Servants of Time
Summary: Because sometimes a knight can be stung by his weapon. In which Dave, the last survivor, confronts Lord English. This time though, he has a plan.
Author's Note: Okay, this has an upper teen rating because Dave swears throughout this. Just a warning.
He's been immersed in music his whole life; his veins flow with the rhythm and his heart pulses to the beat. His words are the cadence, falling from his tongue like lyrics off the page – his very being relies on the next note, and sometimes it's hard to imagine that song will ever stop. Time is the conductor, and he's following each and every sequence.
Ever since he'd entered Sburb, he'd felt it. The pull of the clock, each hand ticking to the metronome like soldier to his commander, continuously and harmoniously ; hell, his land was the essence of his prison, gears turning and churning through flames, unable to stop because that was their function – to be tugged and pulled by forces beyond their control, to keep spinning because they were little more than dominoes falling readily into place in order to serve a greater purpose. They powered the machine, they pushed it forward and kept on doing so; gears never questioned what they were fueling, never stopped to wonder what their efforts amounted to. They were puppets, and the Lord of Time sat there, pulling the strings like some twisted puppeteer.
And so foolishly, he'd been thinking he was different. That his decisions were his own – that the beat he followed was his; whatever periodicity of music that the others followed, he'd be his own drummer; he thought he was the bender of time, remixing the seconds and days like they were nothing but loops on his turntables. He'd forgotten, his hands twisting his discs back and forth so gently between his fingers, that his sweet edits had a name in the real world – Scratch. He was tied to strings before the game even started, destined to become some sort of puppet, a tapestry of irony so thick a intricate that not even Bro could have woven its threads.
And perhaps it might have been a coincidence. In a saner world, the old Earth, something like that could have been marked as a chance event, some funny catch that would serve as invaluable material for irony-laced jokes. But no one was laughing; too many coincidences were clear to him – even with all eternity spread before him, it was only now that he understood that his entire life was decided far before he'd been given any say. It'd taken all this time, and at this moment, with no time left, he realized the magnitude of his situation.
Trained to sense beats and follow them, he'd been taken in by Time even before he'd considered that his music was related – he simply obeyed the beck and call of the rhythm, enforcing the tempo with his "stable timeline" bullshit. He'd thought the Dead Daves were a sign he'd goofed and had some error he needed to correct – but in reality, he saw now, each Dead Dave was an attempt to stop Him. Each of his Deaths were moments of clarity, insight stolen from him the moment he got back in step..each moment his own desires were shoved aside in favor of the rhythm.
Just like the gears of his land, just like his brother's shitty puppets – he'd been pulled and bent to the will of some unknown entity; he'd never even questioned it, like the mindless drone he'd always tried not to be.
But he understood now – here, now, at this point in hell's forsaken time – that he was a pawn. He was a Knight, and he'd had a Lord making orders that he'd unknowingly carried out. Stupid, unaware, and thoughtlessly obeying suggestions – dooming his friends with each mindless blunder he performed.
But here was the end; here was where the the Revolution would take place.
"Lord English," Dave stated calmly, red eyes narrowed behind his shades – the scarlet of his cape flared out from behind him as a giant gust of hot air blew against him, the Lord glaring down at him – the great Lord of Time, who'd been the one issuing beats and rhythms that had been carried out, all perfectly in key.
"Should have figured, honestly," the Knight continued, "Everything in this game has some shitty double meaning – why should a fucking god tier title be any different, right?"
"You sound bitter," The lord bent his gaze forward, homochromatic irises switching fast enough to give someone a seizure as he tilted his head from amusement. Of course he was amused – he'd won.
He'd dicked around with time, setting up each and every pitfall that both the humans and the trolls would fumble into, full speed ahead. He'd organized this entire thing, pushing events into place just so. Whatever mistakes Dave had made, whatever orders he and Aradia had been given – this guy had orchestrated. He was directly responsible for all of their deaths – John, Rose, Jade, and the trolls. Dave was the only one left, and it was all Caliborn's fault.
"Bitter?" Dave asked nonchalantly, "Nah, not bitter, dude – bitter's when you try to alchamize yourself a poptart and get some fucked up piece of stale toast. No, I'm pissed."
English grinned, golden tooth showing as the rest of his pearly whites collided like smashed tombstones ripping across cemetery soil. A bulging hunk of muscled flesh churned beneath his coat, eyes changing so rapidly that he looked like the result of some drunken game of pool – but his expression was deadly sober beneath the madness of his calm appearance. If Dave hadn't been raised to hide every flicker of emotion across his face, he might have showed fear; luckily, his eyes remained strictly passive behind his shades. Even when English stood to his full size, the Knight only stared, though his pale fingers did strengthen against the hilt of his shitty sword.
"What do you expect to accomplish, human?" the Lord laughed, anger insanity edging his words like a jagged knife, "You're a failure, a disgrace to your class – a Knight is supposed to protect his allies, exploit his Aspect to aid his friends through the game...With a Seer of Light as your companion, you should have been unstoppable."
Too fast for him to move out of the way, English's hand wrapped around waist, green fingers carelessly rough as they enclosed him – tight enough to cause Dave to lose hold of his weapon. The blade clattered to the ground, and Dave struggled against the giant's hold uselessly as English brought the boy eye-level.
"And yet," English's voice was the sound of gargled gravel, "Here you are, alone – all of your friends are dead, and there's nothing to bring them back. No dream bubbles, no second chances...Just heroic and just deaths followed by silence."
Dave finally let expression show on his face. His lips turned into a snarl, and even though his hands were smashed against his sides due to English's grip, his fists balled up on themselves.
"Shut your fucking face, you glorified Jolly Giant ripoff," Dave writhed again, every muscle in his body wriggling vainly to break the creature's hold, "Like your the big winner here – you're stuck here, just like me."
And that was the truth of it, wasn't it? English still couldn't advance without a second player, and Dave would never help him. Even if he could, his friends had destroyed Jade's forge so a new universe couldn't be created. Lord English would never leave this session...and neither would anyone else, now that the final battle had taken place. The Dream Bubbles were gone, Dave's friends were gone...all that was left was a desolate, empty battlefield, him, and the monster that'd condemned them all to a doomed session, synchronized the devastation and manipulating Dave to further his plans.
"That might be true," The Lord growled, eyes still flashing. His hands tightened around Dave, and he felt a couple of his ribs crack at the force. Dave's eyes welled with withheld tears, and a sharp gasp of pain escaped him, "Your friends' last act of resistance was to blow the LOFAF's forge to smithereens. It caused their deaths, that explosion – and what heroic deaths they were...except for, Knight."
Snap. Another rib broke, and Dave accidentally took in a sharp gulp of air.
"You were right, Strider – you're no hero. And you never will be."
It hurt to breathe, but there was no way in hell he would show pain to English. So Dave kept eye contact, stoic behind his shades.
But he was right...Dave wasn't a hero. Being a hero meant sacrifice, giving up your life for something else, for someone else because it was for them, not because it'd soothe your own conscience or finally end your own personal hell. And so he'd been reborn, woken up here where only English remained, stuck in the Lord's own doomed session.
"F-Fuck you," Dave hissed, "Fuck y-you and all your BS."
"Ever the eloquent communicator, I see," English growled, "But save the stoics for someone who doesn't see through your petty front. There's no one else here now,t though. You can drop the act, cool kid."
Ouch. But the insult gave him fire to his anger.
"Who's pretending, English?" Dave retorted, "I'm for real when I saw I'm going to kick your green bean ass, but what about you? You said you were a king, but fuck if I see anything worth ruling over – shitty remnants of a destroyed planet? What a prize. I want to hear that acceptance spee-ow." Dave was cut off by another crunch of bone, but he was pretty sure that was his arm.
"Enough," English's eyes were narrowed, "I was going to kill you, you pathetic sack of meat. I was going to be merciful, give you a just death so I could be rid of you."
"Aw, you do care," Dave wheezed out defiantly.
"But now I have a better suited fate for someone who is directly responsible for the death of his comrades. I'm going to leave you, Knight. Right here, alone, wandering around the Battlefield and unable to die."
"Like that scares me," It did, "Just gives me a little longer to kill you. Besides, time is nothing to me anymore, shit-stain. You think eternity is all that special to a guy who lived three days in one?"
English smiled – a sickly motion that sent metaphorical shivers through Dave's spine, "I think eternity sounds painfully long to someone who will live every second in failure. Even if, by some miracle, you manage to kill me, at least it will be just and I'll be gone. But you'll just keep going, surrounded by your mistakes and shortcomings."
He hurt, everything hurt – his chest, his broken arm, his aching muscles...but Dave grinned/
"You like to talk about how I'm such a fuck up, English. How I failed and whatnot. And you're right. I screwed up, killed all my friends and my session over big because I was so bent on following orders I didn't realize you were giving me. I got scared when Dave's started dying, let you push me away from trying to fix shit. But you know what?"
"Enlighten me, human."
"I heard your real name was Thanatos. Which is funny, because t-that's another name for a sword w-we humans call E-Excalibur. The same legendary sword that I stole from Denezin before I found out it was just a l-legendary piece of shit and broke it."
"Get to the point, Knight."
Dave took a deep breath, because he could feel one of his ribs being jostled into his heart by English's tightening hold, "I- might be a failure at a lot of things, English, but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's breaking swords. Especially shitty ones like you."
English scoffed, looking unimpressed, "Brave words coming from a dying player."
"Brave and true, you hack d-disc jockey," Dave snarled, his scowl turning into a smirk, "You'd think a Lord of Time would know to protect his own land's disc"
The tone of conversation shifted, and for the first time a bit of uncertainty crossed the Lord's face. His anger came through his words as he brought Dave closer. Though the humans head was a little more than the size of his thumbnail, English could see the smugness taking over his features.
"What?" He growled, the question ripped from his throat.
Dave could feel his heart aching in his chest, crushed bones falling in on his organs, but his twisted grin was full of unrestrained contentment, "Y-You think you're t-the only one who knows how to w-work the glitches i-in this game?" He coughed, a bit of blood running through his mouth and splattering red against the green skin that surrounded him, "Think again."
"You have two seconds to explain before rip your heart out human – and I will keep on doing it for all eternity if you don't give me answers." He sucked air through teeth, causing his throat to rumble in some sort of feral noise.
"Ha," Air escaped Dave lungs in a painful laugh that was worth the lost oxygen, "It's too l-late for you to do anything n-now, s-s-so I guess I could p-point out a c-couple things. Like h-how every T-Time player gets a-access to their discs i-if something g-goes wrong."
Realization slammed against the Lord, "You want to scratch my disc. You want to glitch this game so it will alter your friend's timeline – restore it, and make it so I can't alter the session."
"B-Bingo." Dave coughed.
Silence. And then...echoing, thundering laughter.
"And you told this to me on your dying breath! I suppose I should thank you, really, for the warning."
Dave's head slumped a bit, getting far too lightheaded to put effort into hoisting it up. But his grin was still strong.
"Y-You forgot," Dave mumbled, "That Dead Dave's a-are the enemy, dick head. T-Their yours."
Through his laughter, English asked, "What are you possibly going on about?"
Dave's vision was darkening, the blackness calling out to him like it had every Dave that had died before him.
"E-Ever heard of distraction, d-dumb ass?"
He wished he could have seen the rage in Lord English's face as the understanding hit him – but he was too far gone. Death welcomed him open arms.
And the Clock rang Heroic.
A planet away, Alpha Dave's sword collided with the black record of Lord English's own disc. The blade sunk through the vinyl exterior, and a bright light exploded from the cracks – it reminded him of his Bros own death, and that only fueled his strength as he brought down the sword again; light erupted, and the disc started to scratch. Dave could feel Time starting to reel on it's edges as it was sent in rewind.
Relief flooded through him, and in the span of seconds he felt like it'd all been worth it. If his plan worked, he would see them all again.
He'd listen to John babble about Con Air, fangirling about stupid pranks and know that on the other side of the screen, he was decked out in some ridiculous disguise that wouldn't trick a mentally challeaged monkey. And he'd send his bro sick fires in return, ranting about the unappreciated glory of apple juice.
He'd hear Rose's voice again, watch her purple text scroll across his screen as she practiced the Freudian arts out on him in some therapy session he wouldn't sign up for. He'd tease her about her wizard fiction, and she'd pick apart his subtle ironies in exchange.
He'd talk with Jade, and he'd pay more attention to her when she was upset – he'd be nicer to her, and try to be a bit more open with her now that he knew how much she was willing to give up for her friends, how much she'd put up with from him.
And he'd hug his Bro. Even though he wouldn't remember any of it because of this Scratch, and probably think that Dave has lost it, he would do it anyway; just because he understood that maybe they both needed some reassurance from one another. Then it'd be back to business, with rooftop rap battles and unexpected strifes.
He'd even take it a bit easier on Karkat. Not too much, but this time when they played the game, there wasn't going to be anything else in their way. No English, no impossible bosses, no glitches or scratches – just a game, and a world to save.
The light became intensely bright, wiping away the scenery until there was only blinding nothingness – and the world became too much to see.
Dave Strider bolted upright in his old apartment, skin sweaty and chest heaving. In some sort of panick he didn't understand, couldn't remember understanding, his eyes flew to the calendar – April 13th. The date struck him a second, like something earth-shatteringly important was going to happen...and then he remembered.
Of course. He was cool – he didn't usually forget important shit like this. Today was Egbert's birthday.
Wearily, he rolled out of bed and slunk over to his computer, throwing on a shirt and pants from his closet, where he found some sweet AJ sitting there like the Holy Grail. Once he found a seat at his husktop – what the hell? His computer - he opened up his Pesterchum, happy to see that John was online.
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13 -
TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today?