Work Text:
7 candles: 6 small candles, blue, green, red, yellow, black, pink, surround the large grey candle. All connected with string and lines.
Royalty of ice represented in fabric and buttons. The form is small and demure; they could not afford the time to create a larger Body. A card with a crown is tied to plush and bones of the Monarch surround the it as markers. Various personal items are tied to the plush: offerings.
The Vessel of Suffering, adorned in robes, begins to draw, seven symbols of rebirth shall suffice. They grab their claimed Sword of souls and chant
“O’ Sun of Rebirth, reed our call. Please revive the Monarch we hold dear above all. We don’t want his servants to be in shock, so please take this offering and bring back the king of Blackrock!”
They pierce the earth with their Ghostwalker.
Spawn rings light up and rotate, the candles flickers wildly. The interloper in the past holds this ground as winds flicks wildly around them.
The bones light up and float together with the sacrificial vessel. The summoner can feel his already present smile widen further as their offerings climb higher and higher!
*Pfrt*
Until they hear a silly noise and it all falls down. The spawn rings stopped glowing and disappear. The Interloper stands flabbergasted. That was the sound of when a status effect failed to apply, wasn't it?
“Did… did it not work? But… but–! The ritual! Our research?... Did we overlook–”
They get interrupted with the noise of… groaning. Their heads whips around to look at the plush. It come from there.
“ughh… Where am i?”
The plush stands up, holding it’s head. The replica crown droops from their head. It’s voice is shockingly deep for the size of the body… and it is his voice.
The Cruel King in new form turns to look at them. It’s button eyes have been replaced with miniature versions of his. They glow chillingly as he looks at the culprit of their summoning.
“... Tela…mon…?”
The Vessel of Suffering smiles fondly as it reveals themselves, lowering their hood. A face adorned with a wild main of yellow hair the exact same shade as their skin, put up in a messy bun. A dark red, almost black, visor saying Roblox is clumsily tied to their head.
“Oh, it’s you. Greetings, [Player]"
“We give our salutations to you too.”
All sense of bewilderment is removed from the Cruel King’s face the moment he saw [Player]. They should be questioning a lot of stuff right now, but he learned to stopped questioning [Player]’s actions once he was summoned to defeat four 2 dimensional embodiments of the emotion of fear. In a sewer of all places.
Cruel King tries to walk over to the chaos gremlin that's collecting the swords. He’s struggling with his new small proportions. [Player]'s grins strains while he does.
“Couldn’t you have used a different body? This one is not easy to use”
He complaints after falling for the sixth time. [Player], who is taking of his robe, rebuts.
“We are not Telamon, and we are not practitioners of magic. Our knowledge of spiritual matters is exclusively tied to the Ghostwalker. It was not our intention to give you this body. The ritual misfired, but it still worked we suppose. You are alive again. Still, we apologize for the misconvenience.”
Although their tone is clinical and distant, as it has been ever since they have obtained the Ghostwalker, their voice echoes that they truly feel sorry.
They pick up the Cruel King's small body, their hands stained yellow, red, black and white from the dyes they used to color the King’s new body. They bring him up to eye level. The grin that infested their face ever since they got the Ghostwalker is the smallest the King has seen it in recent times. It’s glaringly forced, like they want to express any other emotion, but are scared of doing so.
(The Monarch wants to say he wonders why, but it’s glaringly obvious that it’s those swords, those accursed swords. They have three currently, surely the voices must be getting to them, no matter how strong their mental fortitude is. What could it be saying to them. What is it saying that makes them so afraid of showing anything but happiness? He worries for this child.)
“...”
“Your apology is accepted.”
It was the only thing he could come up with to respond with. They awkwardly stare at eachother. Cruel King cannot bring Player's faltering smile out of his mind.
“... Are you… alright?”
Their smiles strains the moment he asks. He can’t decide whether to describe the grin as dangerous or helpless. Did that somehow strike a nerve?
“Our wellbeing is not a cause of concern, Monarch. Please keep that in mind. My purpose here is to get those swords and rescue Builderman and that is it. I am not somebody worth worrying about, I assure you.”
It’s a robotic response. It's unfamiliar, but rehearsed on their tongue. Like he's just echoing a phrase. It worries Cruel King greatly. He can't feel a bit angry at what [Player] is saying. Not worth worrying? He forces himself to respond calmly.
“Did... Someone tell to you that?”
[Player] stares blankly at them, but their smile stretches painfully wide. They look... Unstable. Cruel King looks back with a look somewhere between concern and horror at the silent answer.
“Who told you that, [Player]? You know… that's not true, right–?”
“It doesn't matter. It is the truth.”
Cruel King is taken back by that statement. How can they just disregard themselves like that?
“It is not! This matters, you aren't any less worthy of--"
[Player] grits their teeth. They turn down their head so that Cruel King can't see their eyes anymore, their obscured by their visor.
“It. Does. Not. Matter. Leave it be.”
“[Player]! I don’t know why on Builderman’s green Robloxia you would think that, but you are somebody worth worrying–!”
“WE ARE NOT!”
[Player] yells at him. Cruel King flinches at the loudness. The sound echoes in the room. It sounds almost... Glitchy. They look angry with a thousand of other unreadable emotions.
Those emotions quickly change
Watches as the vessel of Suffering flinches back, visual backtracking as anger turns to fear in less than a seconds. A frown turns into panic, body shaking as if they are doing something terrible. Cruel King as only watch as to struggle to calm themselves. Why can he smell ozone?
“No.
No. no. Nononononononono--!”
The smell of ozone gets stronger as [Player] keeps panicking. What’s got them so entrenched in Fear?! They fall to ground, their breathing getting quicker. He can hear some sort of humming getting louder, a ghostly and ethereal hum that promises nothing good.
“[Player], can you hear me?!”
Cruel King's body finally begins to move. They briefly see the ghostwalker on the floor. It's glowing. He feels his heart drop into his stomach. They focus back onto [Player]. They're breathing is way too quick. Are they having a–?! Oh goodness, they are! He can’t–?! He doesn't know how to deal with this?!
“[Player], I-if, you can hear me! Listening to my voice!”
Cruel King doesn't feel like his yelling a single bit. He's not prepared for something like this. He starts repeating the same phrases over and over again hoping it will help. He’s only read about this in novels! They do this right?!
“Breath in…! Breath out…!”
After what feels like hours [Player]’s breathing calms. Cruel King let out a sigh of relief. The humming quiets and stops. How did that work? He does not know. He’s just happy it did.
“Are you alright, now?”
[Player] schools his expression, it’s the same grin as before, but somehow even less managed. Cruel King patiently awaits their answer.
“... It doesn't matter."
Cruel King has to subdue a groan, the very least he manages is just frowning. They're still going on about that! They speak up before he can say something.
"Please leave it be. I don’t want anyone worrying about us.”
“You know you can’t stop me, and others, from worrying about you, you know that, right?”
[Player] looks away. They let out a sigh before answering.
“Yes. Yes, we do."
Cruel King gives [Player] a hug, and they reluctantly return it. They clutch on like it's their first in years. Cruel King can only hope it isn't.
"But, you really shouldn't. It will only hurt you in the end."