of how it stared at him, hatred he’s familiar with, glare similar to a teal coloured one. “This is all to make sure that Blackrock reigns supreme.” He reasoned, looking away, analysing the screen monitoring its brain wave.
He concluded that the specimen’s brain must be functioning, still unaffected by the rot, yet. The cure Subspace had procured yesterday at least showed some result. He still wouldn’t call it a success, but was content that he still made some progress.
“Maybe adding other properties to lessen the aftereffects watered down the results,” Subspace muses, “might need something similar so that the liquid form of the energy crystals could–”
Subspace was cut short as his right arm began to throb again, each pulse sending sharp waves that became worse with time.
The effect from painkillers waning off. “Phuck…” He sucks in a breath. Subspace shuts his eyes tightly as curses spills out from his mouth, his good hand reaching over for the painkillers handed by the Gamma Biograph, taking more pills than he’s used to, which finally muffled the pain.
Subspace was sure it wasn't time for him to take a new dose yet. Seems like time’s running out. His body is growing tolerant to his usual dosage, the relief he has grown dependent on now entering a state of diminishing returns.
He took note of the recent development, listed supplies for more bottles of painkillers, and also reminded himself to request for a new specimen.
-
While researching for a way to strengthen the energy crystal’s effect, Subspace was disturbed by a knock. He turned and glared at whoever was behind the door.
“I’m already busy with work, and someone just had to ruin my day.” Subspace grumbled under his breath. “What business do you have with Blackrock’s greatest scientist?” He yelled.
“I’ve got updates on that playgroundian.” A voice spoke from the other side, gruff and compressed behind the visor.
Hyperlaser. Subspace puts his gas mask back on again, tells the Biograft stationed to open the door for him. Hyperlaser walked in, with his usual indifferent manner, not that Subspace could tell what the Inphernal is thinking with that helmet on.
“What. Did you manage to catch him?” Subspace started.
“No. But I’ve got intel on where he is. Might take a while, smart one, knew when to hide and fight back.” Subspace couldn't control the irritation that bubbled beneath, finding this irrelevant and a waste of his time. Should’ve known steel is better than flesh. A scientist like him wants results, not half-baked bullshit.
Hyperlaser, knowing well talking to the scientist means walking on eggshells, Subspace was about to lash out with his usual derogatories when he was cut off.
“About your last request. Your…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “current condition. I’ve learned about an inphernal with a healing class gear from Thieves' Den, Vinestaff. Lives in the Crossroads and works at a cafe called Thieve’s rest. Also heard something about a ‘curse’ on her left arm… might be similar to yours.”
Subspace stood, thinking over this new information, he scowled, “Didn’t I tell you to find someone from Blackrock? You think a scum from another faction would suffice?”
Hyperlaser was quiet, before he responded in his usual no-nonsense persona, “well, you didn't tell me the specifics. I’ve done my part of the deal. It’s on you now.” He left just as fast as he shut down the conversation.
Subspace cursed under his breath, walking back to his research table, “This is why Blackrock’s military is better off with Biographs rather than those useless pieces of flesh, right Gamma?”
“I AGREE WHOLEHEARTEDLY CREATOR.” Gamma biograph responded automatically.
-
Subspace is reminded of life when he first spawned.
The cold wind bit away at his cheeks, even when he wore the thick clothing he found, he still shivered underneath.
The winter around the end of the year in Blackrock was always like this—like the entirety of the region had spanned its thick white blanket—the poorest of them always suffered in starvation, unable to even store food for an upcoming blizzard.
He walked down the street avoiding the inpernals in uniforms, they scared him when he first awoke in spawn, prompting him to use his gear on instinct to flee, Subspace has since learned that those people are from ‘the military’.
Subspace’s stomach rumbled, he could smell a delicious aroma somewhere.
From his peripheral there were hues of yellows and orange, he turned his head towards it to see a window, through it he acknowledged how the restaurant seemed warmer because of the light’s colours.
The blizzard became worse, almost knocking him down into a pile of snow. Seeking shelter, he ran towards the restaurant, head tilted down to keep the snow out of his vision, a mistake as he bumped into someone exiting the store, making him fall flat on his bottom.
Subspace looked back up to see two inphernals staring him down; one of them, with two horns wrapped around framing her face smiled gleefully, and the taller one (the one he bumped into) had a grim look on his face.
“What’s this? A newspawn?” The taller one was unamused. “Thought they were all in the programme, does the little one refuse to play its role towards Blackrock’s greatness?" She says, hands on her knees as she leaned down.
Subspace had his gear trained towards them, eyes sharp as he stared up at what might be the end for him.
“Cute. What’s your name little one?” She asks, indifferent to the bomb right by her face. Subspace was quiet, weighting out his options, not like he had any,
“It’s Subspace. Subspace T.mine .”
Subspace flinched as the taller one laughed suddenly. He had not put his gear down, still on high alert.
“Ain’t you the kid who blew up the spawn running away, you’ve got that fight in you, now that’s what a real Blackrock would do, I remember when I was–” The taller one was interrupted shortly after. “For a newspawn, you are quite different. Intelligent, maybe, since you are able to get this far.” Her smile didn't quite reach her ears, but Subspace only listened to her words.
“Prove your worth child, Blackrock’s future may be endeavored by you.” Her clawed finger was pointed at his chest. A newspawn can be easily swayed by words, and Subspace looked up at them with bright innocent eyes, his stomach rumbles, and he shivers in his oversized coat, as he says:
“Does that mean I could eat, and live somewhere warm?”
There was a glint in her eyes. “Sure, you’ve the potentional."
Subspace was taken in by them, whom he learned to be from the ‘Korblox Administration’, and they became his caretakers. He was enlightened by their greatness and their achievements which brought Blackrock to where it is today.
They taught him many things, gave him a place to stay, praised him when he did well, punished him when he asked questions. He cried, he learned, he studied, he endured, but Subspace knew he was happier here than dying on the streets.
It was because of them that he stood out amongst the other newspawns during the monthly evaluation, earning him a place to study as a scientist, rather than becoming a soldier for Korblox’s military division—Subspace preferred working for the cause rather than dying for it.
He wanted to repay them for everything.
Then, around December another newspawn came.
With horns like antlers that he wants to rip out, glassy teal coloured eyes that he wishes to gouge out, and an optimistic mindset that he sought to step on.
Subspace hated him.
He wanted to believe that he was only able to get here because of his gear—but this newspawn, Medkit, was undeniably the brightest person he’d known.
Subspace had potential, but Medkit was a prodigy from the start.
Subspace hates him.
Now ever since the rot, the others had started to whisper about his well-being, those useless bastards who gossips instead of working—and as if his death will come soon, like it is the only thing his identity revolves around rather than his countless achievements, the higher ups had given him the label:
The doomed potential.
No.
He will prove them wrong.
He will.
HE WILL.
HE WILL.
Subspace woke up with a jolt. He looked around in frenzy, slowly registering where he was. The piles of research papers, graphs pinned on the corkboard with sticky notes all over, he is here; still in his lab, sitting on his chair.
The pills must've made him sleepy.
It was a dream. He would never admit something as treacherous about a traitor.
Subspace decided that it was time to end the day. Ignored any recurring thoughts of the dream he had.
Subspace laid down on his bed, hoping the pills and his usual tiredness (his body needing extra energy and more rest than other Inphernals) would prevent any dreams and put him in a deep slumber.
-
The pain has worsened.
His day didn't start off with the sun’s glare, no, not in Blackrock.
Subspace was awoken by sharp prickling sensations on his right arm that developed into itchiness which gnawed his full attention.
He pulled his hand as he sat up–skrrrraaattt, the coarse sound of ripping, similar to velcro echoes his room, the shock almost took his attention away from the itching.
Subspace looked down, unknowingly holding his breath.
Scabs had grown over the previous rotting flesh—it looked like crusts had grown over his arm, uneven surfaces of jagged plate that pulled the skin underneath—the scabs were sticky, a few of them producing pus of water(?) that had become adhesive after drying.
Some of the scabs had ripped from his frantic pull and made home on his bedsheets, leaving an exposed-alarming red of a wound that’s chill to the air.
This has happened before; the left side of his face.
Soon the scabs will fall, unable to hold against the poison produced within his body; his flesh will become thinner, the rot will reach his nerve, and his right arm will be useless.
Doomed. He is doomed.
“Gamma, Get me a bucket of ice water!”
Subspace dumped his entire right arm into cold water, which worked well in his favour as the itching slowly died down to a much more manageable condition, he clenched and unclenched his fist, checking its mobility.
He wraps an energy crystal on the arm with a bandage, hoping to slow down the decay. It happened last time, sure. But maybe. Just maybe, stopping it would be possible.
But the rot is rooted deep within.
Subspace’ll need to get a new arm soon.
This is all his fault.
Adapting to his current state, he’s content with using Gamma Biograph’s arm (he had created it for this very reason, to assist him with his current difficulties) The metal opens and encases his left arm in its protective layer, metal clasping as it fits itself to something comfortable and familiar to Subspace.
At his lab, Subspace continues with his research.
Checking on the specimen, his view was clouded by wafts of pink smoke, the brain monitor showing no signs of activities. The specimen, now a rotting corpse—is releasing the poison inside its body.
He entered the room, his body already used to the poison, or bad enough that it had no effect on him.
Subspace took samples, analysing the corpse he stared at it for a second too long; both of the specimen’s legs were in a similar condition to his right arm.
No wonder it stopped walking after the first few months of injection.
Subspace feels it again. Is reminded by the itchiness on his right hand, confined by the the metal arm, his brain begging for him to just claw at his skin and tear out whatever’s underneath. How long will he really last with just these energy crystals?
Subspace called the technicians to sterilise the room for his next subject.
He walked to one of the cabinets storing his supplies, pushed away the labwares hiding a very old looking box.
In it, the energy crystal still glowed brightly in its teal coloured light even though a year had passed. It was different than his pink coloured ones.
Subspace remembers studying it, looking back at their past reasearches, and creating his own version of the crystal, or a copy of it.
He picked it up and inspected it, placing it back down on the table and walked away, going back to business.
Medkit. I hope you’re dead.
-
He was tinkering with the compounds of the poison, finding out that the poison from a corpse is much more lethal than his usual.
He turns it from gas into its liquid form. Since strengthening his body’s cells with the energy crystals doesn't work, “I wonder if a stronger poison would kill it…” He blurted out his thoughts.
“Yes. Only Blackrock’s brightest mind would be able to conjure such brilliant plans.” Gamma Biograph stood at their usual post next to Subspace, agreeing and cheering him on.
Hours passed and after many trials and errors, Subspace was left with only a single injection worth of his newly conjured poison.
“This is bullshit.” He thought of his next move.
If he is going to use it now, or just wait to test it on his next subject—but that requires time, time for the rot to be injected into his new specimen, to settle in the body and corrode the cells from the inside, before he could finally actually test it for a proper result.
And then there’s the other reason, a much more personal one—Subspace snapped his attention towards the teal-coloured energy crystal, last year’s memories surfacing back—he gritted his teeth, and without much thought injected the poison into his right shoulders.
The prick of a needle didn’t feel like much.
Then, after a few seconds of waiting there was just nothing.
No reaction, no pain, no screeches, his arm was still the same, the itchiness was still there. Back to the drawing board… but before that– Bam!
Subspace slams his hands onto the table, throws his piles and piles of research papers onto the floor, tools clatter onto the ground, Subspace yells, desperate and furious: “For SFOTH’s sake, why didn't it work?!”
He sat there, his breathing ragged. The teal crystal glowed and dimmed on repeat, following a rhythm, calling out to him, taunting him.
He wanted to lash out, but his words stopped with a croak followed by a cough.
And another.
And another—a much more wet one.
He grounded himself with his right hand, steadying as he gripped the table’s edge, coughing out blood on his palm.
No. What..?
Subspace couldn't fully comprehend as his eyes lost focus, he was simultaneously hit with the worst migraine of his life that felt like Ban Hammer’s gear drove right through his skull instead of just knocking him out.
His head is throbbing. It hurts.
It hurts so much.
IthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurts.
Subspace instinctively reached over for the teal coloured energy crystal, his vice-grip driving the sharp edges into his palm, bleeding it, but the blood stopped flowing as the crystal was absorbed into his body, providing a relief even his painkillers couldn't compete with.
The headaches began to calm down.
And as Subspace sat back on his chair, calming himself, reality came crashing down, and he couldn't play pretend this time.
That was it. He ended up using the crystal anyways, as much as his own pride tells him not to. Phucking traitor still living rent free in my head.
Not that he’d ever stopped thinking about him, everyday he wakes up the same pain would occur as a reminder, it chases him in his dreams, and Medkit would always be there.
“This is all your fault.”
Instead of taking his much needed rest, Subspace decided to meet this ‘Vinestaff’ Hyperlaser told him about.
Though those half-wit’s Inphernals will never compare to Blackrock’s superiority, he is interested in this ‘curse’ that plagues her arm.
He took off Gamma Biograph’s arm, instead opting for his usual grey one-sleeve shoulder wrap for his right arm and made his way.
Nighttime in Crossroads was different from Blackrock, he noted.
The streets were livelier, making him blend in easily with the crowds, countless inphernals from different regions roaming around, openly displaying their gear (something that could get you targeted by Korblox) Subspace hasn't stepped foot outside of Blackrock in a long time—why would he when Blackrock’s got everything he needs.
Subspace searches the street for a cafe named ‘Thieves' rest.’ After what felt like an hour of walking, he finally found it.
It was smaller than what he’d expected.
He scrunched his nose at the diabolical amount of flowers that covered the cafe, before walking right in without announcing himself as if he owned the place, ignoring the flipped close sign pinned on the door.
“Hey! The place's closed, just come tomorrow.” A voice calls out sounding annoyed.
“The lights are still on so it doesn't matter. You should be grateful I even came, this cafe’s squeezed between buildings, I almost walked right past it.” Subspace waves him off, pays him no mind as he sits on the table nearest to the door.
>Vinestaff<
She was busy cleaning the coffee machine when her brother, Shuriken, caught her full attention as he told someone off.
It was understandable why he’d be annoyed. Knowing her brother well, he probably thinks that someone coming in this late just screams trouble, or here to be as annoying as possible because their life is miserable.
This will turn out bad if I don't step in.
Shuriken doesn't exactly have the best temper. It also took a lot for him to stay back for the closing shift, always busy with something at night time.
The only thing that made today possible being the fact that Slingshot had called in sick.
She quickly checks the coffee machine a second time before making her way to a very angry Shuriken, and an inphernal with pink horns, and a gas mask whom she could tell is from Blackrock as a part of their sleeve is decorated in the familiar greek-key pattern exclusive to the natives.
Though something about him was different from others.
On his right arm, although she couldn't really see with most of it concealed—there were still some visible, unnatural bright pink veins running through his hands sourcing from the scars that run all the way under his sleeve—she could tell that there must be more beneath it, especially with the way the left side of his face had the same pink coloured scars.
Vinestaff pats her brother’s back, prompting him to look over his shoulder.
“Vinestaff!” He says, fully turning around to face her, he leans close and whispers in her ears, glaring at the stranger. “This annoying ass wouldn't leave, and they say that they want to meet you… do you know him?”
When Vinestaff looked back at the stranger to see if she could recognise him, his eyes were already on her.
“So you’re Vinestaff? I’ve got something I wanted to ask you. You should feel honoured that a great scientist like me stepped outside of his lab just to talk to you.”
She was immediately put off by his demeanor. Shuriken’s temper worsened. “Oi. Don't talk to my sister like that you dirty little-”
“It's about your curse.” He cuts Shuriken off.
Vinestaff looked at his brother and told him to go wash the dishes while she had a little chat with this stranger.
“Next time we should put up a ‘no Blackrock’ sign…” She could hear her brother say, his voice slowly fading, and she waited until she couldn't hear his grumbling anymore before approaching the stranger, sitting on the empty chair in front of him.
It's not everyday that she meets someone who outrightly suggests or even acknowledges her ‘curse’, most inphernals who notice would either be visibly distraught, or look for a second too long before continuing on with their order.
It's why she works at the cash register.
“Well, what is it?” She starts.
Even with his gasmask on, she could tell a smirk had formed underneath with the way his eyes crinkled. “That,” He pointed at her left arm—made out of wood, mutated and ugly, with waves and ripples she had learned to grow accustomed to.
“Were you born with it, or did someone inflict it on you, because if it's the latter I’m sure the two of us would be able to reach an understanding.”
An understanding. Vinestaff was suspicious now, she did not want to be brought into someone else’s business. “I’m sorry I didn't start with this question but…what’s your name?”
“Subspace. Now can we continue?” Subspace pushes the topic, growing irritated.
“Well, first off. I’m unsure myself but I do know that it’s something I was born with,” She may be pushing her luck. Why would she talk about personal stuff with someone she doesn't know, but maybe this Inphernal might know a thing or two about her curse,
“Second of all, your right hand. Can I try healing it?”
Subspace seemed alarmed by her sudden proposal, like he wasn't used to something like this. She kind of felt bad.
Subspace hesitated before unraveling his shoulder wrap. Earning a wince from Vinestaff as she sees what may not be scars like she thought—but bright pink lesions and deep lacerations that seem to eat away at his flesh.
“It must be painful.” She says, worried. Her hand reaches over, gentle, and careful enough to not touch the wounds but still analysing it.
She closes her eyes; picture in her mind her region’s plantlife, lotus flowers, and a silent prayer for the inphernal before her.
The healing sprout began to grow, it glowed as it reaches its next stage, and its vines began to envelope Subspace’s right hand.
Shortly after though, Vinestaff furrowed when she opened her eyes only to see the newborn sprout wilting from its vibrant healthy green to a dull shriveled up brown. “What…?”
“It's the poison. You gave me a good show at least.” Subspace pulled his arms away from her, a sharp look in his eyes before he turned away, putting his shoulder wrap back on, like he was ashamed and disappointed.
“I’m sorry, I really tried…” Vinestaff mutters, upset that she couldn’t help.
The two sat in silence.
“How do you live like this?” Subspace’s tone caught her attention.
Gone his previous egotistical drawls and replaced by something much more vulnerable. “Don't you ever get that feeling, the way people would look at you, or that thought like you’re losing yourself to this.”
Oh.
“Well. Mine isn't as dire…” She eyes Subspace’s right arm. “but I know that feeling well, and it’s fear. I try not to think too much about it, because at the end of the day, even though I was shunned for it, it was still the very thing that helped me survive, it's like a paradox.” Vinestaff smiled, recalling her past. “I know that I always have my brother and Slingshot to support me…”
“and I would never let my life conform to one single thing—”
“So whoever it was that did this to you…” This was Vinestaff’s words, a deep ache in her heart that she wishes to share with someone. “Please let it go.”
>Subspace<
He was stunned by her words. Who does she think she is? Talking to him that way?
“Dont give me those stupid advice, I don't want to hear it from lowlives like you.” He spat back with venom.
She said it herself in a way; his condition and hers are not the same. So she doesn't have any right to give advice, because she would never understand what he went through.
“Hey!” A voice cut through the tension.
Something sharp was thrown towards Subspace’s direction, its sound akin to a whistle, only missing his head by inches, from his peripherals he eyed the sharp star shaped metal now imbended deep into the wall—shurikens. Someone had used their gear and tried to attack him.
“Vine, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” The annoying inphernal from before had come back, looming around Vinestaff as he bombarded her with pointless questions.
Shuriken glared at Subspace. “You should leave. Now. Because next time I won’t miss.” Shuriken’s words were laced with a promise.
“Well I’ve got what I wanted, consider yourself lucky I didn't bring my Biograph with me.” Subspace wanted to leave already, he feels sick at the sight of these two.
He stared at Vinestaff with a scowl, Shuriken quickly shielding her from his gaze. How annoying. Subspace rolls his eyes and exits the cafe, promising to himself that he won’t come back. Because he hates the concern in her tone, hates the way she looks at him. She was kind, and that annoyed him.
Medkit. Look at what you’ve done.
I hope you're as miserable as me.
Crossroads streets were cold at this time of night, but it isn't even comparable to Blackrock’s ‘hottest’ days.
While walking, Subspace thought back to his last encounter. The way Shuriken cared so much about Vinestaff, and her words that really irked him, the thought made him scoff. “No. I don’t need anyone. Biographs are better than any complicated, emotional fools.”
While grumbling about the problems of his life.
Something caught his eye, though his remaining right eye struggles to see faraway, he could still make out its shape.
He sees teal coloured horns that closely resembles antlers—one he is oh so familiar with. Subspace was alarmed at the sight.
After all this time? His countless efforts, sending his Biographs and contracting Hyperlaser to find even the slightest trace of the traitor—this was how their first reunion would go?
Certainly not what he’d anticipated but he was eager to meet him either way.
Subspace quickly conceals his presence, using his readymade chemical concoction to turn into mist. He trails after the inphernal, shoving into other pedestrians in his way, leaving them confused at whatever force that pushed them.
Is it really him?
A random inphernal bumped into Medkit(?) Making him turn around where Subspace could finally actually see his face. Subspace stood at his position, a few feet away—and it's him.
It's really him.
Even if his facial expression holds a much tougher and grumpy exterior—Subspace remembers his face so well like every detail was carved into his brain.
He wore the Church’s uniform, with his left eye covered with an eyepatch. Wounded, just the way he’d left it. At least he could take credit for it because Subspace is sure that had helped Medkit a lot with his resume when joining the church.
The inphernal who bumped into Medkit was yelling at him, but Medkit only stared back impassively, and walked away when the Inphernal gave up from his lack of response.
That’s something. Usually he’s always got something to say.
Subspace was led to a rundown dingy looking apartment. It was honestly depressing to look at—the brick walls were corroded, and inside the cheap paint was peeling, mold grew on walls from leaking pipes, with its fixes done in a ‘Landlord special’ style.
Subspace was tired by the time they reached Mekit’s place. Damn, why the hell are there no elevators? This place is ass, he thought to himself, controlling his breathing as he stood there waiting for medkit to open the door.
The jingle of keys stopped as Medkit paused, looking around like he could just feel Subspace’s presence.
“Broker…?” Medkit guessed, a name Subspace does not recognise, but it may just be one of his colleagues from the church. It was a long pause in what felt like a minute, before Medkit turned and finally opened his door.
Subspace’s arms began to throb again, it was not the usual one that follows a rhythm, but a much more uncontrollable throbbing that made him wish just to rip his arms out. Goddammit why now?!
The door was about to close, he needed to hurry up. Subspace pushed forward, ignoring the pain, and stopped the door with his feet, the contact revealing his form.
Medkit’s eyes shot up in alarm at his presence.
“...” He was quiet.
Sunspace smiled.
"What's the matter Medkit? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
.
Fanarts!!!
Subspace checking to see if he could still move his right hand, the rot is spreading.
The two Korblox higher ups who found newspawn Sub—meet m.d sword(millitary dress sword) and m.r spear(magmarealm spear) and yes. They speak in dog wistle. Just felt the need to draw them that's why the anatomy is a bit fugly.