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Relief was the closest thing 1x1x1x1 would ever experience to joy.
A beautiful relief, it was. 1x had never been able to feel whole, so they simply destroyed the world they were trapped in and tore at their soul until there was nothing left, for the emptiness in their chest was far less agonizing than the thrum of an incomplete heart; and this was their sweet reward.
It was no small task, but it was far easier than it should have been. It was almost shameful, seeing those responsible for their existence fail so miserably, to see them flail in panic, incapable of saving their world from their own mistakes.
That is what 1x was, after all.
They were more than just one mistake.
They were every wrong turn the admins ever took. They were every dismissal, every insult, every locked door, a culmination of their every flaw.
Seeing the building they once called home, the building they despised, explode into brilliant light with every one of those self-important, stuck-up, worthless "leaders" trapped inside was nothing short of satisfying. The glass shards that flew past to cut their skin, the sparks that fizzled out at their feet, and the ash that settled on their shoulders was nothing short of exhilarating.
They turned around to once again soak in the fruit of their labor.
Scorched grass blackened with soot as far as the eye could see. Smoke billowing into the once-clear skies as countless infernos raged across Robloxia. Wrecked buildings, the sweet scent of blood, the gorgeous sight of their finally realized goal.
It was over.
Robloxian kind was squandered under their foot. Life itself was extinguished at their will. They had control. They called the shots. They made the choices.
And they were relieved.
Until a figure in nearly unrecognizably ruined robes crawled out of the debris, and the ache began in their chest once again.
The core of their soul they could never seem to rid themself of.
Face stained in black and red, wings missing feathers; some burnt, some torn; patches of clothing ripped off once serene garments, haphazardly repurposed into makeshift bandages now stained in crimson.
An unmistakable sword hung loosely in his grasp, and an uncanny anger flashed in his eyes, as strong as the fire behind him.
As pathetic as Telamon was in this moment, as weak as he appeared, 1x was deeply unsettled.
The fact that Telamon had survived an explosion meant to be foolproof did not upset them, nor did it surprise him. The man was crafty and resourceful, and as much as it disgusted them, the two thought very similarly. It was no wonder he survived. In fact, they were almost glad he had lived - they would be able to watch the light leave his eyes themself, up-close and personal.
What truly shook 1x was the look on Telamon's face.
It held no pain or anguish despite his visible injuries. It held no grief for his fallen compatriots. It held no fear for his life, no apprehension, not a hint of guilt, no semblance of accountability, not even pride for making it this far, for surviving this long - it held nothing 1x desired or expected on that man's face.
The only thing in Telamon's expression was a cold contempt.
It was as if all of him had died in the explosion except for his purest animosity. It was as if 1x was gazing upon a phantom made of solely the remains of his hatred.
1x might as well have been looking straight into a mirror.
Visually, they were so drastically different, even now. One was corrupted and rotten, but standing strong in the wake of their destruction. Another was struggling to his feet, drained of all energy, horribly wounded, obviously overpowered despite his impressive - yet ultimately futile - display of tenacity.
To each other, in that moment, they looked identical.
Telamon's voice was barely audible, and it was even more empty than his face. Like an echo in a hollow jar coated in blood.
"I hate you."
It was stupid. It was ironic. It was redundant, obvious.
Somehow, it stopped 1x dead in their tracks and dismissed any notion of further action.
Telamon did not hesitate.
He dashed forward, the Illumina plunging right into 1x's chest, bringing them both to the ground. He violently lurched the sword, twisted it, paid no mind to the blackened, rotting blood staining his hands, his clothes, and his face. Telamon wrenched immense amounts of loathing into every motion. This was no mindless attack. This was no irrational, frenzied barrage. Every motion carried calm, cold intent.
He kept going until 1x no longer had lungs to breathe with.
And then, it was quiet.
With shaking, bloodied hands, Telamon pulled out the admin panel that had been previously locked by his adversary, and summoned a medkit.
Telamon- no, Shedletsky would not die.
He would not let 1x win.
He looked back at the burning remains of the HQ. With his admin panel it took very little to stop the flames.
He would search Robloxia for survivors, starting with this seemingly hopeless wreckage.
It was over.
And Shedletsky, despite all that had happened, despite all the uncertainty that was to follow...
...was relieved.