Beware of spoilers if you are early on in Homestuck.
Author note: Just something that occurred to me randomly, so scribbled it down in a few minutes. Hope you enjoy :)
Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie's again... not that I'd want Jack Noir... too stabby ;)
Facing the Past
After you appear in front of them, exhausted from your extensive journey, the crowds watch you in silence, cowering like ants that you could squash if you wished. You had better not; in their hundreds you fear once you'd started you'd never finish and that would be severely wasting time. Once you have rested you can do the job you came for… and then you will make time for every single one of them.
You can see their blank expressions, regarding you with confusion. You are meant to be on the battlefield, facing off against your counterpart, not here among them. But by-the-by their faces mutate back into amiable preoccupation and careful reverence for their great leader, giving up the thought and moving on with their lives. All except one.
To your surprise, you recognise the face, but only just. His brow remains knotted, working it out. He knows something is very wrong but you know the truth is too much for him to conclude. He will not ask you of course… you can see the frustration of his obedience and know that his loyalty will remain with his Black King… for now.
Your eye watches him for a few moments too long, studying him like an interesting specimen that might be stuffed and mounted. Your own memories give you a pang of sympathy for him… the thankless job, the suppression of his free will, being forced to wear stupi-
No, he's wearing a suit. Normal clothes… not anything resembling a clown. In an instant you hate him. You could have made him great, if you so chose. You could have taken him out of that little room with the many windows and made him something fantastic… In a way, you already did…
This one, no. This one would betray you and turn himself into his own version of you. Of course he would. There could never be two of you…
Your eyes meet. His scowling white slits stare into your soulless depths before a look of surprise comes to his face at the rapt attention you are affording him. You can't believe you were ever this pathetic. You can't believe you ever knelt and grovelled before the wretched monarchy… killing them was the best thing you ever did.
If he looked surprised before, it is nothing compared to his face now. His black head looks down at his chest, with your sword impaled through him, torrents of his own blood streaming down his torso and legs. You pull it free and let loose his head.
Yes, it is better this way. There can only be one Sovereign Slayer here… and that's you.