You lay your head down on the cold, metal floor. It's not very comfortable, but you simply do not have it in you to care at the moment. You let out an exhausted sigh, a very fitting punctuation to the chaotic, confusing day.
Upon reflection, you cannot believe all that has happened today. You've long since abandoned trying to wrestle with the logic of whether "today" is a term that means anything in the Incipisphere. With no blazing sun or rising of the moons, only sleep put a divide between consciousness. Even then, players found themselves conscious still in their dreams, continuing to work and plot and fight. No rest even for the sleeping. Not that you caught any sleep anyway.
You try to remember everything that happened, attempting to locate some glaring point where it all went wrong.
You cannot seem to find one.
Not one mistake, not one foreboding warning, not one dark cloud over your unstoppable trail to victory.
Recent events are all a blur. Your think pan throbs trying to grasp it all so soon. You are completely fried. You roll over, letting your forehead touch the metal. It sends a chill through your body, but it is the closest thing to comfort.
You just lie there for a moment, getting the most rest you have gotten in hours.
Turns out you can't stand the stillness for that long anyway. You pound your fist on the floor and a frustrated yell escapes you. The sound echoes throughout the lab, but you forego feeling any embarrassment. You made certain that nobody followed you through the transportalizer.
This is pathetic, you think. Pathetic for a so-called leader.
This is incredible. You have done it. You are the leader you have always dreamed to be.
For sweeps, your blood boiled with raging ambition, yearning for something more. You knew you were destined for greatness, just unsure of what that would be.
You always knew it, despite your outcast blood color. Despite the mockery and beatings you received when a neighborhood troll caught a glimpse of your wound.
You covered your societal rank up and kept your head down for sweeps, but when it was time to play this game, you stepped forward as the leader. You assembled your team and leapt head-first into danger. When it became obvious that your opponents were a part of the same session, you united the teams without trepidation. You led the remainder of your race through triumphs and obstacles.
And now you are victorious.
With his scepter destroyed, the Black King reverts to his original, smaller form. He is weak, defenseless, and generally unremarkable. He fell onto your floating lotus, and trembles with fear at the proximity of your fellow players.
The battle is won. It is time to finish him off.
You and your eleven comrades circle around him, but you take an additional step forward. As the team leader, you assumed it to be your responsibility and privilege to deal the killing blow. You take another step, fully expecting one of your more bloodthirsty and aggressive friends to claim the prize of the battle before you can
To your surprise, no one moves.
Instead, they look to you expectantly. From a few you could swear you notice a subtle nod, granting you permission to fulfill your duty and title.
Time seems to freeze as you realize how far you have come together. Your eleven companions, all frustrating and unstable in their own way, have recognized you as their leader in this moment.
After sweeps of ridicule, and weeks littered with insubordination, their actions right now speak louder than any of their words.
Something swells within you. A sensation you have never before felt. Is this what pride feels like? Is this triumph, or accomplishment? Is this bliss?
Or is it simply...friendship?
You can not help but glance over at each of your companions.
Eridan Ampora, the highblood that was never afraid to come to you for advice. As mocked and as much of a loner as you.
Aradia Megido, the unusual and confusing ghost robot. She constantly supplied her knowledge and time-traveling abilities to help you run the team.
Equius Zahhak, the sado-masochist brute. His unspoken acceptance of your authority and worth was the most satisfying of them all.
Tavros Nitram, the kind-hearted adventurer who overcame cowardice. He is one of the most kind-hearted trolls you have ever met, and has never tried to belittle or hurt you.
Feferi Peixes, the humble, former Empress-to-be. She has the most prestigious blood possible, but has never tried to treat you like dirt.
Vriska Serket, one of the most vicious and uncontrollable teammates a troll could have. And while she was a frustrating bitch sometimes, she turned to you as leader and trusted your intuition.
Gamzee Makara, the pacifist with no worries. For an infuriatingly annoying clown, he has wanted to be your friend like no other.
Nepeta Leijon, the enthusiastic and excitable hunter. Her feelings for you have been obvious for sweeps, and she has always been friendly and loyal.
Kanaya Maryam, your smart and sensible frog-breeder. You cannot think of a more reliable and supportive friend in your life.
Sollux Captor, the more successful hacker, warrior, and quadrant-filling magnet. Despite everything, he always understood you and tried to control your tantrums.
And Terezi Pyrope, the frighteningly clever and cutthroat strategist and comrade. Sometimes you found yourself thinking that she is the one who should truly be leader. You envy her cunning and her abilities, as much as you hate to admit it. Your relationship with her has been...complicated.
You snap back to reality, sensing your team's impatience.
You glance at your weapon in hand. Fully alchemized, it wields incredible powers and hardly resembles a sickle anymore. This will not do.
You reequip yourself with a former weapon. The sickle you had combined with the Derse kingdom's own Regisword. Pleasantly simplistic in its design, pure black. Much more fitting for the execution of the Dersite King himself.
You approach the prisoner of war. He continues his shiver. Is it fear, or anger? It does not matter. Your friends look on in anticipation. Their eyes say it all. The bloodthirst at the core of your race shows through.
But in their eyes is something else, too. A sign of change. They have all changed on this journey. Their eyes tell of a sense of triumph and happiness, a sense of acceptance of the team's bond. There was not a single doubt in their minds that you would be the one to seal their fate and bring them to paradise.
You bring the weapon down on the King's shoulder. As overcome as you are, you are not dumb enough to allow for any last-minute mistakes. Instead of giving the fallen monarch one final chance, you swiftly slash your sickle to the side, making a clean cut.
The carapacian's candy red blood, identical to yours, spills out onto the lotus.
To you, for the first time in your life, the sight is almost...beautiful.
Your friends are well aware of your secret by now, and for a moment they contemplate if there is a deeper significance to this color.
The blood pours outward, trickling down the sides of the lotus onto the battlefield below.
It is done. You have succeeded.
The Knight of Blood has performed his final act as a leader and as a hero.
And with your companions by your side, you have never felt happier.