Desolate Throne [ClefDraki]

12. [A Not So Bright Tale]

[Song Above: Hollow by Cloudeater]

The trio found a bench to sit on while Jack began his story. Clef and Kondraki sat on the bench, Jack chose to pace the hall.

"Are you 100% sure you wanna talk about it?" Clef asked, glancing at Kondraki who was fidgeting with his hands.

Jack paused in his step and looked over at the pair, without a word. He looked away again, head dipped in a contemplative bow.

He turned on his heel and paced back towards them, a hazy look in his eyes. Collecting what he felt, what he saw, and what he experienced. And then he began.

The red haired researcher made his way down eerily quiet halls. This overwhelming sense of trepidation seemed to seep from every wall and crevice. Something was about to happen, he could feel it. That crushing feeling you felt before a bad storm, it was drifting across Site 19.

A briefcase swung at his side, he was transporting an SCP he had known since he was a teenager. The SCP that changed his eye color. The SCP that he grabbed without thinking all those years ago. The SCP that almost made his brother kill him. SCP-963, "Immortality."

He looked up curiously, a light was flashing a vibrant, concerning red. The intercom in the hall buzzed and crackled, though no voice came through. He briefly made a mental note to get someone to fix it, it was clearly broken. Why is that light flashing? He thought.

He paused, footsteps, fast footsteps. He didn't even get a chance to turn when a door screeched open, a button wasn't even pressed, that door had been pried open in barely the span of a second. A dangerous scratching sound split the air, something sharp on cement.

Before he could even register what was happening, the briefcase had fallen from his grips and hit the floor with a thud. It cracked open and out rolled that SCP, glittering silvery-gold and red.

A burning sensation ripped its way through his chest, cracking and squelching sounds emitting from his torso. Am I dying? He thought quietly. Violent red splattered out of his body at an alarming rate, sloshing into puddles at his feet. His legs started to crumple, he couldn't process anything. He tried to speak, all that came out was a metallic taste. He sputtered out the metal, it wasn't metal. Tendrils of blood spilled out of his throat and out between his teeth.

His hands found themselves trying to touch the source of this burning, searing pain. His head sunk down to see what he was touching, it was cold and wet. He stared at his hands, which were clasped around a large ebony blade that had imbedded itself right through his chest. He let go, blinking at the gashes in his palms, he wretched violently when he caught sight of bone.

He composed himself after his dry heaving fit, he grasped at the blade again. He winced slightly at the icy burning feeling as he tried to push the blade out the way it had come. It didn't budge, in fact it might've pushed back harder than his feeble attempt. He let out a strained gasp, trying to look over his shoulder.

His vision was fading in and out, black dots shimmering across his line of sight. He managed to turn his head enough to see a cold look in a person's eyes. An emotionless, steel colored gaze, bright spirals of red ink traced across their face. A deep skin tone peered out from under the ink, dark, long hair framing their empty face.

The blade retracted itself, a sickening sloshing sound following it. He could only stare over his shoulder, slowly loosing consciousness. He looked back down at the gaping hole in his chest, hands straining to keep in the spurts of crimson.

He trembled, bits of his ribcage poked out at odd angles. With his distant train of thought, he attempted to put them back into place. Though he couldn't stand for much longer, the blade had been supporting him. His legs crashed out from underneath him, and he hit the ground with a cry.

He let out a gurgling wheeze when a foot was pressed into his spine, blood splashing out of the wound. Weight crushed him as the figure stepped over him. When the weight released, he couldn't get air into his lungs, it seemed to just fizzle out. He started to panic, though he suppressed it. He squinted with burning eyes as the figure scratched the wall again with the blade, swinging it around in a wide arch, and then it vanished. The figure left the hall, looking for the next victim.

His hands scrambled around looking for who knows what. He thought, I'm dying. He grabbed onto that SCP, he stared deeply into its vibrant ruby. Memories raced in his head as he began to sob silently. He was dying. Alone and in pain. He wanted his brothers here. He wanted his sisters here. He wanted his parents here. He didn't want to leave. He was sad to go. His last thought, I'm sorry I couldn't be a better brother.

A final weak, shuddering breath left his mouth and his eyes went dull, staring lifelessly into the distance.

He expected more. He expected the whole "light in the distance" thing. That wasn't what he got. Instead, he awoke to red. Like shiny, pretty, ruby red, not gruesome, bloody red. He stood up and looked around. Red. That's all it was. He went to take a step but soon found that the red was actually a wall locking him in.

Then everything went dark again. His eyes opened. He was back in the facility. He felt... off. He inhaled sharply, he was staring at his body, in his hands was that SCP again. He felt sick, seeing yourself in person was never good. Not so good mentally, whatsoever. He felt small and scared, looking around like a lost child.

Someone else entered the hall. Two figures. One was his older brother, Mikell. The other was his younger brother, classified as 590, TJ. They looked sad. Though TJ wasn't sure what was happening, his brain was off, nothing clicked right for him anymore. He went to take a step towards them, to tell them everything was fine, I'm not dead, that's not me. Then he realized, he wasn't him. He was the one who shouldn't be here. They would never recognize him, let alone believe him.

Jack stared at the pair, waiting for commentary. They were speechless to say the least.

"That's what death feels like, huh?" Another thought buzzed deep in Clef's mind. That's how she felt when I killed her? That's what the tiny witch should feel. No, she doesn't deserve that. How would you know? I don't.

"I'm sorry, Bright." Konny mumbled, deep in thought.

"It's okay. Now I can die whenever I want!" Jack seemed to always wince after a joke like that.

"That doesn't sound—" Kondraki started, getting cut off halfway through.

A screeching alarm echoed down the halls, lights flashing red. The intercom roared, "All four instances of SCP-939 have broken out of containment, seek shelter immediately!"

Jack jolted, suddenly alert. "You guys need to go hide, I'll see where they are!"

Before either of them could protest, Jack had already bounded down the hallway and turned a corner.

Clef grabbed onto Kondraki's arm, dragging him the opposite way. "Come on, Konny! We gotta hide!" Kondraki nodded and they both pounded down the opposite way that Dr.Bright had went.