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Years passed by, and yet the same routine continued. Every day, go out and kill survivors. Every day, mercilessly slaughter the unfairly damned as the legends once feared by society.
The routine was simple. Easy. Predictable. And that’s what made it a hassle most times.
Spawn in a random map. Find the survivors. Kill them. Repeat over and over again. It got boring over a period of time, of course.
But the unpredictability of the killers and survivors was enough to keep them interested and stop them from conducting unethical experiments on themself out of sheer boredom. Sometimes the killers would play card or board games which 1x1x1x1 usually didn’t partake in, or the survivors would act stupid as they culled them all mercilessly.
But even with entertainment, boredom crept in every so often. And so they sat at the docks, venomshank in their lap as they polished the blade they’d carried heavily even before their damnation. The water rippled as a gentle breeze blew past; the leaves gracefully danced in the wind as their hair gathered in white wisps around their face. It was peaceful, perfect for self-reflection, but what was there to reflect?
It felt like every thought that could cross their mind had been crossed. With their limited emotional capabilities, being an entity originating from pure malice and hatred, there was little to think of in the first place. They took a deep breath of cold air that stung their lungs faintly, letting out a heavy sigh. The sky never interested them much in the past, but right now it did.
The first stars were faint, nearly imperceptible, yet still faintly gleamed in the sky that slowly faded from a dark blue to a rich orange, reflecting off of the water in golden rays of dying sunlight.
And just as they closed their eyes, relaxing completely and entering a slight slouching position, a familiar ( and vexing ) voice rang out, mock cheerfulness just dripping with smug satisfaction at the way they bristled simply at their words.
“1x~! You seem awfully lonely, why not let one of your closest friends join you in moping over a-“
Demon King. Annoying, sarcastic, and frankly, a piece of absolute shit that should burn and then burn again. They cut him off before he could continue on another one of his aggravating speeches.
“-I’m not moping. I’m simply enjoying peace and quiet without the presence of an irritating figure such as yourself.”
“Rude. And here I was, kindly offering you my company… heartbreaking .”
“I don’t give a flying fuck, frankly.”
They scoffed as he gave them a sad, pathetic look, looking like a sad, sopping wet cat outside or like a piece of soggy toast. That of which added to his already annoying personality.
“If you’re just gonna bother me, I’m ignoring your dumbass for the rest of the week.”
They heard him click his tongue at their threat, knowing they’d most likely follow through with it, before lowering himself onto the planks to sit beside 1x1x1x1. For once, he actually sat quietly, almost thoughtfully instead of being the infuriating imbecile he constantly was.
“…”
The silence was uncommon, but welcomed on John’s end. 1x1x1x1 continued to polish their venomshank, letting the gentle breeze sift through their hair like the fine grains of sand flowing in an hourglass. However, Demon King’s presence made them feel uneasy, like a constant pressure pressing in on them comparable to that of a weighted blanket on their chest.
“Why are you here?,” they asked bluntly. They didn’t raise their head up to meet his gaze, which had been resting steadily on them the entire encounter.
“Noticed you weren’t in the cabin, figured you’d be out here, like you usually are when you’re not inside.”
His observation was scarily accurate, if they could feel uneasy. And maybe they did, feeling the slightest discomfort creeping into their chest where their heart would’ve been.
“Observant of you. What, did you miss me?”
“No. But it feels like you’re making me chase you, 1x. What, you like me or something?”
“You wish .”
It was the familiar banter they always treated each other to, throwing quips at each other with practiced ease. Yet this time was different, this time being back and forth teasing, each quip bordering on intimate. Yet, neither were eager to cross that line.
The silence that settled not long after felt comfortable for 1x1x1x1, but for John… he felt like he was ready to crawl out of his own skin. Why was he nervous? Not even he himself knew.
But the smallest shift in their expression, not a scowl or frown, but a neutral expression that betrayed something deeper, rare and fragile resting on 1x’s usually stern and tense expression giving way to something softer; Robloxian, even - a faint ghost of who they used to be drawing John Doe closer, like trying to get your marshmallow closer to the fire to toast. One step too close and it’d burn.
Except in this situation, John Doe would be the marshmallow, and instead of actually burning, he’d get a sword straight in the face.
But the reward was worth the risk. He shifted closer to 1x1x1x1, his ever so slightly taller and bulkier frame the parallel to 1x1x1x1’s. Although they were also tall, they were lean, built for speed and swiftness despite being the slowest killer. Perhaps in their past life they’d been an agile fighter, able to step between platforms with ease and practically float across the battlefield with the grace of a dancer.
But those days were long gone.
John Doe had been lost in thought up until he came to his senses, realizing 1x was staring right back at him. He flashed them a smug, toothy grin, laughing heartily as he heard their exasperated groan. He felt a light pang in his chest when they lightly shoved him, but ignored it.
“Why are you here anyway…?”
A simple question. One that should’ve been easy to answer, but John Doe couldn’t find the words to explain why. Hell, he didn’t even know. All he did was shrug, and say “I don’t know.”
“Helps a ton, thanks.”
They resumed polishing their blade, but not after casting one final hesitant glance towards Demon King. Their thoughts were conflicted- why was he here? What did he want from them, if he did want anything? Why them particularly, and not another killer?
Their gaze stayed fixed on their venomshank, refusing to move up to meet his gaze once more. Maybe it was the fear of finally facing the thing you’d been running from, or something else they refused to name.
All they knew was that they couldn’t bring themself to look into his eyes.
The silence felt heavier, almost remorseful. Without thinking, he leaned closer, shifted just the slightest over to the other until their arms brushed against each other. 1x1x1x1 of course immediately recoiled at the contact, not expecting it, but John Doe wrapped an arm around them and dragged them back in.
1x1x1x1 fought, bit, scratched, and yelled until they lost their voice and used up all their energy. John Doe’s grip remained steadfast however; not faltering or loosening in the slightest despite his arms and hands being covered in gashes and bites, all courtesy of 1x1x1x1. The wounds bled sluggishly, the normal sanguine colored liquid and sickeningly sweet smell of blood mixed corrupted code.
So unfortunately for them, 1x1x1x1 was contained. Grumbling and muttering insults, but still restrained. This was humiliating to them… at least no one was around to see. I mean, a being of pure hatred, being held by their enemy ? The notion was almost laughable.
The situation was embarrassing for the manifestation of hatred-being held by their own enemy in a means to shame them was humiliating, even without anyone watching. They buried their face—which was steadily growing hotter and hotter—into their scarf as they allowed him to hold them fully. The venomshank laid there, forgotten, for now. For now, they’d just endure this... Whatever this was.
For now, they’d just sit on the cold wood of the dock, worn from years of being exposed to water, clinging to a lie. They didn’t enjoy this, it was merely banter. Nothing more. Anything more would be too fragile for the two to hold, too fragile for their hands that only knew how to hurt.