One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Waiting for a Next Life

"You're unbelievable!"

"Says you!"

"Do I look like I want to see your fucking face? HUH?"

"Guys..." Taufan cuts in, struggling to keep a smile on his face. "Shouldn't you two be getting along by now?"

Solar and Blaze whipped to him simultaneously, as if he's suggesting an Armageddon. They glared at him for a moment, then snapped back at each other's throats.

Ais sighed. He downed a cup of black coffee then locked himself in his room. It was simply too early for any of this—2 in the afternoon, to be exact. He'd stayed up all night finishing his project and he barely has enough time to spare to stop them from bickering.

"It's the fifth time and you still won't get out of each other's faces," Taufan grumbled. "It happened the last three lives, too."

"If so, why do I always have to end up with HIM?" Blaze stabbed a finger in Cahaya's face, pushing his nose. "Why do I always get respawned with him?"

Taufan's face darkened. "Because you two are always the first ones to die," he seethed, venom flowing in his voice. Solar and Blaze shut up. "You rush in like a headless chicken and he always makes some unnecessary heroic sacrifice. Then I died because you two provoked an ancient demon lord that targeted me!"

"ALRIGHT, SHUT THE FUCK UP." Ais's voice boomed from his room, sturdy and unlike the hoarse tone he always used.

They turned to Ais's door. He was definitely annoyed now.

Blaze and Solar glared at each other some more, but they broke their staring contest and left to do their own things.

Taufan sighed, sinking himself on the couch. His eyes drifted to the window, looking out to the sky and traffic below.

They're taking too long, he thought, frowning. Why haven't they died yet?

* * *

Gempa spat a mouth full of blood, the thick, coagulated blood tasting like used cooking oil. He coughed, his throat stinging like a stab wound, spitting out small sprays of blood each time.

A hand was put on his shoulder, which helped to calm his anxiety down some levels.

"It's over," Halilintar whispers. His body smelt of smoke and ash, and a faint scent of burnt flesh. "The round's over."

Gempa shook his head, staggering to stand on his two feet. "Where's Thorn?" he rasped.

Halilintar's hand left his shoulder. "He's dead," he said numbly, barely expressing any emotion as Gempa froze at his answer. He's gotten the answer he needed, but not the one he wanted. "He's with the others now."

Rather than grieving over their lost teammate, Gempa shook his head and sighed.

"We're the last two left," Gempa muttered, looking up at the battered battlefield with dread. There were bodies strewn across the floor, lying on snapped swords and broken spears. "I don't know how we'll survive the next round."

"I know."

Gempa turned to Halilintar, tired eyes widening in surprise. "You do?"

"Of course."

Halilintar drew his sword and ran it through Gempa's chest.

There was no hesitation. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering onto Halilintar's face and clothes. Those were the blood of his comrade, one that fought by his side for centuries.