Chapter Text
— B
Branzy was close to passing out, he was dizzy, in pain, trying desperately to breathe but still fucking failing.
For all they’d done to each others he never thought that Clown was truly going to kill him. Not like this. He thought, with all his better judgement that he’d be struck down by a scythe, splicing him in half.
That was less painful, well, physically it was probably not, but at least he wouldn’t see the anger Clown had to offer for so long.
What was going to happen?
Clown knew better than to kill Branzy right? He would just respawn back at home in the aether. So why was he so dead set on it now?
They both knew how death worked for angels and demons, they would respawn in their beds (whether in the aether or the nether)
Why now, as his vision went black, why was Clown killing him? He’d be free.
He’d be free.
Free.
..
Branzy startled awake, soft purple sheets covered his body and a headache drummed at his skull.
It was normal enough to feel some residual pain after a death, of course pain was a thing that you had to get used to as a being of light or dark.
Why were the blankets draped over his body?
There was no way he was still in Clown’s base right? In his old room..
He got up and struggled, bruises after death stayed for ages longer than normal ones. He likely had black bruising over his neck, dark and aching after such an uneasy death.
The room was his own, the one he built with Clown. He’d kept it the same as Branzy had it. He slowly walked, using the poles holding up the canopy to rest against it. The light was soft and low, but a lantern ebbed through the room, illuminating the shapes that set themselves into his mind as is.
Walking was hard, perhaps it shouldn’t have been, but his brain felt scrambled with the weight of spells and thoughts far to filled with emotion for just after a death.
He was not happy.
Wait.
spells?
He shouldn’t be feeling more spells active than before, which meant Clown had set up some more for him.
Just great.
He scoured the room, behind the wardrobe he could see faint glowing lines, he traced them up to the ceiling and leaned on the wall for support as he followed them.
They ended at the door; the patterns spiralling down to written out on the middle of it. Every spell was written out in blocky lettering.
He could barely concentrate on the words, he was so dizzy. Everything was so foggy.
Even the pain was fading in place for the fog, dulling his thoughts to fearing murmurs.
He couldn’t leave and his mind was shrouded in a haze, his movements made as though through honey.
Every action he made drew another note of a spell, activated yet another clause that would undoubtably be doing something.
Branzy had taught Clown this type of spells.
He knew their capabilities by heart.
What else could he have expected?
— C
It didn’t take that long, he was surprised.
The spells he’d set up were simple, after he knocked Branzy out he set them up then killed him.
One set his spawn point to the room, another made him weak and hazy, made it hard to break things.
One kept his magic at bay.
And for good measure he had one to tell him every time Branzy moved drastically. So the second Branzy was awake, Clown was there, outside the door just waiting.
But his surprise came that Branzy revived only a few minutes after being killed, he had still been asleep, and Clown was still in the room.
He removed all the residual spells, and.. look what he had here. The choker he’d made for Branzy, hanging tightly above his neck, Above the bruises he’s left. Blooming dark purple greens that matched his purple beading.
Branzy’s jewlery looked all delicate and sweet. But it was a mix of a multitude of metals, all in kind shining and layered over his face and body, they made him look oddly guarded. But Clown had a clear favourite, between everything.
The chain on his sides, acting as a belt, he had some on his face which led to black earings.
The shoulder jewlery made with golden, copper and silver chain all woven into a wonderful hanging net, layers of hanging parts cascaded down his arms delicately and when he had Picked Branzy up in his sleep, goosebumps rose beneath the cold chain.
The rings of living Flowers that encompassed his fingers mines that now wilted form being in the nether.
But no, a stripe of refractive luxurious fabric that hugged tightly to his neck was truly the only thing he could look at.
He so wanted to look at it, to look at what he had caught, see what he had done and watch Branzy scramble knowing he could do nothing about it.
He pushed the door open, and there he was standing almost infront of the door.
Clown walked in silently, mask dropped over his face and scythe held low at one side.
Branzy backed up.
eyes wide with clarity only granted by the understanding that he had perhaps just messed up.
It was funny.
Almost like the old days when they first met.
Branzy tripped over himself, falling to the floor and backing away even further. Clown made no effort to talk, nor to point his blade at the other, only slowly moving until Branzy hit a wall and could no longer move any further.
Branzy’s eyes were half lidded, unfocused, yet every slowed down move had all emotions but peace and joy veering through his veins, his heart was steady yet Clown could see how he wished it would beat with the fear he felt and not this dull imposed feeling.
Clown had been through it all before.
The dullness.
Heart stuck trying to pound out of his chest while moving at a perfectly normal rate.
Down to even the fear on the floor while a weapon is at attention, no it was not pointed, it did not threaten or cut or hurt.
It lay in a hand, gripped tighter than anger should ever allow as Clown watched.
Branzy had the look of a panicked animal, wings backed up against the wall, prefect feathers ruined from their smooth nature, some dropped.
Clown picked one up.
Twirling it between two fingers.
He walked a little closer, watching as Branzy curled his legs up to his knees, eyes staring hopelessly up, frozen still the second Clown ceased movement.
He reached out a hand, relishing in the flinch it caused as power simmered in his blood. He would break Branzy for what he did. He would wish that death was an option.
He tilted Branzy’s chin up, watching as tears refracted violet color with the pleasing lantern light. Those tears started streaming, catching the light as they slowly slid down, warming Branzy’s cheeks even more.
”Are you afraid?” He cooed at Branzy, who seemed now to realized the hand that lay on his skin. He tried to break free but Clown snorted and didn’t let go, pushing his head back against the wall to make him quit squirming. The sound that he heard was almost sickening, or it would be if he didn’t enjoy every second of this.
He could see blood pouring. that would heal at some point. No big deal.
”Hm? All that big talk before…. And now you’re too afraid to say a single word.”
”I hate you.”
“Good.”