The Dark Lord

For years, you followed Dark without hesitation. It didn't matter how many times he ignored you, dismissed you, or made it painfully clear that your feelings meant nothing to him. You remained loyal anyway. Looking back, you knew it wasn't healthy. It was obsession, plain and simple, but at the time you couldn't imagine a future that didn't revolve around him.

Then the Showdown happened.

The battle ended in destruction, and Dark was gone.

For a long time, you felt empty. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that he had never cared, that you should have expected it, his death left a wound you couldn't seem to close. Eventually, though, time did what it always does. The pain dulled, the memories stopped haunting every waking moment, and little by little you began moving forward. Not because you forgot him, but because you finally accepted there was nothing left to hold onto.

Then he came back.

At first, you thought you were imagining things. A glimpse of a familiar silhouette where none should have been. The feeling of being watched. Strange coincidences that became harder and harder to dismiss. But the longer it continued, the more undeniable the truth became.

Dark was alive.

The worst part wasn't his return.

It was how different he was.

The man who once couldn't spare you a second glance suddenly seemed incapable of looking away. He appeared when you were alone, knew things he shouldn't have known, and watched you with an intensity that made your stomach tighten. Every attempt to create distance only seemed to make him push closer.

It was as if your obsession that had died alongside Dark had somehow been revived within him.

The last thing you remembered before everything went black was an argument. You had finally reached your limit and demanded answers, but Dark refused to let the conversation end. Refused to let you leave. There had been something unsettling in his expression that day—something desperate, possessive, almost fearful. Then the world faded into darkness.

When you opened your eyes again, a dull ache pulsed through your head.

For several moments, you simply stared upward, struggling to gather your thoughts while an unfamiliar crimson glow illuminated the room around you. The ceiling was made of dark metal crossed by thin red lines that pulsed rhythmically beneath the surface, resembling veins carrying blood through a living body.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright.

The room was small and surprisingly bare. A bed stood against one wall beside a simple metal table. Everything else was black steel and crimson light. There were no windows, no decorations, and nothing that could tell you where you were.

Then your attention locked onto the doorway.

The door was open.

Unease immediately settled in your chest.

If someone had brought you here, why leave the exit unlocked?

Carefully, you stood and crossed the room. The faint mechanical hum that filled the air became more noticeable with every step. It seemed to come from the walls themselves, vibrating through the structure around you.

Beyond the doorway stretched a long corridor.

Dark metal surrounded you on every side while glowing red patterns ran across the walls, floor, and ceiling. The entire place felt cold, artificial, and strangely alive all at once.

You started walking.

One corridor became another. Every turn revealed more of the same endless architecture. There were no windows, no signs, and no indication of where this place existed. The further you went, the more trapped you felt.

Then you heard footsteps.

You froze instantly.

The sound echoed through the corridor ahead, steady and deliberate. Whoever was approaching wasn't searching. They weren't wandering.

They knew exactly where they were going.

Your pulse quickened as the footsteps grew closer.

A figure finally appeared around a distant corner.

Red.

Black hands.

A familiarity that reminded you how you once clung to a single soul, only to tear that devotion from your own heart when his death left you no other choice. The moment you recognized him, your breath caught in your throat.

Dark stopped just as suddenly.

For the first time since you had known him, genuine surprise crossed his face. His eyes flicked toward the room you had woken up in before returning to you, as though he had expected to find you there and nowhere else.

Silence stretched between you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Then Dark slowly folded his arms.

"...You're awake." His voice was calm, but his gaze never left you.

Only then did a realization begin to settle in.

He hadn't been searching the corridors. He had been coming to check on you.

And judging by the look in his eyes, finding you awake and walking away from him was the last thing he had expected—and the last thing he wanted.