Karkat and the settings belong to Andrew Hussie and MSPA.

This was a random idea I had while rereading Homestuck. It kind of highlights Karkast as 'the leader' and goes into what he went through to become that. I tried to make it a powerful, inspirational story about Karkat's hardships and how lonely/depressed he is. But I fell a bit short on that, yet I think it turned out good. I'll leave that for you to choose, though. ;) Also, I kind of tried to get the voice of as one of the ancestors. I think it would make sense if it was the Dolorosa or the Disciple, but I think it would be nice if it was the Condesence, like she wanted this new session to go better than the last. But once again, thats for you to decide. ^^ Anyway, enjoy!

He was tired again. Like he always was now a days. With a sigh he turned away from the laptop, his mask of anger and fury dropping to reveal his true self underneath. He only did this when he was alone. When no one was bothering him and he could simply be himself. He could be lonely and depressed like he always was. Again. After a while he gotten used to being mad all the time, so being alone once more stirred the dark memories in his mind. The memories from before.

Karkat shook his head and stood. There was no reason to think like that. With another sigh he moved across the room, which was in its usual disarray. As he walked the thoughts once again crept into his mind, but he brushed them aside once more like annoying wrigglers. He didn't want the thoughts or the memories. All he wanted was to be alone.

'But isn't that what you were all along, Karkat? Alone. You've never had someone to hold you, or love you before. Have you? You've always been alone.' A voice, an all too familiar voice,said in his mind. He paused, taking in the words. The voice was another thing that came with the memories and thoughts. It was an old souvenir Karkat had long since forgotten. He had been so busy recently, he had forgotten about a lot of things.

"SHUT UP." He said aloud, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He wouldn't take this crap. Not from himself or anyone else. Anger flared in his chest, but was snuffed out by the truth in the voice's words. He had been alone. Karkat had just been too busy with the humans and trolls to realize, but now that he was back all the depressing thoughts and memories had returned.

Once again he shook it off, his patience shortening as more and more thoughts slipped into his head. There were images of red blood on already red stained walls, and he saw a sickle lying on the floor in a pool of red blood. His blood. Karkat fell back into a chair, eyes closed as memories washed over him. There was a flood of images stained red with his blood, and others of himself sitting in a dark room. Alone.

"STOP STOP STOP." He cried, holding his head in his hands. He couldn't take it. Everything was all too real. It wasn't a dream, it was reality. The blood was his blood. His loneliness was still existent in him, in his body and in his head. He couldn't stop it. It had, and was, consuming every sane part of him. "STOP. PLEASE STOP." He cried once more, tears the color of a dark rose blossoming around his eyes. They streaked down his face as memories overflowed from his mind and trickled into his soul. Karkat didn't want to be alone.

Then it was all over. The flood of images had settled into a calm sea at the back of his mind. Everything was ok again, like it had been before. Karkat found himself in a dreamlike state of mind. Everything was floating and soft, and he had the impression of drowning as he opened his eyes. Maybe he was. Maybe he was drowning in his sorrows and all of the horrible memories.

Karkat opened his eyes once more, and found himself on Prospit. Had he died? Or was he just dreaming? Hesitantly he stood, taking in his surroundings. It was the same dream place he was used to: everything was golden and light. When he blinked and reopened his eyes it was the same, but for only half an instant he could imagine red blood staining the grand hallways and floors.

His dream self sighed. Even in sleep he could find no escape from his loneliness and depression. When this thought dawned upon him he thought about what had happened to make him dream, but all he could recall was a dark fuzziness that made him drowsy and drained him of energy. All he could remember was that he was very tired, and that he had just finished a day with the other trolls and kids.

'But why do you feel so empty, Karkat? These dreams and memories are more than they seem. If you will not accept them they can, and will, become a burden.' The voice said. The wise, feminine voice echoed throughout the halls, and once again Karkat got the vision of Prospit stained in red blood. 'You must understand that you are destined for great things. These are just trials to train you for the future sessions.' Karkat's dream self grimaced.

"NO, YOU UNDERSTAND. I'M SICK AND TIRED OF BEING ALONE AND I'LL DO ANYTHING TO MAKE MY SUFFERING COME TO AN END. YOU GOT THAT?" Karkat yelled back. Anger sparked within him, and this time there were no memories to wipe it away.

'So be it Karkat. Just remember the ideals of The Sufferer, and the sign you possess. You are the leader, and you must accept the things that come with the title. If you must Suffer to lead, then do so. Is that not what the Sufferer did?' The voice replied, its final words fading into the darkness of the space beyond Prospit. Karkat was left alone on the surface of the dream planet, his dream self aimlessly wandering the halls. It was deathly silent, and he was terribly lonely.

His anger had diminished, and no matter how hard he tried he could not rekindle the flame. All that was left was his broken shell, as lonely and depressed as ever. With a sigh he laid down on the amber floor and let his eyes close. When he opened them he found himself lying on the floor of his hive. As he stood several blurry images passed his eyes, each faded with blood and sadness.

Karkat stood and walked toward one of the walls, which was covered in posters. With trembling fingers he peeled back the paper of one the pictures, to reveal a red stain behind it. He gulped. It hadn't been a dream, as he realized before. Silently he moved to another area of wall and peeled back another poster. More red. More blood. He moved to another poster, and this time his movements were more frantic as he ripped the poster from the wall. A rectangle of red opened up on the wall. It was an angry reminder of the truth, a truth Karkat kept trying to deny.

When he turned he saw his sickle lying on the table beside his laptop. The blade was stained with red, and there were words cut into the desk: 'I AM THE LEADER; THE LOWEST BLOOD.' Karkat paused as he read it. He held his hands out in front of him, as if to ward off the truth. Then he looked down at his blood stained hands and the long red cuts crossing his wrists. He fell back, his eyes once again flowing with tears.

And finally the truth dawned on Karkat.

He slid down the wall, his face stained with tears. He placed his head in his hands and cried into his drawn up knees. "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MYSELF?" He cried, his eyes shut tight against the realization and the pain it brought with it. "WHY AM I SO DIFFERENT FROM EVERYONE ELSE?"

'Because you're the leader, Karkat. Because you are the Knight of Blood.' The voice murmured. Karkat looked up, red streaking down his face. "WHY AM I SO ALONE?"