𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗 - Hermitcraft Hellhole. Or Tartarus. Whatever works.

Dead Things Don't Die Twice

tw: blood

Genre: Angst (i guess)

Word Count: 1553

            The chains dig into his back, as he walks forward, chin up head held high. Everyone at his trial, the King, the guards and his 'friends'. Not his friends any longer, who would want to be friends with a monster. That's what he is.

             The King looms over him, he does not need to see his expression to know how hurt he is. How hurt the others are. He smiles wickedly at the King, this is his trial, he will not die again without making them regret it.

             "...are sentenced to death, with the Void." The King ends. He is not afraid, he knows that he cannot die. He has tried so many times, with anything he can get his hands on.

            (He doesn't think he ever really lived, he was just a weapon for other people to use. He was happy to be the champion of his people, he was okay with being a weapon. Then he wasn't okay. He was tired.)

         The chains are still digging into his backside, something sharp pressed into his neck, drawing drops of dark red blood.

          (Blood on his hands, blood on the ground, blood on his skin, blood everywhere. He laughs, surrounded by enough blood to be a flood; blood in the air, soaking into his skin, his armour, the ground. He thinks it's funny, that they died for a meaningless cause, that they thought the world was still perfect. He doesn't recognize the person who he is/was/would be/can be/has been.)

          It is a smart move on their part, ready to kill him if he tries anything. Not that he can die, anyway. He wanted to at one point, but now he is so broken beyond repair, he just doesn't care if he lives or if he dies, or if he is already dead.

       There is a hidden entrance behind the king's throne. He doesn't know how long it has been there, but he assumes for a while, as the passage is old. Maybe half a century. He is shoved down the passage, it goes down and down and down.

      They only have a small source of light, which is far ahead of him, possibly expecting that if they have him anywhere near it he will attack. Which he will, they are clever enough for that. There is still the sword pressed against his throat, every so often when the passage unexpectedly dipped, the sword would draw crystals of blood from his throat.

       The small pain does not bother him, he has faced worse. The Void doesn't bother him either, he knows he cannot die, though he wishes he could. If he had been killed long ago then perhaps he wouldn't be as broken as he was now, perhaps he could be happy.

       (He looks at the painting of his parents, who were so like him yet not. His father had the dark brown hair that he had gotten, but his red eyes had come from his mother, who he would never know, never knew. He didn't know what happened to his mother, but that his father blamed him for his mother's death, so he blamed himself for his mother's death.

        His parents looked so happy in the painting, without him, which only confirmed they would have been better off. Better if he never existed.)

     Then the guard holding the light stops, he is pushed forward. In front of him is... nothingness. There is just darkness, with specks of white, like the night sky. They vary in sizes, and he swears one winks at him.

    They push him through, into the darkness.

      For a second he is at peace in the darkness that he enters, there are broken things scattered around, him fitting right in. it is disrupted by two things; he cannot see their faces, they are just figures. They only say one thing to him, before he is thrown out of the darkness, the Void; the guards, the King, the others, who are pale in their fright.