DISCLAIMER: hihi!! HELLo!! unlike all other previous oneshots, this idea was actually from myself and not from an online prompt generator :p its a bit more serious than the other goofy shots, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless!
prompt/context; this story takes place in a Medieval Era. First Knight Schlatt ventures through the underground tunnels with his vassal, when he runs into an unexpected person...
oneshot written by alex
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The sombre, silent halls of the ancient railways and unadorned tunnels amplify the delicate sounds of their pattering footsteps. The undercity has been abandoned for years; it almost surprises him that the walls of the tunnels haven't collapsed yet.
The distinct click-clack sounds of heels along the tracks is bespeckled with the occasional, conspicuously sharp screech noises of the younger boy, who is nervously sharpening the blade of his sword.
What a halfwit fool, that Tubbo kid. Giving out our location like that. When we get jumped by assassins, I'll be the one telling him "I told you so". . . Assuming we even make it out of this god damned place alive.
He's been sharpening that blade for a while now. Admittedly, it had been really getting on Schlatt's nerves. He would have snapped at him ages ago for that, but being with him for a while now, he knows he only ever fidgets like that when he's scared. Snapping at him would only make things even worse, for the both of them — yes, he might have short patience and anger management issues, but he's not an idiot.
Despite the dragging tunnel leading only forwards, Schlatt finds his eyes constantly darting side to side — as if something at any given moment were to pounce out from the sidelines, out of thin air. He's been in such dire situations far too many times to know that it's essential to always keep his guard up; no matter where he is, or who he's with.
He holds out the alight torch in his hand, bringing the tips of the flame to meet the match on the empty candlestick lantern — which is distributed about 5 or so metres away from one another along the primitive walls of the ancient underpass. He's been lighting up each of the candles along the way, lighting the pathway from both behind and in front. He draws his hand back quickly after, resuming his steady pacing.
The two have been venturing through the railways for what seems like hours — it could have been hours. A few... no... maybe a couple more than just 'a few'. He doesn't really know. A rhythmic routine mixed with a tunnelvision of darkness seemed to have stretched out time so much to the point where the concept of it sort of vanished for a little while.
Suddenly, Schlatt crinkles his nose, getting a strong whiff of the foul scent.
Disgusting. Fuckin' reeks of expired petrol and metal.
How long has this underground railway really been abandoned for? One good look at the corroded tracks underneath his boots give him a pretty good assumption.
Paranoid, he quickly sneaks a glance behind him to make sure Tubbo's following his lead. To his relief, he sees the boy pacing behind, sharpening his sword with an iron bar and a blank stare. He understands the kid must be terrified out his mind — after all, he's never stepped out from the city of Anatoli. But at the same time, he really should be paying more attention to their surroundings. Schlatt frowns as he makes this realisation.
As if timing could not be more perfect, a foreign sound echoes ever so faintly in the chambers, alerting his hearing senses.
"Wait." he commands with a whisper, halting to a stop as he holds out his arm, signalling for silence. Tubbo freezes where he is, slowly putting away his sharpener. The halls do not speak, and silence falls deaf on their ears.
He bites his lip, closing his eyes to exude more focus as he crouches, but he hears nothing. Lowering his voice to another whisper, he says after a pause, "Hey, kid... did you hear that?"
After a momentary delay, he answers back softly. "I... I think so."
Darkness still encapsulating his vision, Schlatt pays close attention to the distinction of any more sounds. For a few ephemeral seconds, there is nothing but pure, grim silence; until suddenly, there is an indistinct whirring noise, disturbing his hearing. He inches his fingers to his sheathed sword, feeling his apprehension grow as the whirring noise slowly becomes louder — until the whirring morphs into a hissing, as if something is whizzing across the air.
He feels the neutrons in his wiring brain travel at the speed of light, as his mind processes reality at double the speed it usually does. The sounds are more prominent in his left ear... Yes, it's definitely something flying at an incredible speed. Right in his direction.
As the whizzing grows unmistakably louder, he feels the world slow down a little, and his eyes snap open. He impulsively sways his head to the right, and sure enough, followed only milliseconds after is a dagger just skimming past his left cheekbone.
"Shit!" he yells, spinning around, "someone's fucking here! Wait, no. Not fucking, nobody's fucking here— "
Just in the nick of time, Tubbo swings up his sword, as the dagger collides into the steel, deflecting back and clanking onto the ground. Then, there's a slow singular applause.
"Congratulations on figuring such out."
While the voice didn't come from neither him nor Tubbo, the familiarity was undeniable. He can recognise that voice from anywhere — and knowing so makes his heart jump twenty beats.
"No..." His lip trembles, as pure shock ashens his face. "It can't be you. It... it just can't."
Tubbo catches the expression sprawled out on his face, and quickly pieces together that Schlatt obviously knows something he doesn't. Of course, Tubbo wasn't there at the time he was.
Slowly, the Knight turns around, and to his horror, his premonition was correct. It is him.
A menacing figure emerges from within the shadows of the tunnels, revealing his identity underneath the dim light of the candle-lit lanterns.
"Well, well. It has been a long time, hasn't it, Schlatt?" The distinguishable smirk enfolds along his recognisable, masculine face. Downright revelation twists the man's insides. He's more shocked than scared.
"Soot?"
≫≫≫
Locks of his tenebrous, chocolate hair falls over his face, and ragged past his shoulders. A worn-out, vintage trench coat clothes his body, and his arms are wrapped with layers of dirty bandages; a coal-black eyepatch conceals his left eye, leaving his ember right eye naked and defined underneath the overcast light. Even though most of his hair lays dangling over the side of his face with the eyepatch, Schlatt can notice the same hideous scar still vaguely visible from beneath it.
He looks awful, but at the same time, in well condition considering his prolonged disappearance.
"Soot?" Tubbo repeats Schlatt's words, except it's confusion blinding the words instead of shock. A severe lack of context is fused behind his inquiry.
That's right, by the time Tubbo had been transferred to the Anatolian Empire, King William Soot was long gone. Or, should he say, Prince Wilbur was long gone.
Years ago, King Soot had ruled over the Anatolian Empire, casting tyranny and corruption over his people. He was cruel, cold, and hated. He was so known for his ruthless reputation that he had taken on a nickname — The Wicked King Soot. Yet... with so much power being held in his hands, everybody's efforts to rebel against him were all in vain.
But just a few years ago, after the war that had waged — the war between a rebellion Schlatt had led, and the King's army; the war that was supposedly meant to bring an end to all tyranny and corruption — after everything — Soot had fled from the Empire. Leaving nothing of his whereabouts behind. He was truly gone, vanished from the face of existence. Many believed he was dead.
But not Schlatt — he never believed that. He knew deep down, that somewhere, the King was alive and well, still plotting his tyranny to reign over the Empire. And he knew he was going to do whatever he can to return with even more power than before.
And so, once King Soot — or now, rather Prince Soot — had disappeared, his spot on the throne was passed onto his brother — Tomothy Soot. And with Tommy taking on the role as the Empire's new ruler, Soot's entitlement of "King" had been relinquished. Informally abducted.
Which meant that Tubbo would have only merely heard stories of the former King's existence. But it doesn't take long for Tubbo to quickly connect the pieces.
"The runaway King from our empire?"
"That is what they are calling me now?" Wilbur raises an eyebrow rather patronisingly. He hums in thought. "I suppose it's got a ring to it."
He scoffs out a condescending chuckle, pacing forward once more. He puts his hands together, applauding; the air shakes as the sounds of his clapping boom across the echoing halls.
Schlatt snarls, his hand grasping onto the handle of his sword, as he braces himself for a potential fight.
"You genius!" he laughs, "would you like a medal, young man, for figuring that out while you're at it? It is I, King William Soot. Your very infamous tyrannical ruler of Anatoli."
He turns to look at Schlatt, smirking as he adds on: "But of course, you'd already know that, Schlatt."
He spits, his saliva growing bitter in his mouth as he hears those snake words slither out of his venomous mouth. Everything about him — the way he condescends him, and the way he lets his narcissism cloud his head. It makes him seethe his teeth in fuelling hatred.
"Listen to me real close, William-fuckin'-soot," he growls at him. "I don't have time to waste hearing you babble on about with that big mighty head of yours. Your pathetic failure of an existence makes me reconsider my own ego. I didn't think I'd have my vanity dare to be challenged today, but now that we're here I've got a few lines I've rehearsed up my sleeve. Starting with... what, that dress of yours? How—"
"It's a cloak." he cuts in, rather snappy. "Any man with half a head would know that."
"Well it's your lucky day, Soot, because you're talking to a man with a few more heads than he needs."
His frown is tinged with a hint of annoyance. "I forgot how needlessly hot-headed you were."
All at once, his rushing train of thoughts clouds, and all distractions are shaken out from his mind. His face darkening now, he cuts to the chase.
"What the hell are you doing here?" a question he should have asked from the start; he raises his voice to match the sinister echoes Wilbur exudes. "And what do you want from us?"
"I do not want much at all," the prince replies, standing tall and upright as he takes a sly step forward. He feels Tubbo back away, but Schlatt stands still. Showing hesitance or inferiority is exactly what Wilbur would want.
"And do not fear, either," he reassures, "I do not wish to fight you."
He raises his hands to further prove so. The younger boy analyses him from afar, eyeing him up and down. Schlatt sees from the corner of his eye that Tubbo relaxes his grip, and begins to sheathe his sword.
"Are you crazy? Don't sheathe." he commands the boy, "you cannot trust a word he says."
"I mean it." Wilbur persists. "Do you think I'm that incompetent to try pull a joke on you now? Fighting you is what I last want. I'm here to find my brother, nothing else. And I want you to tell me where he is."
His eyes widen. He's looking for Tommy?
It only makes sense, when he thinks about it. It's been more than three years since Wilbur had disappeared without a word — and now, to suddenly run into him like this? It only makes sense that his true intention might be to see him . . .
. . . which is all the more reason he should stay far away from Tommy.
"Like hell I'd do that." He spits back at him, returning the scorn.
"Like hell you will do it!" the King's volume inflects. Realising his order came out a lot more aggressive than he intended, he lowers his voice again, trying to take on a more collected approach. "Where is he? Tell me where my brother is. Tell me, and I will leave you two be without harm. That is all I am asking from you."
"And then what?" the manpresses on, as he locks his hard stare on Wilbur's single, unobscured eye. "You'll take his other eye out, too?"
An offended surprise colours Wilbur's face momentarily. Yes, just like his older brother, Tommy's eye is also scarred. Decades ago, the two brothers had gotten into a brutal fight with one another over clashing morals. It ended with his sword slicing his younger brother's right eye completely out it's socket. It's quite symbolic, really, how both the brothers are missing an eye. He wonders why that's the case — why Wilbur's wearing an eyepatch, too.
Clearly taken aback at the unprecedented response, Wilbur stops. Faced upon this comeback, he takes a few moments until he finally replies. " . . . so you know about that."
It's his turn to scoff now. "Yeah, I do. I know about everything."
Nobody's forcing you to take my word for it, but it's because he trusts me, Soot. Because he doesn't have somebody he can put his faith in, anymore.
His shoulders slump slightly in response, as he draws a steady breath in. He can hear him breathe out shakily from clenched teeth. Keeping his poise composure, the Prince affirms. "I'm not going to hurt him, nor will I hurt you if you give me my answer. I just need to find him."
Tubbo's sharp, cobalt eyes have been locked in focus on the man, paying painstaking attention to every detail of his movement. Unlike Schlatt, he's using this time to examine his behaviour carefully. As the words spill from the wicked prince's mouth, he detects a hint of desperation behind his voice. Doubt about Schlatt's command flickers across his mind — perhaps Wilbur really is telling the truth.
Schlatt on the contrary opposes such belief.
'I'm not going to hurt him, nor will I hurt you'?
. . . Yeah, right. What a complete load of bullshit.
He's known Wilbur for far too long to know what the real answer to that is. He knows for a fact he will hurt him— and even if he isn't, no way in hell is he planning on taking that risk. Not in a million years.
After all, as honorary First Knight of the Anatolian Empire, whether he wants to or not, it's Schlatt's duty to keep him safe. As both the First Knight, and his friend.
"And what in your lord forsaken mind would make you think I would tell you that?" he presses on, not buying a single bit of the nonsense the madman's spitting out. "How would I know you're not going to kill him?"
"Because he's my brother, for God's sake!" he snaps back, rumbling the walls of the underground tunnels with his roar. His defensiveness surpasses Schlatt's expectations of surprise, but he doesn't allow himself to fall for his method of brainwashing.
"If he meant that much to you," he spits, taking a sanguine step forward until he stands only a foot away from the man's face, "then why did you exile him? Why did you banish him from your Empire? Why did you leave him out here, alone, to die? Was that your way of 'protecting' him?
Because if it was, then you're as damned terrible of a brother as you are of a King."
Silence is his only sole response.
Tubbo turns around slowly, backing away. He notices a candle burn out; the prince's eyes screw shut.
". . . I never wanted this, Schlatt." His voice softens, just a little. The cryptic answer leaves a strange and bitter taste on his tongue. "I never wanted to become . . . this."
What the fuck is he talking about?
"But I had to," he goes on. "Everything I am, everything I've done. It was all for him. And you could never understand why."
He leans forward, until his face is only inches away from his; his only rich, searing bronze eye stares mucronately into Schlatt's hazel orbs. Leaving such enigmatic words hanging dautingly in the cold air, he digs through behind the man's eyes, exploring the uncharted recesses of what's truly lying deep within them.
"You don't know what I've done." he hisses at him in repulsion. "What I've been through, what I've had to bring myself to become to give my brother the life I needed to give him. Stop acting like you know everything, you cow handed doxy of a fool. Because you don't. You don't know a single. gucking. thing."
He holds his breath, and doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to. Another candle light goes out, darkening the hall another shade.
He wants to look away, but he can't — it's as if Wilbur locked his eyes in chains, and he finds himself unable to break the gaze.
And then, the man takes a step back, allowing space for Schlatt to breathe once again.
"I am not asking anymore." The grave fierceness returns in his commandeering voice once again. "You will show me where my brother is. Or else."
Schlatt swallows. Daring to play with fire, he challenges him. "Or else what?"
Another candle light blows out.
The Prince doesn't reply — instead, he unsheathes his sword . . .
. . . and drops it to the ground.
A loud clang! reverberates off the rusted train-tracks, and bounces off the cobble walls. Suddenly, Tubbo runs toward Schlatt, yelling out loud: "It's a trap!"
At the instance, a fleeting dart enters the knight's peripheral vision; this time, he doesn't have the time to dodge it.It jabs into the nape of his neck, and in seconds he feels the blood in his throat run cold and stale.
A rush of darts shoot immediately after, and Schlatt watches in horror as another one hits and pricks his leg. He notices Tubbo has also been shot, on the shoulder.
It's. . .
He feels a foreign, ice cold liquid combine with his hot blood. His veins pulse blue through his skin. His leg and neck grow numb, and the outlines of his vision starts to blur. And everything becomes . . . hazy.
Yes, he can feel it. It's tranquilizer darts.
"Sch...Schlatt?" he hears Tubbo mutter out with slurred words, followed quickly after by the sound of his body thumping to the ground.
"No, Tubbo," Schlatt sways, choking out in spluttering coughs, "you can't. . . not now. . . Soot. . ."
His legs tremble underneath him, buckling under the weight of his body. Feeling like he's gotten ten times heavier in the past few seconds, his legs finally give out. From the corner of his sight, he seeks the king approach him, with several other masked strangers lingering behind. He stares down at his body, with a cold and wretched eye.
"What could somebody like you ever understand what it means to be a brother?"
His consciousness is giving out, but he's able to make out the words. He's unsure if he's mumbling to himself, or to him. He tries to open his mouth, but even that requires too much effort. Darkness starts to checker his line of sight.
". . . no. . . how could you know?" he hears him murmur faintly to himself. "How could anybody know . . . about the real me . . . ?"
That's the last thing he hears from the king before falling into oblivion.