Inky red spears banged repeatedly into the golden shield. Though the dome stood, those trapped inside did not relax. The tension was unbearable. At any foreign sound, the group jumped. It did not matter how slight it was, nor where it came from. Like clockwork, they would react and ready their weapons for the attack. But the dreaded break did not come, leaving them exhausted and their already overdrawn nerves frayed.

Unable to handle any more of this masochistic vigil, Shelly turned away only to notice her brother's… situation.

"Is now really the time!?" she shouted before catching herself and dropping her tone. "We're all over here trying to figure out how not to die, and you're gonna make out? Really?"

Lost within their kiss, the boyfriends did not react until a crackling thump shook the shield. Hunter's eyes snapped open, staring off for a moment before he blinked dumbly. A wave of nausea overcame him as his body went soft. Only Neil's quick hands kept him from falling. A muffled groan escaped Hunter.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Neil asked. Though without answer, he moved to examine his partner again.

However, Hunter's hand was faster, taking hold of Neil's as he shook his head. A flash of something crossed the human's face before he hid it with a smile.

"I'm fine," he coughed.

"No, you're not—"

Crack

Often, one does not think much about the sound of breaking glass. As shocking as it could be in the moment, it was a mundane noise, nonetheless. After all, any common glass item could produce the sound when dropped. It was just a natural noise of the home. The threat never was in the sound it made, but instead the aftermath it brought.

However, in this case, the shattering sound was nothing less than heart-stopping. A sickly itch danced across their skin and stabbed its way into their hearts. Exhilaration and fear coiled inside of the mortals, shaking their very core.

One spot.

From one tiny insignificant spot, a thin web of cracks grew.

The air hung silent. The anticipation, the anxiety, all condensed into a tangible form.

"We've got this," Shelly shakily breathed as she fought to suppress the panic that coursed through her. "We can survive this," she said. "Our allies are coming for us. We will stand our ground." With no reply, she continued, "Neil, move Hunter next to Mama Clarke and join us."

The wereleopard hesitated, but when his partner gave him the go-ahead, and they moved up. Mutely, Hunter hid his discomfort until Neil leaned him next to his mom.

For a breath, the boyfriends lingered. Between them, there were so many words unsaid. So many touches ungiven. But time was unforgiving. They did not know what would come next, so they could only do their best in the moment.

Their kiss was frantic, messy. Any normal restrain melted away as they tried to express every little thing they felt for each other. Even as it drew to an end, an air of reluctance carried through their actions as Hunter's hand remained interweaved within Neil's hair.

A sighing chuckle left the human. "Once this is all done, we should move in together," he smiled. "I'd say Packland, but I'm sure mom and Shelly would prefer Easter. Though the beach would be nice too."

"Why not all three? Then we can spend time with the entire family some days and escape to our beach house when we need a break," Neil said. "It will be somewhere it's quiet. Lowkey. Maybe around Ormond."

"Doesn't even need to be a house," Hunter added, "Could do an apartment. One with a sea view. In the mornings, we could open the windows and let the ocean breeze in."

"What about hurricanes?"

Hunter did not respond. Instead, he studied the hellscape of a world barely kept at bay by the Maiden.

"I'm sure if we make it through this, we can make through a Cat 6." Hunter teased, but his smile wavered as he looked over at the three women. Like hawks, they watched the crack. It was almost as if they were counting the seconds before the break.

The time had come.

With a last sigh, Hunter let go of Neil. "We'll talk about this after you win." He then nodded towards the three. "Go on. It's your turn to be the hero and save the day. I'll be here, cheering you on."

Neil spoke, but his words were lost in a shattering explosion. The very air shuddered with that sickening alien power and like a vacuum container finally unsealed, the sensation of the outer world flooded in along with the monstrous horde.

—

Under a cloudless red sky, a battle raged. The desperate cry of the dying melded with the sharp clash of blades as two armies converged like opposing tides upon a scorched field. On one side, warriors clad in black struck without mercy at the dwindling line of green soldiers. Wherever the two factions met, only shattered bodies remained as they pushed and pulled in endless conflict.

Why did they fight? These pawns did not know. Still, they fought with unspeakable desperation that forced their blades and strangled their very souls. At least this was the truth for those clad in green.

For the dark warriors who opposed them, they needed no reason to fight. What drove them was a desire. A desire to see their enemies cut, sliced and crushed until there was little more than mutilated corpses left. Perhaps then they would sate their need for blood, battle, and death.

However, as the last green soldier fell, the obsidian warriors found no satisfaction. Their throats still thirst, their hands still trembled, and the manic energy that drove them did not fade away. But their enemies were gone. Slaughtered. Without them, their blood lust turned inwards. If they could not sate themselves on enemy blood, then their allies would suffice.

With no thought, no hesitation, the former battle-brothers raised their shattered blades and descended into an orgy of carnage.

The once focused wave condensed into a whirlpool. Bodies upon bodies churning into themselves until a champion emerged.

In the distance, archers let loose frantic arrows in an attempt to stop the approaching melee. But where most fell, a massive figure remained. Like a mad beast, they charged into the bowmen's ranks. Bodies flew like dolls, tossed up by a magnificent set of bull horns that sat upon the champion's helm. Individual savages struck at the beast, but none could land a single blow upon their armor. Soon the section dried of life, and the warrior turned in search of new prey.

Many scrimmages surrounded them. Any would appease their need for violence, and as their view fell on a collection of warriors, the beast charged forward. But unlike the ranks before, these warriors shared an unusual connection.

It was a bond, a bond of brotherhood. In the fields of death, these warriors regained a hint of themselves and banded together against the rabid horde.

In unity, as the beast came for them, they picked up their weapons and jabbed at the champion. With spears, halberds, pikes, whatever they had in hand, they corralled and cornered them. Even as members of their ranks flew past, they persevered until the beast toppled. In that weakness, the brothers pierced its metal hide.

Over the howls of the dying and their own ragged breath, the victors heard a lighter song. A chirping melody that sweetened their ears and drew their attention away from the blood-soaked mania.

Crested upon the hill, a majestic tree swayed. Its canopy caressed by a ghost breeze as speckles of gold sunlight highlighted its thick deep roots. Among the compiled gore, this scene of peace struck at the warriors' hearts. A softness ran through them, reinvigorating their limbs and clearing the thick muck that had clouded their souls.

The blood that had once soaked through their armor slicked off, and green slowly replaced it. No longer the black-armored maniacs, the new Brotherhood of the Green moved together toward the watching tree.

As an organized unit, they fought through the blood-addled hordes. There were casualties, but how could there not be? And by the end, only ten soldiers stood before the tree. Fear, desperation, anxiety, they left it on the battlefield. Instead, hope filled them, empowered them, and guided them. It pushed them to take refuge under the canopy, to reach out, to touch the very roots that spread out beneath them. They just needed to touch them, and this scene would end. This trouble would be gone.

But in the beat between actions, they were too late.

From nowhere, a thick smog surrounded their feet, freezing them to the spot as an all-consuming dread dragged down their revived souls. It gripped at their throats, squeezed their lungs and denied them the very thought of breath. Not even a grim rattle escaped their lips. And, in their subdued position, a forced realization came to them. The calm breeze, that delicate sense of refuge, it was a lie. That bird song, it was no song at all but the terrified shrieking of something beyond. The gentle wind that so tenderly caressed the leaves was nothing more than the frantic shaking of bare limbs. The speckled light gave way to rotten holes that ate away at the once strong roots. It was a lie, a dying fabrication.

Yet still, they wanted to touch it; they needed to touch it!

One freed themselves and lunged forward. At the motion, the smog struck, spreading from their feet to swallow the collection of warriors. There was not even a whimper before they vanished, consumed by the smoke.

Only the one who had moved remained, held tight to their place. Almost leisurely, the smog condensed into a black liquid that clung to them. Everywhere it touched, whether armored or exposed, froze. In one last effort, the warrior spoke. It was nothing more than a half-choked curse, yet, with the sound, they glowed.

But before they finished the spell, a pitch hand shot out. It caressed the warrior's mouth and stole the very words from it.

"Coward," a modulating voice whispered, and the sound of tearing flesh soon followed. The corpse did not touch the ground as the shadows absorbed it. In the body's stead, a vaguely human shape formed from the darkness and looked at the World Root. "Weak."

The tree beat fiercely at the provocation, attempting to burn brighter against the gathering shadows. But this little game was over.

"Submit," at the word, ten obsidian javelins sprung from the ground and smashed into the shield that surrounded the Root. The gold dome wavered but persisted. Unbothered, the shade continued its bombardment. Even if this Root was stubborn, it lost the battle long ago. The moment the shade's master turned their vision upon this place, there could only be one outcome. Death.

After surviving so many hits, the dome finally cracked. The shade commanded its javelins and aimed at the growing weakness until a snap filled the air. In a rainstorm of gold, the shield vanished, and whatever radiance it once held faded.

Though it had no face, a sense of annoyance highlighted the shade's movements as its shadows climbed and clung to the tree. Like the creeping darkness it was, it snuffed out each glowing branch and leaf until only a shadowy replica remained.

In no time, the shade found the heart of the Root. The tree tried to protect itself, but this struggle was nothing more than the final spasms of a corpse. The shade paid little heed to the attacks as it cut to its goal. At the end, a wildly beating wooden heart sat in a thin cage. When ripped free, the world shook.

Unfazed, the shade weighed the pulsating core in its hand. Whether this would be a good meal for its master, it had no opinion, just orders to follow as it left with the trophy.

Shadows spread across the battlefield, consuming all that remained. The corpses, the blood, the carnage, all melded into the darkness. In the distance, the world cracked and bled out.

It was at the foot of a large military encampment that the dark wave halted. Mismatched buildings filled the space, and various beings moved about with purpose. They paid no heed to the shade as it headed towards the camp's highest point. Once it reached the tall tent, it condensed back into its ambiguous form and, in silence, stood until called upon by its master.

In the tent, giants loitered around tables engaged in wordless debates. A few walked about, bringing new maps and pieces. But even as they dwarfed the shade, they were far from the tallest being in the room, for among them stood a horned titan.

The shade knelt on the edge of the scene and awaited its master's acknowledgment. But it did not come. Instead, the titan's gaze remained fixed on the fields of destruction. If this was a gaze of satisfaction, the shade could not tell. But it was not its business to know either.

"Give it to me," the titan eventually commanded.

Silently, the Shadow of War slid forward. Its form wavered until it produced the Root Heart. With a bow, it presented the item in cupped hands.

"Pitifully meager, isn't it?" A voice chimed in. On the shoulder of the titan, a red trim form emerged. Though the red soon fell away to reveal a handsome creature. "Hardly a snack. Not even worth the effort." The man tsked.

"Energy is energy," Kor said as they took the heart and crushed it. Fragments of light held suspended in the air before vanishing into the titan's coarse palm.

"That only means something when the energy expanded isn't greater than the energy obtained," the man replied with a half-smile. Dark red eyes ran vulgarly over the form of the massive Aspect as he gave a flattering chuckle. "Really, it's barely a pittance for all the effort we put into capturing it. We should have attacked one of those nice little worlds. The energy is far tastier, and the souls have actual substance. So much better than this place. I had nothing to do."

The Aspect of War paused, then leveled an unwavering dark-eyed gaze at the smaller man. "Is that a challenge?"

Everyone in the tent, except for the shade, shivered. The violence promised in the question was palpable. Though, as if this were an everyday occurrence, the red-eyed man laughed it off. It was a charming sound that did nothing to ease anyone's nerves. In truth, it only caused the shade to feel an unusual agitation. Why? The pawn did not know. It was… annoying.

"No, darling, no!" the man shook his head, "I just wanted us all to have a good meal. After all, I care about your health," he watched the titan's expression. When he found no shift, he continued. "Come on, Kor, this is what lovers do. We care about each other's well being." He took some liberties to lean closer against the titan's face, running a hand across their cheek.

The Aspect of War responded with a dismissive grunt before they turned back to the battlefield. This realm had less than an hour before it would disappear. After that, their war caravan would move on to the next plane. Step by step, they would consume worlds until they reached their end goal. One day they would get their revenge on that betrayer.

However, while Kor was deep in thought, Bloodlust remained wrapped up in his own desires. With another tsk, he pouted. "You're not even going to ask me about how I've been? Or how my expedition went?"

He waited for a beat, but his partner was silent. It did not stop him, though.

"It's been boring. Dreadfully so. Atrociously dull. The souls here are useless, and even when they react to the call of bloodlust, they do nothing interesting. I've been so bored." Floating up, Bloodlust stood in between Kor and their view of the battlefield. "I want to attack a Guardian world next. So, does everyone else. The last one we had was fantastic. Everyone had so much fun, including you. How can you enjoy this empty scrap of thought? You need meat, a proper battle, not this one-sided game. Come on, darling, let's have fun again."

Even as Bloodlust acted out his enticement, there was no response from Kor. Instead, they moved him to the side to continue to observe the destruction.

Displeased, the man turned to the shade who waited for its next command.

"Shadow, you must agree. This place is nothing compared to the planes we recently raided. There is no way it satisfied you. You want more blood, fiercer battle, stronger warriors, hardier souls, a tastier Root. Of course, you want it. Tell me how much you want it." The ending was almost manic as Bloodlust pressed down upon it.

At first, the shadow remained stoic, a perfect reflection of its disinterested master. Unfortunately, it lacked the luxury of fear that kept the other Aspect at bay. When he did not get the reply he wanted, an uncomfortable pressure forced the shade to speak.

"Where Master Kor marches, this shade follows. When Master Kor commands, this shade fights," its voice came out fractured, low and high pitches swapped on each word as if a choir of people spoke instead of a singular being.

Bloodlust grimaced and floated back up to Kor's shoulder, where he lounged dissatisfied. "It's really your shadow, isn't it? Gives the same stagnent responses."

Once more ignored, the shade felt a moment of amazement that its master tolerated the agitating man. But as soon as the feeling came, it disappeared. But the emotion left an impression, as the shadow did not have a right to emotions. It did not have a right to opinions. Before the shade could reflect farther on this shift, its master spoke.

"The next is a Guardian world," Kor said.

Bloodlust perked up, "Darling! Truly? Ah, see, this is what you're supposed to do. Surprise gifts are what lovers give to each other. And this is the greatest one you could give! I want another Guardian soul to play with. I barely had time with the last one before your little shade ate it. After all, those Overseers certainly have a way with picking champions. Each is so unique."

It was clear to everyone that Kor was finished with the conversation, but that did not faze Bloodlust, who kept chatting. After a long stream of pointless words, something came to him. "Ah," he smiled widely, "I forgot to mention. Since I've been so bored with this worthless place, I had to entertain myself," he motioned in the air with a clawed hand. "While there weren't any souls of worth here, I figured some scraps might be useful for something other than Brood feed, and well, guess what I made."

No reply.

Annoyed, Bloodlust continued, "I thought of your little shade and realized that it's like a cute proxy for you. So, I made my own to match. Little Blood!"

A dart of red crashed into the tent and splashed at the edge of the shade's pooling shadow. It tried to hop in, but the shade pulled them back. Instead, the blood hit the floor and popped up into a red, featureless humanoid figure. Then, much like its master, the raw form melted away to reveal a highly romanticized version of Bloodlust, which stuck out when compared to the rough-cut shade.

"Look how cute he is," Bloodlust cooed, "I know your shade must be lonely since it ate all its companions, so I knew it would love its own little partner. That way, they can be just like us." He flicked a finger towards the stoic shade, and Little Blood excitedly followed with a nod.

Without asking, the bloodling wrapped his arms around the shade, who slightly shuttered, then entirely drew in its shadows.

"I'm your bloodlust, Little Blood. What's your name?"

No response. Of course, it would not respond. It did not have a name.

"Call it Little Kor," Bloodlust instructed.

"No," the shade spoke but then froze. Why did it care? Beyond that, how could it speak against an Aspect? Shocked, it looked up but found neither Aspect reacted.

"Yes, Little Kor and Little Blood. It's perfect. You agree that it's perfect, darling?" Bloodlust continued, but Kor only spared a minor glance at the smaller figures. They left these domestic games to Bloodlust. However, this was enough for the man as he nonverbally directed his bloodling.

"Little Kor," Little Blood said, and the shade again twitched.

"Do not call this one that." There was something, something that the shade could not quite grasp. But it kept pestering it. Something was not right with this scene.

"Come on, Little Kor, we should get to know each other." The bloodling returned to his red form and tried to merge with the shade.

"No," the shade's tone remained placid even as it pulled back. Without thinking, a blade formed in its hand. But there was no reason for it. Beyond that, it was highly inappropriate for it to draw a sword in front of its master.

Conflict arose in the shade's mind. It knew it should not care what this bloodling wanted to do, so long as it did not contradict its master's orders, but it resisted all the same.

"This shade is not Little Kor," it said with effort as it leveled its blade at Little Blood. "Leave it be."

The bloodling only cocked his head, "No, you are Little Kor just as I am Little Blood. My master made me as your partner."

"You are not my partner—" The shade froze, its form destabilizing as its condensed shadows spilled out.

That… that was the wrong phrase.

"This one is not your partner," it attempted to correct itself, but what had been let out could not be put back in. The internal conflict grew as several near recognizable experiences brushed against the shade's being. Each was like an incorporeal word stuck on the tip of its tongue—a blurred memory of something, of someone.

The bloodling paid little heed to the shade's crisis as he grabbed at the released shadows and attempted to infuse it with his own being. For a moment, the colors swirled together, only for the shade to regain some control of itself and pull back.

But this stability was short-lived as more vague feelings overwhelmed it. Its form shuttered, losing the rough humanoid shape and deteriorating into a tall pillar of black. A war had broken out inside of it, and it could not understand why.

There was something wrong with it. Something terribly wrong. For a moment, it looked up towards its master but found no reaction. There was no reaction from anyone in the room to anything. The only reaction was its own, as it gazed upon its master and felt a growing animosity.

There was something wrong, but the wrong was not with it. There was something wrong with this world.

"Come on, let's play. There's a fun fragment out there," Little Blood interrupted its thoughts as he tamed the shadows that poured from the unfocused shade. "We need to raid it just like our masters."

"No…" the shade rumbled, "get away from me." Though low, the words carried an air of violence. It controlled itself and once more summoned its blade. Without hesitation, it slashed at the blooding. But before the sword could hit, it was stopped. An inky mass of tendrils sprang up from the spreading pool of shadows and ensnared the blade.

"What?" Pulling back, the shade could not go far as these traitor shadows entangled it. The shade cut through them and reasserted control. But every time they did, the same traitorous intention would recapture them.

"You forgot, but you didn't," Little Blood half murmured as he watched the shade struggle against themselves. "Part of you remembers and is trying to help the rest of you remember. We are a pair. Master made me your perfect partner. Why won't you accept me?" He reached out to touch, but the shade had enough.

A fractured howl left them as they broke free. Unfortunately, it was not fast enough to avoid the bloodling's touch.

The oily sensation of bloodlust slithered across the shade, merging with over-eager shadows who grabbed at the notion of its old life. A life when a contract did not bind it. When it was free to do as the whole wanted, not just a part. But as greedy as this renegade side was, it could not fully accept the bloodling's invitation as the dominant force reasserted themself.

Around them, the camp wavered and faded into a swirling space of red and black.

Freed from that damned illusion, a complete sense of self returned to the shade along with an understanding.

"No, no," Little Blood cried and, for the first-time, displeasure showed on his face. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. We were a pair. We are meant to be. Bloodlust and War. That is what we are. Little Kor, why do you not like me?"

"I'm not Little Kor. I am Michael," They hissed out and struck at the bloodling. But for all their desire to slay the damned thing, they could not get past their shadows that wished to continue this monster's madness.

Pressed back by them, Michael found it increasingly difficult to cut off access to Little Blood. Every time they did, traitor shadows would open an alternative route. It was a painful reminder of how little control they had over this chaotic thing that was their body.

"Michael? No… that's what that demon calls you. The rest of you doesn't like it. Neither do I. Why would you lay with demons? They are our enemy!" With little privacy, the bloodling read through the history provided by the shadows. "You made it to Overworld, but it still remains whole? How could you not destroy it? Wait, how can you help it? Along with our masters' master! How could you betray your master? Our cause?"

"That cause ended a long time ago," Michael lunged forward to attack, only for an intrusion of energy to strike at the weakness of their contract and control. The sense of bloodlust was overwhelming as Michael fought to preserve their dominance. But Little Blood had spent too long alone with the shadows, and with the pressure of their rebelling self, Michael wavered.

"Things haven't changed. Master taught me and showed me what is to be done. And once we're together, we can return back to what we were meant to do."

"No, we will not!" Michael bit back. They would not submit, especially not to this kind of archaic impulse.

In the battle of wills, it was easy to ignore the flicker of light in the distance. After all, it was only a small blimp in the monotone environment, a point of unimportance as the two sides clashed. But what came next did not go unnoticed as a force of energy cut through Michael’s binds and sent Little Blood flying.

"Get your bloody hands off my husband."

 

A/N

Life's hard for one little shadowy being. Though luckily they have quite the loving and attentive husband.