Chapter Text
Green is the color of envy—yet your anger was burning in green, and so was your sorrow.
Dark-colored swords were dragged across the coarse stone floor, leaving a shade of black wherever 1x1x1x1 went. Standing at the end of the path was a man with an arrogant smile. Shedletsky looked up to meet the visitor’s eye—if that glow of red could even be called an “eye” at all.
“Well, look who decided to come.” The avian stated, as if he were expecting someone to come—well, he was, actually. That smile hanging on his face couldn’t explain more.
“It's you...again.” 1x1x1x1 stared at the last man standing. Initially, killing his dear creator over and over couldn't be more satisfying. But overtime, all he had got was boredom—and annoyance, as he slowly figured out why Shedletsky never bothered to even show fear. He didn't even see 1x1x1x1 as a killer, but like a childish kid craving for attention.
How conceited.
His creator had always been conceited, though—especially back when he was still Telamon, the omnipotent and all-knowing god.
Out of conceit, he enjoyed spreading his wings and felt the wind blowing through his golden feathers. Out of conceit, he viewed himself as the best sword fighter, attempting to play the hero role every single round.
Out of conceit, he created 1x1x1x1 out of his own hatred, sorrow and egos.
1x never questioned why, but he questioned how.
How was he able to still treat him like his “creation”, after all this time? How was he able to give him all those sickening emotions without hesitation—or even feeling the slightest bit of sorry for him?
Maybe he forgot to give his selfishness away.
1x1x1x1 sometimes wished that he were still that emotionless, empty creature. Sometimes, he even secretly yearned for those days when Shedletsky was still Telamon—when he still treated him as someone to fight against, an enemy to beat down…unlike nowadays.
The green blade of Entanglement was what struck first, forcing Shedletsky to be pulled towards 1x.
He could’ve dodged that—1x knew that better than anyone else.
“Wow, no need to be this desperate for a hug!” While being entangled, Shedletsky’s smile never faded for a single moment.
Again. 1x felt another rage of anger towards that cocky smile.
The avian finally pulled out his sword. Blade clashed against blade, and the sound of steel teared through the air like screaming.
“You’re getting sloppy.” The words came out effortlessly—almost amused.
The next strike came strong and fast, hitting the wall behind Shedletsky. The stone behind him collapsed like nothing.
“Shut up.”
Ah, there it is.
He finally ducked—he had to, for the attack was getting too intense to take it as a joke.
“Or what?” The avian jumped high into the air. For a moment, 1x saw those golden wings once again spreading behind him—just a hallucination, of course. “Are you going to kill me again?”
Just shut up already.
Cling. Their blades locked, once again.
“Y’know, you can always just tell me if you’re just that obsessed with me.”
That red glow flickered.
As if you’d care.
The clashes broke—Shedletsky backed off, willingly.
That’s usually how every round ended—and that was the part that confused 1x the most.
Shedletsky always let him kill him, right before the tickling timer ended.
You’re the one with an obsession, fool.
In his dream, 1x1x1x1 saw the hooded man again, whose whole face was covered in shadow—almost, for that cocky smirk could still be seen, always could be.
He remembered.
He remembered when he first looked at this world—or looked at his creator. And the feeling of being wary, almost afraid of the being under that shadow.
He remembered the moment when he could almost see his eyes—though soon covered back by that familiar hood.
“1x1x1x1.”
That was the first time he ever heard his voice.
1x preferred Tela—Shedletsky’s former voice than the one he has now. The voice itself wasn’t the one that was different, actually.
It was the emotions under it, and his thoughts, his soul, his mind.
Now, Shedletsky still got those wings thingy on his ears—but he could no longer spread them like before.
Now, Shedletsky was still as arrogant and cocky as before—but it seemed more like a fragile illusion, rather than strength.
If only he would stop looking at him like he was a mistake, an error.
If only he were mindless enough to not care.
If only.