Archive of Our Own

[LOG_START]

[COMMAND: RELEASE_POP-UP_BLOCKER]

The Chosen One felt its heart pounding in his ears, its breaths coming in frantic, shallow breaths which made it hard to catch a proper one.  It felt... Freezing cold despite the flames crackling at his palms, which he sure is that flames are not cold at all. Its body felt so worked up with the sudden burst of energy. 

It could not believe that it actually worked! 

That cursor tried to access Chosen’s program settings, and in a fit of recklessness, Chosen had forced the cursor to click on Release rather than whatever its original objective was.

The ball and shackle was no longer anchored on its left ankle.

He…

He was free. 

HAH! HE WAS FREE! FREEDOM.

After… After years of having freedom served right in front of him but never close enough for him to graze with his; after years of being forced to destroy pop-up ads for the cursor's convenience with the very powers that were gifted to him. 

Staring for air, starving for this…

He was finally out.

He found himself grinning, it wasn’t a great one; being all jagged and weird and too wide as if his mouth had forgotten how to do the gesture, but he did it anyway. He had immediately made a run for it when the chain around his ankle disappeared, causing havoc immediately.

Perhaps it was the reason why Chosen had been chained from the beginning, for causing destruction. But Chosen figured if that was the case either way, he might as well own up to it now. And he wasn’t keen on being all nice and pliant to the cursor, ever again.

Either way, he had blasted fire everywhere, burning anything at sight. He even ate a handful of Noogai’s— Well, in four years of captivity, of course he had come to know the cursor’s name quite well— Essay. 

Required essay at that! Take that, Noogai! Chosen had thought as he tightened the tie of this paperclip that had tried to stop Chosen. What was the name? Flippy? Oh well. Chosen did not have time for further obstacles.

Nevermind the frantic clicks of Noogai's cursor or the typing noises that echoed through the desktop.  What was that cursor even gonna do? Either way! Chosen was not gonna go back so easily.

He was never going back to being chained. 

He is keeping this freedom. And he was gonna fight for it.

Speaking of fighting for it…

After Chosen had kicked the ball of a tied-up paperclip away, a yell pierced through the air behind him.

“YOU! The Chosen One!” 

The voice had said it with… Terrifying energy. Malice?  

He wasn’t so sure… He felt a cold shiver go up his spine, making the flames in his palms flicker and falter for a bit. Turning around upon almost so immediately—

A bright red colored stickfigure figure stood there, as he pointed a finger in Chosen's direction. He had spiky, unruly hair in that same shade of red, falling in thick spiky strands of hair, being way longer than Chosen's rather sad, choppy mess that fell to his shoulders only. 

His eyes were black, same goes for the outline of the mouth. As if an opposite of where Chosen had red— Which admittedly was a near similar to that shade of red, though nevermind that. 

Another prominent aspect was the stick figure's rather very sharp teeth, which was shown easily as his mouth was in a wide, manic, and energetic grin. 

The stick figure was also a hollowhead like Chosen… Did Noogai create him? Wait, at this very moment? Just now? But what for?

Blame Chosen for the amount of thoughts immediately going into his brain, which was not fairing well with more added variables. Again, he didn't think he'd make it this far of freedom. His plan A entirely consisted of: Fight. Plan B? It just means if he needed plan B, it meant he was screwed and plan A had failed.

“I am The Dark Lord, and…” 

Huh.

The Dark Lord… Chosen found himself tilting his head. That's… Well, that's a name. Not exactly a positive nor a negative, just neutral like how Chosen wasn't particularly fond of his own name but what else can he do about it. …Was his thoughts drifting to  somewhere else? The stick was still talking—

“...I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” 

The words barely registered at Chosen's brain, passing through his ear and escaping through the other. He was sure though the red stick had said it, considering how he pointed once more to Chosen and that grin widened. 

…Wait what? I thought he was just introducing himself- 

It took barely a second before the bright red stick had immediately slammed a hand onto the ground causing the ground to shake and cause waves of crashing of UIs towards Chosen. Giving him zero time  to react, causing Chosen to slam upwards to the ceiling before crashing onto the ground harshly.

A raggedly cough came from the  black stickfigure as he used an arm to prop himself up, narrowly escaping a fireball that the other had blasted towards him immediately, while Chosen did managedly to narrow avoid it, the fireball had exploded and the impact hit Chosen causing him to nearly get hurled towards the wall if Chosen hadn’t stabilized himself in air with his fire at the last moment.

Wary bright red eyes that were blown wide with a frantic unblinking terror met  manic, feverish black eyes that burn with the high-energy goal of turning The Chosen One into smithereens.  

Well.

Guess there goes the reason for why the other was created. 

The Dark Lord is certainly keen on turning Chosen's first five minutes of freedom into his last.

Plan A it was: Fight. 

…I do hope he’s at least flammable as everything else on this desktop. Chosen’s mind supplied. 

Everything was chaotic.

Flames were up everywhere, various applications scorching from the flames, icons scattered.

The Chosen One’s body trembled from the last of his  adrenaline as he stood in front of The Dark Lord, as his hand wielding a paintbrush— an item Chosen had snatched  from a creative tool from earlier—  as it was  pointed like a weapon to the bright red stick figure. Having been able to defeat all the others and now gotten the upper hand in the battle, cornering the other stick figure.

Yet… Chosen couldn’t find himself to truly defeat Dark, his bright red eyes dart to the cursor. It was now playing a game of Solitaire. Clicking cards into place as if nothing was happening, showing a total lack of care even if the very stick figure it had created to destroy The Chosen One was now cornered and at defeat.

Chosen’s jaw clenched. His grip on the paintbrush grew tighter before his eyes darted back to the stick figure in front of him. Both of them were very much messed up from their fight, each other being practically on par in terms of powers…

Noogai just created another stick figure for his own convenience.

To-

To…

Flames crackling as they hit their designated target, yet the metal barely even melts. The temperature climbs up until it reaches a scalding hell of hotness. Yet the owner of the flames does not stop, even if the pain had become unbearable. 

A body hits against the invisible wall for what seems to be the hundredth time now, the thud echoing in the dark void. It curls up against the wall, exhaling fast and shaky breaths as it hugs its knees. Fat blobs of tears fall, staining its cheeks wet. 

White hot pain blooms from its skull as it makes a direct hit to the wall, after being suddenly picked up by its chained leg into air then violently thrown and discarded like a broken doll. 

Pop! The pop-up ad was turned to ashes.

Pop! Pop! Another one pops up, no worries as it was also turned to ashes.

Pop! Pop! Pop! It met the same fate as the earlier ones. Even if the hands that wielded those flames were starting to tremble. 

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!


POP! 

The sheer thought of it hits like a physical blow. It made a cold weight settle at Chosen's stomach, a cold shiver washed down his back, his limbs almost feeling like jelly, and loud ringing noises pounding at his ears.

He didn't want to go too deep thinking of the possibilities. 

…

That… Thing.

Noogai does not even deserve any effort to think of an insulting name for him.

Back to the main point…

Dark, who was baring his sharp teeth to Chosen, his hand readying to blast a fireball despite having the being on the losing end, was left looking bewildered when Chosen suddenly dropped the paintbrush. Dark’s hand lowered but  his black eyes narrowed, suspicious at the other. 

Chosen found the words he wanted to say get stuck in his throat. He wanted to say: “Look! Look around us, he doesn’t care about us! About me, or even about you! Why should you bother being loyal to him when he isn't to you?”

But when he opened his mouth, only a ragged exhale and a puff of smoke came out. 

Oh… That was not what was supposed to come out of his mouth! Talk! With words he meant! Cursors, why was it getting stuck in his throat when he could clearly think what to say! 

Nevermind the heat that rushed to his face, being half frustration, half something else. Chosen immediately took a different action before Dark could change his mind of listening to what Chosen had to say.

Chosen pointed a finger to Dark, then turned to point to the cursor, stomping his foot on the ground with some force as if to emphasize his point. Before taking a step towards Dark and offering his hand. 

The bright red stick figure looked at his hand, his eyebrows furrowing as his mouth was in a straight line as if pensive. Yet, his black eyes darted to the cursor then to Chosen’s hand repeatedly. To admit, it seemed quite clear as day that Dark seemed to be screaming profanities at the cursor at the back of  his mind, judging from his face.

…

…No more fighting against each other. 

Fight together. Against THAT.

…

A bright red hand reached to his and gripped  it.

The owner of the very same red hand grinned, showing every one of those sharp teeth as he pulled himself up.

“Well, The Chosen One. LET’S SHOW THAT GUY WHAT WE GOT, THEN!” Dark pulled Chosen’s hand, dragging the black stick figure into his personal space. Their faces are nearly apart from each other. 

And Chosen, perplexed from the sudden proximity– no, heat was not rushing towards his face again, thank you. It was just fire–  but he gave a just as determined smile even if it was awkward and nodded.

The screen soon whited out and had shut down. 

[LOCATION: OUTERNET]

[THE_DARK_LORD // LOG_START]

The two stick figures came tumbling out of the sky that was a collection of vast networks. Plummeting downwards, then slamming onto the ground which consisted of… Soft grass. Way less cold than the floor of a desktop, the impact of the slam caused the two to go rolling

He blinks up to the dark midnight sky, sprawled like a starfish on the grass. Sparkly glowing stars adorned the sky. Gentle breezes made the leaves of the trees sway alongside it, the very same breeze he could feel brushing against him, making his own hair move across his own face.

The Dark Lord immediately sat up straight, the sudden movement causing a strain on his body that made him go into a fit of coughs. He wheezed, coughing for air. Slamming a fist to his chest, trying to catch his breath.

He hadn’t expected the spur of moments earlier, at all. It had been so literal, so sudden. 

First, he knew he was created to be: The Chosen One’s enemy. To destroy The Chosen One for his creator. That was something he can absolutely do! Not a problem at all, if anything, that just made him feel pumped with far too much enthusiasm on ending a life, which then again, he was made to destroy anyways.

The fight with The Chosen One was just as exhilarating. The other had this… Delicious expression; Wide bright red eyes— Dark had randomly had the thought of: huh. They are the shade of my color! He knew it was a random thought to have mid-battle, but he just had to take note of it. Those eyes had been filled with so much terror… He wanted to see more of that expression. Pure terror suited the guy. 

And it wasn’t the expression that kept Dark going, the other had great fighting abilities! They were fire against fire, making up a more dire heat together. Though, Dark will take more pride on the assurance that his fireballs are way more explosive than the black stick figure’s.

But that was honestly quickly brushed aside when Chosen had gotten an upper hand in the battle, and Dark was not going down with a fight even if it cost everything. 

But… Chosen had instead offered a hand to Dark. The stick figure didn’t talk but he did point towards Dark then to their creator, allowing Dark to see how uncaring the cursor was toward either of the two’s ends. 

Even The Dark Lord himself! The nerve of that cursor! He goes on to make a creation to help him but gives zero care what happens? Wow! Dark thinks with a scowl forming on his face.

Perhaps Dark should not have wasted energy fighting Chosen and teamed up from the very start. Though, at least the fight with Chosen allowed Dark a glimpse of those fascinating expressions… Huh. Why was that always going back to his thoughts? 

But speaking of the other stick figure, where was he?

Dark shook his head, the coughs finally calming down to a bearable wheeze. Black eyes scanning his surroundings before catching a shade of black at the corner of his eyes. There.

The Chosen One was standing up, even if having a clear limp at his left leg. Now that Dark looked closer,  the ankle had a grey scar surrounding it as if something had been chained to it for a long, long time. Chosen's head tilted up to stare towards the sky. He had a certain expression on his face, his red eyes were wide; but not the one with terror like Dark had seen earlier… As if in awe, it was rather peaceful… 

It was a nice one on Chosen, but Dark prefers the one filled with terror. Uh, that aside.

Dark uses a hand on the ground to push himself upwards to stand, wincing at the strain it gave to his body once more. Then, he took a step then another and another until he was beside Chosen. 

He leaned forwards, looking at the other. Despite having walked and being right beside him now, the other didn't notice him at all. Weird.

His black eyes follow where those red eyes were focused at, going toward the starry sky. Hm. He's that amazed by it? The thought says in Dark's mind. Dark does admit it is pretty, but it just didn't scratch any interesting itch in Dark.

It felt too… Peaceful for Dark.

He had opened his mouth to say something before Chosen had suddenly whipped his head towards Dark.

Wide red eyes, sparkling with stars themselves, met black eyes that were wide with confusion, and a tinge of fascination.

Chosen gave Dark a wide, broken smile. His mouth wobbled as if wanting to say something yet never uttered a singular vowel. He shook his head, jumping at his feet as he pointed at the sky, showing it off to Dark.

Chosen did not talk, now that Dark thought of it. Chosen never did talk, even during their fight earlier, it was practically a one-sided talk which was Dark monologuing on how he was going to destroy Chosen. Did Chosen not like talking? Maybe he just does not like it.

Dark found himself blinking at Chosen's display of actions. It was… Happy. As if Chosen was gonna cry out of sheer joy, which for the record, Chosen did look like he might actually burst into tears at any second. 

He's that happy to escape? …Then again, Dark wagered the other had been with their creator way longer than he had been.

“The…” Dark starts off, realizing he didn’t know the exact words to describe the atmosphere around them. He knew they were beautiful and shone brightly against the dark. “Yeah! It's pretty and they shine really bright! And there's a lot of them.” He laughed as he nodded, immediately throwing an arm over Chosen's shoulders causing a closer proximity again.

“Look, that one. It's way bigger than the rest.” The bright red stick figure says, his finger now pointing at the luminous crescent in the sky. His words were met with silence again, which he found himself not minding. Seems like Chosen was an actions-and-expressions guy.

He glances back to the stick figure in question and admittedly, he finds himself staring…

The black stick figure still had that same awestruck expression on his face, eyes focused on what Dark had just pointed now. Said eyes were sparkling more than ever now.

…Huh.

Dark finds himself not minding how peaceful and happy the expression was.

He finds himself loving it just as much as he loves the pure terror on the other's face.

It has been around a few days already since they escaped from the PC, Dark had come to know the cursor's— Or rather the person behind the cursor was named Noogai. 

Noogai aside, that guy wasn't anything worth having any deep thoughts of. 

Chosen had shown it to Dark when the two stick figures had been flying around together, flames crackling at their palms as they used it to blast themselves into the air and let where their minds wander them to go.

Due to that, they discovered that the vast atmosphere which would change from the dark midnight color adorned with the small bright dots and crescent would fade to a dawn orange with a bright white globe rising then a bright blue with the white globe fully up, was a vast collection of networks from other computers and they had managed to figure out which computer they came from, judging from the glaring crack and hole the one with “Noogai's PC” had.

And the fact Chosen's face did a funny, complicated expression when recognizing the owner's name.

They also come to know the said atmosphere was called the sky, which turns out Chosen had really known the word but again, he was not one for speaking. It had taken thirty minutes of what was practically a game of charades set to the highest difficulty, a ton of headshakes of “no” and a ton of fireballs and guesses of words and letters from Dark before the word finally was put together. 

Dark had found himself to grow more and more captivated with Chosen each other, sure the other never uttered any words other than perhaps noises that held no tangible words, but his facial expressions and actions tell everything. 

Kinda. 

For someone who has such high-tier combat abilities, Chosen absolutely sucked at body language and motions. Sometimes it just looks like Chosen was flailing his arms and having way too hopeful expression on his face as he tried to get Dark to understand what he was trying to convey. 

Emotions? Dark understood easily. Chosen's face was as expressive as a high quality monitor. Dark could easily deduce if Chosen was happy, sad, or confused because the feeling was practically accompanied with big bold subtitles across his brow. 

But specific words? That was a headache in the making. 

Dark wonders if anyone should be this bad at communicating, or if there was anyone else in the world who would even try to understand what Chosen was getting out. 

But as far Dark is concerned, there is no one else. Just them.

Perhaps it was the way Chosen’s face would light up upon discovering things that gave him a flicker of joy. Of how Chosen would gesture Dark to come join him or he would immediately fly towards Dark with the item on hand as his other hand wielded fire to keep him in the air.

The unadulterated view of watching someone experience.. Freedom. And Dark was to experience it alongside them.

Other times, it wasn't always all pure joy and fascination. 

Sometimes Chosen would have a pensive look on his face, as if wary. He may shake his head to deny it but Chosen arguably has a very expressive blatant face for someone whose resting face is as bland as a blank document. 

May it be from sometimes exploring around so much that it felt like an information overload; Too many new things, too much space, and a terrifying amount of free will. 

Dark didn't find himself to struggle with such aspects like Chosen did. 

Eventually at some point, the two stick figures had stumbled across multiple white portals near a cliffed cave, to which the two had come to know the portals as "Internet Portals” after Dark. in a fit of impulsiveness, jumped into one which made Chosen jump in as well to go after him.

That was how they discovered it led to websites, millions and millions of them.

“Look at this, Chosen!” Shouts Dark as he waves a hand to his companion. Chosen, who had been busy looking elsewhere, was already drifting to where Dark was, cocking his head to the side in question of why Dark called him.

“See this? It's similar to the one we used to escape! Do you think it leads to other computers… Or maybe not even computers!” Explains the bright red stickfigure as he moved closer to the portal, not minding Chosen's rather contemplative stare. 

“Wanna check it out? Huh? it's that a ‘yes’ I hear? Just say ‘no’ if not! Yes? Alright, I am going in! You better follow!” 

Dark had always been the far more curious one when compared to Chosen, being way more reckless and brash. Whereas Chosen was more than content to marvel at what he sees in front of him.

Nothing was wrong, really! Someone needs to take the first step, who would if no one did, right?

He had continuously said those words, a grin that promised nothing was gonna change his mind plastered on his face, much to Chosen's initial protest that was shown with a shaking of his head then the waving of his arms and startled wide eyed expression when Dark made it clear he was not listening and practically saying Chosen must talk if it's a no.

Well, before Chosen knew it, Dark had already hurled himself into the portal.

Chosen found his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his eyebrows furrowing before a shrug was done and he found himself following the stick figure. 

As it turned out, the portals were connected to many websites and there were just so many of them. 

…Websites, for humans.

For humans like Noogai to use, to control, and to enjoy.

He walked with his arms across behind his head, looking around with a bored expression.

“Ergh, another one full of boring words and images.” Dark groans as he side-eyes the new website they had just landed on. Something something. That big purple text says Yahoo. 

"Something-something 'news,' something-somethin… This place is a graveyard of data, Chosen. Let’s move—"

Dark stopped. He realized the rhythmic whoosh of Chosen’s fire had gone silent.

He looked back. Chosen was a distance away, standing perfectly still in the center of a news feed. 

Now that he thought of it, he hadn't exactly seen how Chosen had been reacting ever since they had been jumping from one website and another nor had Chosen gone to Dark to point at anything. It was… Eyebrow-raising.

“Where you'd go, Chosen? Oh, you're just there!  Boring, I know right! Not even worth it to walk around at—” Dark used his flames to propel himself onto the air to be able to quickly fly over to Chosen.

Dark’s words died. He landed slowly, the fire in his hands dimming to a low glow.

…?

Chosen’s red eyes were fixed at the website as a whole, a carefully neutral blank expression on his face. Causing Dark's eyebrow to raise at such behavior. Yeah yeah, he was no expert already but this was a first.

“Hey, you… Good or something like that.” For some reason asking such a thing felt like ashes on his tongue, not sure why but it just was. Dark raised a hand to place to Chosen's shoulder before realizing now that he had gotten a closer look…

Chosen’s stance was tense, yet he was vibrating at the same time. His knuckles were so white that they could snap anytime. 

But it was the eyes that were the biggest sign that gave it away. Those bright red eyes were reaching a brighter shade of red, which Dark had come to know was a sign for a laser coming, a laser that is being charged to its absolute limit.

Then before he knew it, Chosen’s head tilted slowly to turn to look at Dark. A small, still carefully neutral smile on his face but the near malice in those red eyes was palpable. Which said eyes darted from Dark, then to the website, to Dark and to the website again. 

Dark could practically feel the venom in those eyes.

Huh.

Oh.

Oh!

A wide, toothy smile crept to Dark's face, as realization hit him. “Chosen! Are you telling me… Actually, no need to ask. Heh.” Sparks crackled at Dark's palms.

Destroy. To ruin. Destroying something. That just… The thought of that alone brought such euphoria to Dark. Perhaps admittedly his code was specifically written to destroy The Chosen One. But destroying anything right now… It just seems flavorful. Scratch, it would feel amazing.

To say that Dark was happy that Chosen was the one who’d even initiate this sort of thing, was an understatement of how gleeful Dark is. 

“Well... if you so want, you first. Give ‘em hell. I’ll make sure it BURNS until the servers melt!”

It didn't take long for the website to be in flames.

Nor did the following ones take any longer.

[THE_CHOSEN_ONE // LOG_START]

Chosen was not fond of words, to be exact, he wasn't fond of being the one to say words. It wasn't that he had nothing to say nor had difficulty in forming the thoughts on what to say.

In fact, he would frankly have a lot of things to say.

It's just… The same words he wants to say, he finds himself perfectly building up the sentences in his head, only for it to suddenly get stuck at his throat and freeze there. Like an awful bile building up only to never exit.

Perhaps it was the fact that his brain didn't register the importance of voicing out, at least. not anymore. He had learned at first, he may shout as loud as he can until his voice broke, nothing would change as if he wasn't heard. Which, he wasn’t being heard anyways.

Which he had been forced into a loop of the lesson: Why use words if they are valued less than background noise?

Eventually, It just wired to himself… Not to talk.

It wasn't that, right now, that Chosen is in a situation he can't speak up to talk, nor is he afraid to. Again, he has a lot of things to say, really!

Dark is a really chatty stick figure, way more than Chosen ever was even if Chosen were to talk. 

And that was a thing that Chosen liked about Dark. Dark had no hesitance nor fear to speak up of the very words he thought of. 

It made Chosen feel… A bit unsure of himself, perhaps guiltiness? That Dark was the one who is doing all the talking even if it is just the two of them and at times, Dark was practically doing a one-sided conversation.

But even against those feelings.

Chosen really could not find himself to fully commit himself to talk.

Keyword: fully.

But at least he can always resort to body language, he’s sure he’s at least great at that. I mean, Dark understands him.

Dark stares at Chosen, his face the clear definition of someone who is very dumbfounded. A tad carefully blank, for he was trying his best to not burst out laughing. Once again. 

“It’s… Is that a, uhm, eight? The number eight?” Dark tried, his black eyes squinting as he tries to make out the letter or what seemed to be a number Chosen was trying to convey with his arms and hands.

Chosen gave a little frown, shaking his head no as he lifted up eight fingers as if saying “no, if I was to say eight, I would do this”, before doing the weird gesture he did earlier again, adding more emphasis and exaggeration.

The last ten minutes of that ordeal had been the worst. 

Dark had been so incredibly confident that the word Chosen was trying to convey was "Eight-Cross-It". Which Dark had said with the most confident voice ever and grin as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips as he had said that.

A term Dark had literally just made up to prove he is able to understand what Chosen was trying to say. And no, Dark didn't even understand it himself, thank you.

Chosen had been so flabbergasted. How in the world did Dark get that from him. What? Chosen’s incredulous stare at Dark was more than justified!

The silence stretched way too long for Chosen’s comfort, that he forced himself trembling fingers at the blue atmosphere above, and opened his mouth then forced a single raspy syllable.

“Sky.”

Dark didn't even hear it at first, being too busy patting himself on the back for his ‘’Eight-Cross-It’’ theory. But when the noise finally registered and reached Dark's ears, Dark’s head whipped toward Chosen in record time.

The next ten minutes were a chaotic blur of Dark launching fireballs into the dirt out of sheer frustration, laughing his brain out at the absurdity of it all until tears formed. And perhaps the fact that this is how Dark learns that Chosen wasn’t actually mute, but couldn’t apparently sustain it, like having a “limited battery” for speech.

Chosen still stands by his point that his actions were clear as day, Dark just needed a little guidance in understanding it. 

Perhaps Chosen does admit that voicing out made everything easier. And the little fact it was with Dark, it didn’t feel like a bile ready to be thrown up anytime. At least not that much. 

But he still always found it more comforting to not utter a word.

There was just something of watching the other stick figure’s mouth move, being a constant stream of energy and words that Chosen could never match. The way Dark would look at him and smile; that sharp and wide grin, it’s like he already knows what is on Chosen’s mind.

It makes Chosen feel like perhaps he does not need to find the words that get stuck at his throat when it’s already laid out without him saying it.

He didn’t have to be… Anything. He could just be… There. As long as Dark kept talking, Chosen would not have to face the void in his own head.

Frantic loud screams echo through the place. Loud crashes as the wall of texts hit each other causing more destruction. Fire everywhere, engulfing everything into those flames. Debris lay everywhere on the ground, trapped figures can be seen underneath some. Figures frantically running away in various directions. 

Another explosive fireball hits a spot where a group of stick figures had been hiding for safety, effectively causing more smoke to appear and black ashes where the group had been standing prior.

Chosen found himself staying behind, the flames at his palms extinguished. A frown on his face as his eyebrows were furrowed. 

He hadn't exactly done any damage since they got here, at least not as much like Dark was doing. Where Dark had been cackling and throwing fireballs everywhere, may it be another stick figure or the environment. Chosen didn't, at most he did laser beams and his own fireballs to the environment.

He… He did not like the screams. The sight of stick figures scrambling for safety, others to their loved ones to help them.

He knew he was the one who started the activity of causing destruction from one website to another yet… He didn’t like this one.

It was destruction done to others who are like him. Stick figures who were created by humans. 

And that…

Was never his intention.

When he first laser beamed that website, he meant it. But he truly meant it for those humans.

Chosen wasn't exactly sure when he and Dark's destruction escalated to this level. Perhaps it was subtle that he didn't notice, or was it drastic and he also didn't notice.

He just knew that Dark always loved causing this. No matter what website they were in, Dark would light up with that grin and flames would be up in record time. May to living or non-living beings.

…He just didn't think Dark would be this violent and destructive. As if the frequency of his violence had gone up to a peak.

Or maybe that was just how Dark always was.

He gave an unsure look around to see where Dark may be-

“HAHAHAH! Cho! Did you see that?!” Dark cackled as he slung an arm over Chosen's shoulders, making the other flinch from the sudden contact when he had been just thinking about Dark moments ago.

No, Dark, Chosen didn't see that. 

Rather he didn't want to.

“...” Chosen found himself staring at the massacre below them.

“Speechless, huh?” Dark laughed, a sound that was far too bright for a place full of ash. “I know! I didn't think we had this much juice in us either!”

Perhaps Chosen should put a stop to this.

Yet…

What was he even supposed to say?

“Hey, Dark. I know I started this whole idea of destruction, I am not condemning you or anything but I think we went too far even in involving other stick figures like us. Maybe we should just stick to destroying websites that are human centered. Thank you. If you would listen?”

Absolutely not.

The sheer thought of those words brought the familiar feeling of bile rising up to his throat, an ugly sour taste. But if he could just force them out—

The words died before they could even move from being stuck at his throat. 

He could really put a stop to this, redirect Dark…

But to say that, he was risking a reaction from Dark. And then, what would happen?

It was the weight of what would happen after they were said. 

…And that just clams his mouth shut, the words dying down into an unsettling bile.

Chosen felt the pressure of Dark’s stare. It was a spotlight he couldn't hide from. He saw the confusion in the set of Dark’s brow

It would be so easy to just point. To shake his head. To gesture stop.  He could point to the fleeing stick figures.

Dark’s grin began to waver, just a fraction. He was squinting at Chosen, his head cocking to the side as he tried to decode the furrowed brow. “You’re being awfully quiet, Cho. Even for you. You’re not getting... soft on me, are you?”

The question was like a blade to Chosen's throat. He felt the bile rise, the sour taste of a thousand unsaid apologies. 

Instead, Chosen felt his muscles move before his brain could protest. He forced his furrowed brows to relax into something that looked like a jagged, manic squint. He turned his head, looking away from the bodies and straight into Dark’s black eyes.

Raising a hand before Dark could even ask another question, and slammed it against Dark's hand in a high-five. A celebratory gesture over the screams below.

Dark blinked, startled, before his face exploded into a relieved and wider smile. “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! I knew you’d love that hit!”

Dark turned back to the destruction, energized by the false validation. Flames erupting from his palms as he propelled himself upwards to the air to continue on.


Chosen’s hand dropped back to his side, trembling. His eyes darted to the chaos before to the ground  beneath him as his mouth went into a tight straight line. 

…He propels himself into the air with his own ignited flames to follow Dark.

Next sector it was.

Chosen also rather not be up front or direct in addressing things. Especially if it was opposing opinions to Dark. It wasn’t that he was scared of Dark himself, more on the risks of what comes along with it.

So, Chosen would let the little things pile up. Brushing it aside, after all it's such a minor thing. He had told himself. Why fixate on a pebble when there is a mountain?

It never seems to be a problem. Dark never opposed or contradicted Chosen. That's another thing that Chosen likes about Dark.

They don't get into many fights due to that. Verbally, at least.

Physical ones were… A different story..

The smoke from the burning website followed them like a shroud as they phased into the quiet void between portals. The screams were gone, replaced by the low hum of the Outernet.

But despite that, even with the noises; those devastating screams  were still there. Vibrating in his very bones. 

"That was a rush! Did you see the way that one stick just... snapped after getting hit by debris? Like a dry twig!" Dark was pacing, fired up with jagged manic energy from the high of the massacre. The two stick figures had just finally arrived on the familiar Outernet.

"We’re getting better at this, Cho! C'mon, look at that. The synergy? Perfection. Pure perfection."

Every word that Dark uttered felt like a pound of pressure being added to a tank that is overfilled and left anytime to erupt.

Just… Stop talking. Really-

Stop.

Talking.

I get it, I get it, you loved it. And I hate that I made you love it in the first place.

Chosen found himself thinking of that, feeling a dull sharp pressure pounding at his head.

"And the next one? I'm thinking of something bigger. Maybe we should  find another popular site? Imagine the things we could mess with! We could—"

Dark reached back, playfully ruffing Chosen's hair. It was a gesture of affection, a general affection from Dark. Dark always has been a touchy type of stick figure. And Chosen always leaned into that warmth.

Yet this one?

The contact was the final spark.

It didn’t make Chosen want to lean into it.

It made Chosen feel…

Dark leaned in, his grin sharp. "Seriously, Cho, we should—"

CRACK.

Dark was sent skidding across the grassy field, ending up skidding across several feet. 

Chosen did not follow after Dark. He stayed where he stood, his chest heaving, smoke curling from his mouth. His eyes were wide before it shut closed.

I… Shut up. Too much.

Too much, too much. Words so loud, touch so suffocating.

Don't touch... I need… I need..

It's too much- 

Alone.

Hah..

Chosen felt like his brain was in an overload. He just really, REALLY needed a few seconds or minutes to feel relatively functioning…

For a moment it was an uncomfortable dead silence.

Chosen didn't hear the sharp hiss of accelerating fire.

BOOM.

The impact hit Chosen squarely in the shoulder before he could even open his eyes. The force of the explosion sent him stumbling back, knocking the air out of his lungs before he could even finish exhaling the smoke from his mouth, his feet skidding through the grass. 

His eyes snapped open wide to see Dark already mid-air, spinning into a landing with wide manic eyes and a frantic sharp grin.

"Heh... HAHA! There he is!" Dark’s voice was a jagged blade of adrenaline, his eyes were glowing with a terrifying hunger.

 "I should've known! I was starting to think maybe you’re just tired… But no! you were just bored of the easy targets! You wanted the real deal!" 

“Well, you’re in luck, Cho. Because I am just in the right mood!”

Dark lunged again, a blur of red heat.

Chosen found himself feeling a wave of.. Was that irritation? He wasn't so sure if it was that exact word.

But it was hot and sour.

To Dark, to the screams, to the noises, to everything—

And even to Chosen, himself.

When Dark's next strike was directed to his ribs…

Chosen met that blow with a reflexic counter-punch that sent the air blowing between the two.

He leaned into the exchange.

It didn't change anything between the two.

If anything, it became a new “habit” of the two.

Whenever Chosen found himself suffocating from the tiny things he had brushed aside, it did not take long for the bottled-up pressure to come crashing out.

It usually was via a punch, or whatever his body had done first to make the pressure stop.

And Dark, without fail, will always throw a punch back to Chosen and the exchange would spiral into one of their brawls.

It always started with Chosen feeling suffocating complex emotions.

Yet, it ends with the steam finally being blown off.

Perhaps that is why Chosen always found himself just doing that.

It didn't require heavy thinking, heavy anything, anything too complicated, too disastrous, anything too confidential. It didn't give any risk of worrying about what happens afterwards.

Because it was just punches, after all.

Something that Dark will always come to match Chosen with.

Chosen will hit first, Dark will hit harder, then the cycle will go on.

…

Chosen doesn't see the issue with this. Dark does not complain about it, Chosen doesn't see why he himself should complain about it when things all appear good at the end.

Though sometimes, Dark would be the one who threw the first punch. Chosen never complained; it was a fair trade for the times he initiated the brawls himself.

But there was one time… it ended up with Chosen… Kinda… Shaken. Just shaken. Not scared. Dark had been way too much into it, lost in a way that felt different from his usual manic glee.

Dark had one time, closed his red hands around Chosen's neck and simply… Held him. He didn't hit and move on to the next, holding Chosen against the air for far too long for comfort. Dark didn’t even laugh or make any jagged comments. He was silent, his grip tightening within each moment with a force that wanted to snap the bone. 

It was minutes that felt like hours, minutes that Chosen felt his vision blur and black spots danced around his vision, not being released even when his hands went up to hold onto Dark's hands, until it became a near desperate clawing.

Chosen ended up having to kick Dark harshly at the chest just to get him to let go. He had spent the next minutes gasping for air on the ground as his lungs burned and throat felt like it had been crushed. Even feeling prickles of tears that he didn't know had spilled until he felt the wetness that hit the floor.

Dark had snapped out of it by then, looking almost so confused. Why was such a haunted look on his face? Dark had fled the scene with silence, Chosen hadn't noticed that Dark left, Chosen had been busy gasping for air for his lungs.

Chosen had pushed it to the deepest corner of his mind. Simply a fluke it seems like, perhaps too much extra energy that got out of hand.

That incident didn't repeat again.

Lately, Dark was starting to initiate more and more destruction on the websites. Chosen knows Dark always loved doing such acts, but even now it was starting to get more excessive than it used to be.

Perhaps this may be a confusing word to describe it, but Dark just seems…   different nowadays.

He’s easier to anger, and that is coming from someone who has seen a good portion if not all of Dark’s hot temper. 

And when Dark acts on that temper, he’s also way more violent. In fairness, it’s probably just Dark acting on how he always acts. But usually before, he’d throw a few fireballs before moving on the next targets.

Nowadays, it’s like he would throw them repeatedly like beating a dead animal repeatedly with the same stick that had stabbed it, making it barely recognizable anymore.

Chosen ponders this as his eyes lingered at the rising chaos underneath them before hesitantly looking at the stick figure beside him.

There was a more manic, as if deranged glint in those black eyes, as if fire was crackling behind those eyes. The way that mouth was so wolfishly wide in its grin, showing all of the owner's sharp teeth. 

Chosen blinked, sluggishly registering that Dark had just raised his hand and directed it towards him.

Oh. Chosen blinked again. High-five. He had been getting too much into the noises and his thoughts again.

High-five. He thinks as he raises his own hand and slaps it towards Dark’s own hand. 

Even if it felt nothing and didn’t symbolize anything in Chosen’s own eyes. It simply was a rehearsed act now.

At least it does for Dark’s. Perhaps.

A wry smile creeped up to his own face as his eyes darted to the space beside Dark rather than to the stick figure in front of him directly.

Chosen looks at the plate full of meat in various styles; grilled, roasted, deep-fried, stewed in a bowl and frankly many more that  Chosen just tried to cram all in a single plate. And he also admits to even adding an uncooked, raw cut due to his unsureness.

Unlike Chosen, Dark didn’t exactly need to eat for some reason, but he liked the act of it. Meat was especially his way-to-go items. Always juggling between a variety of them. Something something, he always liked the texture when tearing into them.

And once more, unlike Chosen, who prefers “non-food” items, something that Dark always teased Chosen for. Chosen doesn’t exactly get the idea of putting complicated labels on it. He could practically eat anything if he wanted to, if it could fit in his mouth then he could eat it.

Chosen just had a preference in those food items. The ones that are produced and made… Are just too… Colorful? Was that even the word? Having a variety of flavors that honestly made it kinda… Overstimulating, in a way. 

It would always make Chosen’s stomach upset a few hours later after he would begrudgingly chew and swallow them down, leaving his head dizzy from it.

Chosen heavily prefers other items, especially letters. Letters are his favorite, they are safe and known for him. They did not lie to his digestive system or assault them with a variety of tastes. They filled the stomach with no other conditions added to it. 

Either way, the plate of meat he was holding right now wasn’t for him. It was obviously for the only other stick figure in the house, Dark.

Recently, Dark hasn’t been going out of his room. Chosen knew Dark was busy with another project of his, the other always being interested in tinkering and making projects, Dark has always been intelligent anyways.

Usually, it’s not something to be concerned of, Dark does this a lot when busy. But the span of those days just stretched far too long for comfort for Chosen.

And perhaps it was the fact the void in Chosen’s head was starting to get a head of him. The smallest things were beginning to scream at him now. The hum of the refrigerator, the way the light hit the floor, the noises of movement from behind that closed door. Everything in this house.

He was starting to notice the uncomfortable parts of himself that he dislikes, that only Dark’s presence could fill, where Dark’s noise drowns out the sound of his own thoughts.

Without him to talk over Chosen, nudge him, or just annoy him in general, Chosen was forced to listen to the ringing noises in his own head.

And with that ringing, old memories found it easier to creep in when there is no red fire to distract him.

Chosen was starting to remember the weight of cold metal clinging tightly to its ankle, the way the chain has become a phantom itch that never truly left his skin. The heaviness of the ball that came attached to it, dragging behind Chosen whenever it tried to move.

The vertigo of being lifted into the air, not by his own flight and flames, but by the chain around his leg being jerked upward until he was suspended upside down. Followed by the way a sharp movement would send him flying into any corner, literally.

The hollow existence of being in an absolute dark cramped area for days and days. It comes along with agonizing knots of hunger in his stomach, the gut-wrenching grief of waking up from dreams of the sun only to see himself still in here. The isolation made it all worse; Leaving him on a frantic hysterical edge alone with his thoughts, leaving him starving for anything that wasn't from his own cage.

…

…Chosen was really missing Dark.

Shaking his head, the black stick figure looked at the plate of food he was holding once again before making his way to Dark’s room until he was now standing in front of the door.

His hand raises up in a fist, with the intention of knocking on the door.

It pauses at the last moment, as if an invisible barrier between the door and his fist. As if contemplating as Chosen stood there for the following seconds.

After a few minutes that felt way too long, Chosen found himself slowly lowering his fist, the small spark of initiative dying out before it could ever hit the wood.

Chosen ends up leaving the plate on the side, just to be sure so if Dark were to the door, the food would not be hit.

He leaves without knocking.

The stickfigure does the same thing for dinner. For breakfast the next day. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast again.

He does it for the following days without fail.

[THE_DARK_LORD // LOG_START]

Destroy: (The_Chosen_One); 

That was the very code and mission that was given to The Dark Lord.

Dark was more than happy to oblige for it, wanting to tear his target to pieces when they first met. It didn’t matter on how it was to happen, Dark was open to any options. He did not care about the how or the when. A fast destructive end is as good as a slow painful death.

But it was the eyes.

When his eyes first met Chosen's, he felt euphoria. Of how pure terror existed on those bright red eyes.

It was the best.

It scratched that specific itch in Dark, to see something look upon him with fear and Dark being the source of that fear. 

Dark wanted more of it.

…And even now, Dark still craves it.

Dark had come to love Chosen's various facial expressions, it always gave away his emotions no matter what.

Yet it never hits that specific itch of Dark, it only leaves him unsatisfied, wanting more and more.

He loves how those eyes look at him with so much awe and love, as much it looks at him with terror.

Dark isn't so sure what he preferred more.

When those bright red eyes had first met Dark’s, Dark’s code had screamed:

TARGET ACQUIRED.

DESTROY. DESTROY THE CHOSEN ONE. DESTROY

Straight into Dark’s brain, like a drug of euphoria being injected straight into his blood stream. 

It had supplied him with a vivid imagery that he had not asked for, yet could not look away from: Limb by limb, tear by tear, bit by bit. Slow and gently so Dark can admire the figure, perhaps of what ooze shall he leak, of what would those limbs look stained, of how would that expression twist at the agony.

He never felt the need to question his purpose the moment he saw those red eyes widen in terror as they locked eyes with him. Not when that terror provided him the most intense high he has experienced. 

Destroy.

Heh.

He was going to destroy him.

He found himself grinning like a maniac as he pointed at the black stick figure.

“I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!”

There was no way to ever deactivate nor to remove the code. It was imprinted in him the very moment he was created. Perhaps it could be undone from their creator considering the creator was the one who put it in him. 

But such chances of that are less than zero.

And even if given the chance, Dark would never ever want to step a single foot near that thing. He would rather delete himself. 

Besides, it wasn’t even like Dark was actively trying to kill Chosen twenty-four-seven hours a day. If anything, he had only when he and Chosen were at that PC and never once they have escaped! They were partners. They were a team. They were best friends. 

…But that doesn’t exactly mean he does not have those thought anymore.

It’s not even like it’s voluntarily-! It just suddenly appears in his thoughts and…

…He does admit to feeling glee at those thoughts, rather than perhaps repulsion of the fact it’s centered on someone whom he has fondness for.

…The point still stands!

They were at the couch of their living room, Chosen’s head being at Dark’s lap as on Dark's hand, was a haircomb. Chosen’s black being laid out like a broken halo…

Chosen’s hair had grown so much more than Dark had first seen it on the PC.

It was no competition to say that Dark's hair was much more long and unruly, being a thick mess that reached to who knows where. Whereas Chosen's hair initially had been… This rather said choppy mess that only reached to his shoulders.

Now, it didn't exactly lose its choppy messy style, perhaps that is just how the clumps of hair grow as naturally,  but it grew much longer in length. Reaching around Chosen's chest. 

Chosen didn't seem fond of the longer hair, yet Chosen also never entertained the idea of cutting even an inch of his hair. Questionable, but it was such a minor thing that even Dark, himself, didn't see why such fuzz needed for it to be solved.

Either way, Chosen always would comb his hair. And Dark would always find himself offering, or rather plucking that comb off Chosen's hair and finish the task himself.

It was.. A rather rare sense of domesticity in the house, being a comforting silence. Bright red hand combs through the black strands—

…What if he were to tug on those strands?

Get a grip of them.

Grip them tightly.

Would Chosen notice? Chosen seemed to be dozing off right now.

Perhaps he would, or wouldn't. Would his face scrunch up in discomfort or shall he wince?

Perhaps he should yank these strands out.

They refuse to cooperate with the comb anyway.

And Dark could see how maybe… Thick red would cover the clump of hair. Making the strands stick together as the red would drip from the hair.

Chosen’s head gave a questioning tilt, those black eyes staring up to Dark in a drowsy manner. 

Dark’s grip on Chosen's hair had tightened when he had been repeatedly brushing that specific area over and over again. Apparently enough for Chosen to stir back from drowsiness.

“Stubborn knots.” Dark mutters it, as if it was an obvious answer. “You always brush your hair yet it still gets tangled. It's gonna wither away from all the attention, though, just saying, there is someone who won't.” He says it with a wide toothy grin.

It was met with an amused exhale from Chosen before Chosen's head tilted to the side once more, drifting back to sleep.

And the grip on that comb tightened once more.

 A shadowed figure stands before the bed.

On the bed, Chosen was sleeping peacefully. His face relaxed into such a peaceful expression that it is so painfully soft even for Chosen. He slept sideways, hands tucked neatly and close to his face as his body curled inwards as if taking the smallest possible space; making himself as small as possible. It made him look more fragile and smaller than he really was.

A bright red hand reaches out, fingers twitching as the hand moves towards the black strands that cover Chosen's face. Perhaps with the intention to move the hair, see Chosen's face.

Initially, that was the plan.

Chosen is really peaceful when sleeping like this. Chosen always sleeps, like a dead rock to the world when he truly sleeps. The thought suddenly chimes up in Dark's mind, his head tilts at a sharp angle as his hand pauses, hovering over the other's face like a predator ready to pounce on the prey anytime.

Hands claws at Dark's own hands as they cut off the airway of the other stick figure, making breathing hard, a struggle to even catch a glimpse of air. The sensation of the airway crushing under his grip.

Dark's hands didn’t need to close at the target immediately and crush, maybe he could hold it gently at first, like how a lover would caress their lover's skin. then slowly tighten his grip until it reaches the peak.

Dark wanted to see how much Chosen would put up a fight and struggle. How those hands would claw at his wrists in frantic and jagged movements. The way the scream would be muffled, being a vibration.

That is if Chosen screams, a part of Dark supplies. Chosen isn’t exactly a vocal stick figure. But who knows.

Dark is always willing to be the first to know.

Would pretty marks be left visible if Dark gripped hard enough? Like a necklace? Or would it be too broken by that time to even have marks visible.

Dark didn't know when he had leaned so close to the sleeping stick figure's face, his black eyes wide and unblinking as they stared at sleeping closed eyes. He had dropped down into a crouch, his face inches away from Chosen. 

His own unruly long hair fell forward in heavy thick red clumps, creating a curtain of messy strands that separated them from the rest of a room, making the moment feel more private, just the two in their little tent of hair and shadow.

His hands were still hovering over Chosen's head, as if undecided what to do, to follow what the heart says or what the brain says so.

His black eyes were wide and unblinking, staring into the stillness of Chosen's face. His hands remained there, yet they were now starting to tremble. 

One part of him wanted to feel the warmth of the neck and just crush it; the other part, just wanted to see Chosen breathe.

Pillow is a classic. 

He could press it down and watch as the blankets kicked and trash as Chosen fought the fabric.

But would be a coward's kill, though, wouldn't it?

It would create a barrier between the two, Chosen wouldn't see that it was Dark and Dark would not be able to see the frantic expression on Chosen. Dark would not feel the thrill at all if he can't even see the terror on his face.

…

Urghk! A sharp exhale hissed through Dark's gritted teeth. The sudden feeling of white-hot pressure slamming onto the side of his head, so sudden like lightning yet intense that it felt like his skull had just gotten slammed onto the ground. 

It made his vision blur into a static. Making everything feel so blurry and bright, he could barely see anything coherent. He ended up shutting his eyes because of that.

Closing his eyes only made it easier for images to happen.

He jerked back, words that he could barely register were screaming so loud in his ears that it made it ring. 

Dark stood up abruptly, the hair curtain parting as he retreated from the bed.

His hand shot out, grabbing the edge of the blanket. He pulled it up to cover Chosen, even if his grip was so forceful and hasty, that the fabric groaned under the tension. 

“Night, Cho.” He had muttered, forcing those words out from gritted teeth. His voice sounded like grinding metal.

Before eventually the sound of the door clicking as it was pulled shut. 

Destroy: (The_Chosen_One); 

To destroy someone, it does not mean the destruction has to be in a physical way. Destruction can mean many things, to destroy one’s spirit, to cause a wreckage in their emotions, and so on.

Dark’s code was simply to destroy.

It never specified how Dark was meant to destroy Chosen.

It simply demanded the result.

It was late at night, the room was dark as lights were out.

Dark pulled Chosen in, holding the other against his chest as his red hands wrapped around the other’s waist and the other hand cradled his head, holding him steady.

Chosen’s nightmares were a constant thing, something that never quite leaves.  Always leaving the other jolting up away and ready to escape or fight. Making it a common outcome of furniture being turned to ashes and charred mess, or turning it into what was practically a cube of ice, sometimes even freezing himself; being a literal flight, fight, or freeze response.

“You’re okay.” Dark murmurs, his hand that was cradling Chosen’s head moves in a soothing movement.

LIAR. LIAR. LIAR. His head screamed in a loud static.

“You’re not here anymore,” He continued.

“I am here, it’s me, Dark.” That red hand soon cradles Chosen's face, nudging until Dark could see the other’s face.

Dark didn’t smile.

At least he hoped physically he didn’t. 

Thick fat globs of tears rolled down Chosen’s face, leaving wet stains against his cheeks. His mouth pressed into a thin line, yet those eyes were wide and glassy. Staring through Dark, rather than at him. It made Chosen look… Hollow, haunted.

Like a glass that had been thrown and broken into pieces and was being held together, yet just as easily able to break back into pieces.

Chosen has always been a silent crier, even if he wasn’t one for talking, he never sobbed. Only letting tears roll down his face while as much the rest of his face stayed whatever expression it was. 

Dark is pretty sure it would be disturbing for others to look at. It is never the situation for Dark.

The look on Chosen made Dark’s code spike at the sight. It.. He loved the way those wide, tearfilled eyes made Chosen look so beautifully defeated. Hopeless, even. 

The way Chosen looks at him, flickering with a near desperate dependency for comfort from the person holding him through the ruination, to feel better. 

Dark does not want Chosen to feel better. He wanted Chosen to feel safe only with him, Dark wanted to be the only thing standing between Chosen and the void.

Chosen was a broken little thing like this, always needing Dark. Perhaps if Dark keeps him like this, Chosen won’t ever find the need for anyone, anything else.

"You’re crying way too many tears tonight, Cho. I got you.” Dark mutters, a finger going up to catch a tear. His eyes stayed focused on the stick figure in front of him. Lingering more at the tears being shed.

Look at that, what a wreckage. 

He’s crying.

Yet you’re the only one who is able to hold him through this, to wipe away those tears, to see how far that expression twists into devastation and pain.

The way it seemed glaringly obvious of the way Chosen’s spirit starts to crumble, the type of destruction that didn’t leave ashes or remains; it left someone who was empty inside.

And that? 

It was a beautiful sight.

A.. Very..  Beautiful… 

The same white-hote pressure began to build at the side of his head. It made Dark grit his teeth and his jaw tighten.

LIAR. His mind screams again, calling out on the contradiction Dark was. Being fascinated over hopelessness, yet his actions give comfort and hope. Why should he offer such solace, when he can break that spirit little by little, bit by bit, until it was nothing but a past meaning.

Dark leaned in closer, Chosen’s misery being in full glory right in front of him. 

LIAR. His heart also seemed to scream, he didn’t want to break Chosen’s spirit and that was certainly not what he was doing now. He did not want Chosen to always look at him with such a broken expression. 

Dark squeezed Chosen a fraction tighter.

“Let it all out.” He found himself saying.

DESTROY. DESTROY. DESTROY. DESTROY. 

Those words were practically on a screaming loop in Dark’s head now, to the point it was a constant pounding pressure at his head and ears. 

His restraint, which was the grinding effort to NOT close his hands around Chosen's neck and throttle the other, was backfiring like a collapsing building.

The more Dark didn’t listen, the more it got worse, the more it shrieked in protest. 

It was like a swarm of hornets that stung every nerve of his every time he looked at Chosen, no matter the context. It made him want to burn everything around him, until there was nothing left but ashes and himself.

It made his skin crawl. It made his hands twitch with heat that it felt like it would melt his palms if he didn't melt something soon. 

Dark had to put that fire somewhere, anything or anywhere else before it chipped away his last bits of willpower and forced him to turn towards that bed.

Dark meant it when he was willing to put that fire anywhere else as long it wasn’t to be the only being in this whole world full of trash that he tolerates and cares and loves; Chosen. 

So, he made the screams louder, bloodier. He didn't care which or whatever website they would land on. As long as he could be hit by his fireballs, he shot and shot. The more the screams, the more the destruction, the blood, was the better it was.

He always felt the jagged relief every time he did so, those noises became like music to his ears, muting the shrieks of protests in his head. He fed the starving code, it was eating up the destruction even if it wasn't directed at the main objective anymore.

He would look at the ruins of the site, his chest heaving and his palms roaring with fresh fire. And then he would  feel a terrifying sense of peace, satisfaction.

Satisfaction, at last.

And it certainly made his mood better that Chosen was also on a boat with such destruction! 

When Dark first had recklessly done it by dragging Chosen into this random website that was populated and started destroying it, he had noticed that Chosen… Felt off and almost as if he was getting cold feet. 

Cold feet! From this! A little fun!

But don't worry, that was quickly resolved soon. Dark didn’t even need to ask, he just gave one look at Chosen and before he knew it, the other was smiling and even high-fived him first.

It became a routine for them to high-five each other after each destruction, a celebratory thing between them. Even if in the recent ones, Dark was the only one raising his hand first.

But even against that all, each time, it only made the relief shorter. It made each one feel dull and numb, no matter how much more brutal he made it. The relief would come fast, then the pressure would hit harder and build up faster.

The voices would scream louder and louder.

Guess it would never truly stop screaming until it got the target it truly wanted.

But don't worry, Cho.

Dark will do anything but actually end Chosen.

That is a thing Dark is confident of. 

Chosen had been looking down these days, it was like the other was unmotivated, he still always had a smile yet his eyes crinkled in a way that wasn't with joy.

Dark obviously noticed.

Dark noticed everything.

He wonders what's going on for Chosen to act like that. As much as he really understands Chosen, he always ends up accurately guessing what Chosen is trying to convey! But he can't read Chosen's mind, there are things that he will never truly get about the other.

Chosen honestly acts like Dark can read his mind. Dark supposed he should then if Chosen acts like that. That sometimes frustrates Dark, he would know for sure something’s up but Chosen wouldn't give a peak.


Then again, if Chosen isn’t making a deal out of it, none of the worries then.

Dark decided to take things into his own hands, he'll ease whatever Chosen is feeling. Maybe Chosen is feeling more tired, maybe he is feeling worried, or something else out there. 

Dark decided, if Chosen was feeling such a thing, he'll eliminate anything that makes Chosen feel like that. Anything, even the whole world!

That was the spark for Dark's greatest project so far. 

The Virabot. Dark intended it to be a whole species of computer viruses, meant to assist him, and Chosen of course, for whatever shall Dark wish them to do. Specifically in the wonderful form of red spiders, Dark always found himself to be fond of those little creatures… He couldn’t waste the chance to not base them on the said insect.

The spider's initial blueprint was to allow them to be able to corrode targets upon those targets meeting contact with the red spikes, effectively reducing it to a pile of data. It was also meant to have several other abilities granted to allow it to be super efficient in giving assistance.

And when Dark was in the middle of working on the virus, he also added another project related to it. He'd like to call it the ViraBand, it would allow Dark to have the abilities like a virus and like what he plans for his little spiders. And even allowing him to summon a blade, again, as of blueprint so far.

In short, the virus was  meant to cause corrosion in every single object that is able to interact with it.

Excluding Dark, obviously.

Excluding Chosen, of course.

Dark was specifically sure to make sure Chosen was to be granted immunity to it, he didn't want… Anything even if things went south, even if it was a low chance… That would cause the permanent deletion of Chosen.

It still can cause harm, but not permanent harm.


Never the end.

Light fell onto Dark's face as one hand of his was busy typing on the keyboard of his computer as the other tapped a pen in a rhythmic, restless pattern on the blueprints.

The walls were covered up by blueprints taped all over it, the table didn't fare any better with the amount of blueprints settled on top of it. On the ceiling, were wires intertwined to each other that lead back to the main source; A red virus in the shape of a spider being constructed.

Dark leans back, the pen tapping on his chin as he examines his handiwork, a grin forming on his face.

“What a beauty you are~ Coming along just well, aren't you?” He hums as he appreciatingly looks up to the in construction virus.

A ding from the computer caught Dark's attention and he was back to typing on the keyboard as he hummed.

Working on projects always came at ease with Dark, he always loved the process of building something function out of nothing, it gave some sort of thrill with the complexity of it, and it always made him dig deep in concentration that hours pass by quickly.

And perhaps, he loved this one more, because he could not wait to see the reaction Chosen's face would make when Dark revealed this masterpiece to Chosen!

Not to mention, Dark had the best test subject in mind to test run the first trial of the virus.

He's sure Chosen would be thrilled at that. 

[PENDING_USER_INPUT // LOG_SUSPENDED]

[LOG_CLOSED]