Chapter Text
The sound of gentle footsteps echoed through the corridors of the shambled, once great palace. These footsteps belonged to a boy of no more than thirteen years old, who had been thrown into a life-changing game that depended almost solely on him and his friends… To save not one, but two universes. His name, was John Egbert.
John allowed his fingertips to trail over the rough stone surface of what had once made up the walls of the castle. He could feel it… His dad was here! He had to be! And maybe, maybe the woman with the pink scarf was here, too! What was her name…? He didn’t know, but the boy did know that there was a relation to Rose somewhere in there.
Soft beams of light filtered through the cracks of the sunken in ceiling, illuminating his passage. The floors, once made of a beautiful granite tile, were now cracked and dirtied with a rust-red dried liquid, that seemed to cake many of the surfaces around him. He swallowed heavily, hoping to whatever god existed in this strange universe that it wasn’t blood. But… That now oh so familiar, heavy iron stench filled the air and invaded his nostrils to the point where it was hard to breathe.
The further John delved in the fortress, the richer the stench became and the thicker the caked, flaky substance on the floors and walls became. His quiet footsteps echoed throughout the empty passage as he approached a wooden door, small beams of sunlight shining through and penetrating the darkness. His heart suddenly clenched and his stomach felt heavy from fear. He knew it, his dad was here… Just behind this door. But was he alright?
A pale hand reached out slowly, trembling as he reached for the handle. He turned the metal knob with some effort and pushed it open as the hinges creaked in protest. The heavy door swung open and John raised a hand to shield his eyes from what felt like blinding light. After hours of being inside the decadent and dank castle, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He hissed softly and squinted, allowing his crystal blue eyes to adjust to the light. Slowly, the blurriness faded into a visible scene, one that made his breath catch in his throat.
It looked like some sort of small gathering had occurred here… At one point. A small round table that had been flipped over had broken teacups and a wine bottle nearby, and a once white tablecloth that was now stained with red. On the side closest to him, where he could most easily see, was a woman. She was blonde, with hair falling just past her shoulders. John took a hesitant step forward and moved to kneel beside her cadaver, away from the drying puddle of blood. He reached out and brushed the soft light locks out of her face, blinking and widening his eyes in surprise. She… She looked just like Rose.
The Heir looked around the area, to see if any clues as to what caused this may be afoot. Her pink scarf he’d seen her with before was strewn to the side, along with a white piece of clothing. A… A white had, stained by someone’s lifeblood. John’s breath hitched in his throat. Oh no, oh no no no no no… He stood up on trembling knees, getting to his feet and cautiously moving around to the other side of the table. He had expected to see this, but…
The sight of his father’s now cold corpse, eyes still open and looking up vacantly at the sky, felt like someone punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. John’s lips parted, a soft, strangled sound escaping them. His footsteps were soft as he crossed the stone paving, to fall to his knees beside his father. His glasses were fogging up… But why?
Oh… He sniffled and pulled his glasses off of his face, cleaning them from the mist on his godtier shirt. The soft pajama-like material would do well anyway.
He was crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to take this in. His father… His caretaker was dead. The man that had loved and taken care of him for years was gone… F-Forever. He couldn’t be programed into a sprite, and he couldn’t be revived with a simple kiss. He wasn’t a player, and Prospit had been destroyed.
Though he’d remained impressively strong up to this point, John finally let out a strangled cry and fell forward to hold his father’s bloody cadaver in his arms. He sobbed into the still clean shoulder, dampening the fabric with his tears. His entire body shook with the force of his fit, and he found that he couldn’t stop the screams. He was screaming now, and he didn’t know what he was saying, if it was anything at all. He beat the ground with his fist and screamed. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! IT WASN’T FAIR!
It wasn’t… Fair…
The Heir sniffled and ran his fingers through his father’s dark hair, then used his fingertips to close his eyelids for the last time. At the tender age of thirteen, he had just lost everything. Before this, so much had been taken from him. His life, his home, the majority of his friends… The hope that his father was alive was all that he had left.
He rest his head in the crook of his neck, noting the faint smell of cakes and other culinary baked goods still clung to his person. He giggled softly, remembering how much he used to hate those cakes, and what he would do to get to make one more with him. All the things he thought he hated about his father turned out to be things that he loved. Things he couldn’t picture living life without. The creepy obsession with clowns, Betty Crocker, and just his general concern of his son’s wellbeing as a parent… He used to get so annoyed with those, but now his heart clenched painfully. He’d do anything to have those things back.