Goretober 2023

9. "Tamed Beast"

He was paraded around like a show animal. And it was true, he was a completely domesticated pet. He has a collar around his neck, completely fused with his neck. A small leash hung from his neck like a noose, like a dog he was. His neck had bruises that were a dark purple and his leash looked worn down, as if he wasn't properly taken care of. His clothes were disheveled with rips and holes along his sleeves. His coat looked like a crop top with rips instead of a flawless seamed cut. His shirt was stained with a black material that not even he knew what it was. His bones were broken and a thick paint that was colors other than red or black. His entire left tibia was completely yellow, and he had an excessive limp to that leg as he was brought into the room.

He was given glares at his entrance, following the creator to the head of the meeting table like a domesticated pet. His title of a genocidal destroyer had proceeded him but he had long since becoming unworthy of that title. He had a muzzle covering his mouth that prevented him from having an opinion, not like it would be heard or even acknowledged. His eyesight were extinguished so as to save what little magic he was given due to the restraints dragging behind him a chain. It looked to weigh nothing but it weighed more than a building. No mortal, nonetheless the gods of Reapertale, could lift it. He was guided by his leash as he had no sense of direction nor time. It's been years since he last had a taste of freedom but he didn't know or care. His magic was all spent up and his shriveled and dying soul continued to pulse magic through his ever tired body for the sole reason that it was its only purpose. It held no hope and was completely dead inside, sometimes giving into the void and stopping completely. It would never dust. It would just stop and start again.

Ink had been spouting a bunch of nonsense words that Error didn't bother listening to. It wasn't his job to listen, just to act dead and reliable and his continued break would last just minutes more. It's not that he's incompetent, he's just tired. He and Ink have the same magic output, he could possibly surpass Ink or vice versa. But Ink's lack of a soul made him resistant, more resistant than Error. So he caved, he didn't beg for a truce but it was clear he wouldn't continue forward without some conditions. A las-e in Creative sprees he could take, but Ink's offer for a truce at the expanse of his freedom was what led them to this. He was being shown around to the Council as a "fixed problem" and that they no longer had to fear for their lives as the destroyer was "tamed".

They seemed rather pissed at him when they found 50 universes destroyed and 12 left to rot.

Of course Ink allowed them to take their anger, frustration, and terror out on him. He watched as he was thrown around and yelled at, treated like less than a thing as he just sat there and watched with a wicked smile. After everyone seemed to calm Ink ordered the meeting to a close and ordered Error to his feet. To the complete surprise and fear of everyone in the room, Error rose from the floor with some struggle but no outward discomfort. His tibia gave out and he fell to the ground, his skull cracking open on impact. Ink looked annoyed and kicked the body as it began to rise again. Error caught himself and stood, putting more pressure on his paint covered leg as his right was broken in half. Ink made his way to the door, not bothering to help Error in any way. Error stood for a beat, thinking on how he was to make it to the door and follow Ink back to his Doodlesphere, eventually settling to hop to the door. Embarrassment was nothing for him. He had no reputation to uphold, no friends to spare, no will to even care about the thoughts and opinions of others. He couldn't care for his own well-being, so Ink did instead.

He could run, he could escape right now; no one would dare push over an already disabled and beaten down monster. Ink was in the hall and with his little remaking magic he could escape to the Anti-void in which only he had access to. But he didn't. Probably because his only means of transportation was hopping on a single damaged limb. And every single person is and would be willing to hit him again. And again. And again. They would stoop to his level and lower yet still call him a disgusting monster. So he continued hopping until he got to the door, pushing it open and exiting the Council room where all the stares were replaced by one.

And it didn't look happy.