DoubleTale: Rewritten

by XWolf26

What if two humans were in the Underground at once? What if one human was DETERMINED to stop the other? What if they could both SAVE? What happens when an Unstoppable Force meets an Immovable Object? When a certain scientist pulls enough of himself together, he finally finds a way to stop the destruction of his world. (Undertale AU. Rewrite of DT.)

25. Chapter 25: The Bastard Son (Part 2)

Sorry for taking so long to update. I forgot to mention last update that the upcoming week would be incredibly busy for me. I didn't have a lot of time to type, and this chapter is nearly 22,000 words. That is, without a doubt, the longest chapter I've ever written. So I hope that makes up for the wait.

That said, I know this story is rated T. But we can all agree there have been a few chapters that deserve a rating a bit higher than that. This chapter is most certainly Rated M. There are some concepts and scenes in this chapter that some readers may find very disturbing and unpleasant. Viewer discretion is very much advised. Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your day.

Thanks go to Alrarora, Wingah, Gray Kanzakai, Loyal Fan, Zack Frost, Linki, 10burgers, Monkey D. Chimera, NBoss01, Genowar, Jack54311, Allagenda-domsitzers-chan, and WhoWritesThisCrap.

Disclaimer: I do not own Undertale or Deltarune.

---

There was an eerie silence about the basement. That's always how it was. Dark and quiet and empty. At least, until the beatings came. Then it was loud and colorful and a whirlwind of emotions that was completely indescribable.

This was another thing Anthony and Anarchy had in common. They both remembered this place vividly.

And they both hated it here.

Yet here they were, trapped again. Faced with another life altering decision. Die here, in their personal hell, or fight their way up the staircase.

"... So." Anthony sat up straight, furrowing his brows with curiosity. "I don't think you've ever wanted to speak with anyone before, Anarchy. Let alone me. What's this about?"

"... Do you think I hate you?" Anarchy slouched and squinted his eyes, tilting his head to the side.

"I think you hate everyone." Anthony stated in a matter-of-fact tone. This made Anarchy's cracked lips curl up in an amused smile, a genuine chuckle escaping his throat.

"Well that's quite an honor to award every single person, don'tcha think?" Anarchy barred his fangs with that chaotic grin, raising one white brow at his counterpart.

"Your hatred is an honor?" Anthony narrowed his eyes skeptically.

"My acknowledgement is an honor." Anarchy corrected without hesitation. "Most people are forgettable, after all."

"To hate someone is just as special as to love someone." Anarchy leaned forward, resting one hand on the concrete floor between the two. Shadows slipped over his expression, darkening his features while the lights turned out in those dead eyes. "It's intense, all consuming, maddening..."

"Why," Anarchy leaned back, and the chaotic lights flicked back on in those red peepers. He held his arms up in a shrug, and one grimy, devilish grin pulled up his features. "I'd have to be a real nutcase to hate everybody!"

"You are a real nutcase, Anarchy." Anthony spoke coldly, a frown tugging down his lips.

"That hasn't been proven by a licensed professional." Anarchy defended, pointing to Anthony and tilting his head to the side.

"Doesn't take a licensed professional to tell you the sky's blue." Anthony responded, his frown unmoved and his eyes unblinking.

"Y'know, for the good cop, you're comin' off as a real asshole right now, Anthony." Anarchy leaned back on his hands, raising his eyebrows with a judgmental stare towards his other half. "I'm startin' to think you hate me."

"..." Anthony recoiled some, before he lowered his head, sighing quietly. "... No, Anarchy. I don't hate you. I'm... Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"So I don't hate you, n' you don't hate me." Anarchy nodded, looking off thoughtfully before his eyes glossed back to Anthony. "I forget. Who do we hate?"

". . ." Anthony's jaw clenched, and he slowly lifted his head to look his vicious other half in the eye.

"... Angel."

"Ding ding ding!" Anarchy exclaimed excitedly, throwing his hands up and rocking back as he sat.

Anthony sighed, leaning his head back and reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "How'd we end up like this, Anarchy?"

"It's a long story." Anarchy let his arms drop down, and he used them to lean back on. "And it don't really got a happy ending."

"... Well." Anthony glanced around the dark basement, his eyes narrowing hatefully at the staircase to his left. "If the past is any indicator, we'll be down here awhile."

"Hm." Anarchy's lips curled up in the same unsettling way that had become his trademark.

"Then lets take it from the top."

Chapter 25: The Bastard Son

Part 2

"What could possibly make you do this?!"

---

"So, I wasn't really there until, what, fifteen, sixteen years in?" Anarchy's eyes darted to the side thoughtfully, before jumping back to Anthony. "Fill me in. How'd our little tragedy start?"

"Well, I was born." Anthony spoke simply, then going silent and just nodding.

"... Aaaand?" Anarchy leaned in and arched a brow at Anthony, who shrugged.

"And I was born looking wrong." Anthony explained without hesitation. "So everyone looked at me and treated me like I was wrong, just for existing."

"That's rough." Anarchy leaned back on his hands, not much care behind his words.

"It was, yeah." Anthony nodded in agreement, eyes drifting to the side. "It felt, really terrible. I didn't understand what I had done wrong, so I didn't have a way to apologize for how... Disgusting I was to them."

"Weren't you angry that everyone was misjudging you?" Anarchy tilted his head to the side, confusion clear on his expression.

"Not at all, no." Anthony looked back to his other half, shaking his head. "I just... Felt bad for looking the way I do."

"After all, it... Must have been pretty upsetting," Anthony's eyes narrowed painfully at the floor, his head lowering. "If it made the other kids angry enough do the things that they did to me..."

"And what did they do to you?"

"Beat me, humiliated me, said terrible things to me." Anthony's fingers gently traced along a dull and rigid scar across the back of his right hand as he spoke. A drop of water in the ocean of marks that coated his cursed skin, likely caused by some childish weapon. A sharp rock or a dull pocket knife. "Those things aren't what hurt, though. Aren't what stuck."

"I had quite the pain tolerance with all the beatings I received, and there was nothing that could be said to me that was worse than what I'd already thought about myself." Anthony shrugged passively, a hopeless frown on his face.

"If that didn't bother you, then what did?" Anarchy rested his chin in his palm lazily, tilting his head some as he spoke.

"..."

Reality shifted in the darkness at Anthony's right side, the air shimmering and shifting. That half of the basement was almost like a screen, displaying a rainy side walk.

A very young Anthony made his way through the rain, which bounced off of his umbrella. He usually carried one on sunny days to help protect his sensitive skin from the light's burning rays, but today it payed off differently, now keeping him dry from the sudden precipitation.

The boy's brow furrowed however when the distinct sound of sobbing fell over the pitter patter of rain on his parasol, however. He reached the entrance of an alleyway between two tall concrete buildings and tilted his body to peak inside.

There, seated against the wet grey wall, was a girl about his age. Her knees were hugged to her chest, and her soaking wet, long black hair was a mess, falling over her as she sobbed. She held her arms over her head, curled up in a pathetic and terrified ball.

She lifted her head some, however, when the rain stopped striking her. With confusion she looked up, and her ice blue eyes met with Anthony's ruby red ones.

"Are you okay?" Anthony asked with care, tilting his head to the side. He held his umbrella over her head, condemning himself to the rain for the sake of keeping another dry.

But, as kind and caring Anthony's tone and smile was, when this girl laid eyes on him, she was... Terrified. Her blue orbs widened, pupils shrinking. Her face went pale, and more tears overflowed before she screamed.

"G-get away from me! FREAK!"

Anthony's eyes went wide as she slammed both palms into him, shoving him over and sending him falling back into a puddle, his parasol smacking to the ground as the girl jumped to her feet, sprinting away and disappearing into the alleyways.

"..." Anthony just sat there, now wet and cold, the rain washing over him and matting his white hair to his forehead. One of his little hands felt across the pavement, grasping through filthy water until it found the handle of his umbrella.

And as he lifted the parasol over his head, and a shaky, sad smile forced its way up his face, shadows fell over his eyes. He reached up with his free hand, grasping desperately at the chest of his wet shirt in some attempt to soothe his aching heart.

And, though his parasol guarded him from the rain, another stream of water slipped down his cheek.

"... I could handle the insults. The harsh words, the grinning faces of the other kids." Anthony stared into the memory until it faded, hair falling over his eyes and blocking them from view. "But, when all the laughing went quiet, when the fists stopped coming, when they ran out of insults..."

"That... Look." Anthony's hands slowly clenched into fists over the knees of his jeans. "No matter how hard I tried, how much I just wanted to help, just wanted to be their friend... There was nothing I could do to take the fear out of their eyes."

"... They wouldn't even give me a chance..."

"Hm." Anarchy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes some. "And how'd you handle that?"

"After awhile?" Anthony looked back to Anarchy, and answered without hesitation.

"I wanted to die."

Anarchy's eyebrows raised with surprise at that. It was jarring, hearing something like that from Anthony of all people. After all, it had been Anthony's refusal to die that had given Anarchy life.

"It's probably unusual, a nine year old wishing for death." Anthony lowered his head, looking to the hands he held together in his lap. "But, I had been taught that me living was an offense. Just by existing, I was hurting people."

"Eventually I... Started to find my desire to live selfish." Anthony lifted his head, eyes meeting Anarchy's once more. "Nothing I did could make up for how disgusting I was. No amount of kindness would change the fact that... Looking the way I did made me a bad person."

"That's a pretty F'd up way for a kid to think." Anarchy commented casually, continuing to listen to Anthony's every word.

"Yeah well." Anthony shrugged, numb eyes glossing to the side. "Get treated like an abomination long enough, you start to believe it."

"And, remind me," Anarchy's lips curled upwards in that depraved smile of his. "How long until we started acting like that abomination?"

"Be patient, Anarchy." Anthony's lips curled up almost playfully, despite just how tired his eyes looked. "We've still got a few more years until I started hearing you buzz in my ear."

"Mm." Anarchy frowned, leaning back on his hands. "So, you wanted to die. Did'ja give it a shot or what?"

"Well, one day, in the middle of being curled up in a ball while some kids kicked me, I decided that yes, I was going to kill myself." Anthony nodded calmly despite the wretched story he told.

The air to their right shifted once more, and a different alley was displayed. There, in a pathetic ball, little Anthony laid, letting out cries of pain and pleas that his aggressors stop kicking him.

"I didn't really care if they stopped or not." Anthony spoke without emotion as he watched the beating. "But it always made my attackers happy when I begged for mercy, and I bleed to please."

"Honestly, I hardly felt their kicks at all. I was busy thinking about how I should end my life." Anthony blinked those numb eyes, his childhood self's screams echoing in his ears while he spoke. "I thought about jumping from a high place or shooting myself in the head with a gun, but ultimately I decided I would just ask mom to do it."

"I was certain she hated me, so I thought asking her to kill me might be a way for me to make her happy." Anthony smiled sorrowfully over to Anarchy, holding his hands together in his lap. "And if dying would make mother happy, then surely it would be worth it."

"... But you never got the chance to ask." Anarchy was frowning now, a certain measure of some dark amalgam of emotions in his eyes at the mention of his mother.

"Nope." Anthony looked back to the screen, and his sad smile grew. "Because that's the day I made a friend."

"Go on, get!"

Little Anthony didn't dare lift his head, even as he heard the three boys cry out with pain. After hearing them scurry away, he waited a few more moments. He knew someone was still there, but when no harsh words or attacks came, the albino boy found the courage to lift his head and look at whomever loomed over him.

"Are you okay?"

Little Anthony's ruby eyes went wide as he looked into Angel's emerald orbs. Something so simple was absolutely stunning to him. An outstretched hand, a KIND gleam in those eyes. He was frozen, in awe. Basic human kindness was a beauty he had never perceived before. It made the breath catch in his throat, his heart trip over itself.

"... No one had ever looked at me that way." Anthony explained as they watched that memory, a deep longing clear in his eyes. "He wasn't afraid of me, he... He wanted to know if I was okay."

"He... Treated me like a person."

"Um... Hello? Anybody in there?" Angel smiled with some amusement as Anthony jolted from his thoughts, grinning sheepishly. He had learned how to smile, how to look convincing and welcoming. But he could not remember a time until now when his happy expression had felt genuine.

"O-oh! Uhm, s-sorry, yeah, I-I'm alright." Anthony assured, timidly taking Angel's hand. To his surprise, this physical contact was not an attack in disguise. Angel helped him to his feet, and then let go of him. There was no assault, no cruel intentions. Just someone being nice to him.

"The next few years were the best of my life." Anthony's eyes narrowed painfully as he watched the memory fade back to the darkness he and Anarchy were trapped inside of. "Angel was everything to me. He was my reason to live, to push through every beating and all of my torment. He was the one person who appreciated my kindness, who was never afraid of me..."

"... Everything I did, all the terrible bullshit I pushed through..." Anthony lowered his head, reaching up and gripping the chest of his shirt with a trembling hand. "It was all for him."

"When I was hurt, I pushed through it to visit him." Anthony shook his head slowly. "No cut bled enough, no bruise ached enough to make seeing him not worth it."

"When mother broke my arm, and I spent two weeks laid up, I used every second I was away thinking of how to make it up to Angel." Anthony's lips curled in a bitter sweet smile. "I learned how to draw with my non-dominant hand, and I tried my hardest to draw him something that would make him happy."

"..." Anarchy's eyes narrowed almost painfully. He too felt Anthony's ache in their shared soul, though he tried his best to conceal it. "... What'd you draw?"

The right side of the room was changing once more, and both Anthony and Anarchy watched the memory that formed in the darkness.

"Angel!"

"H-huh?!" Angel jumped, looking over to the boy that sat on the swing next to him, who was laughing lightly at him.

"Sorry Angel, didn't mean to scare you." Anthony laughed, scratching the back of his head as his friend sighed, looking to be calming down. "You just didn't answer my question, is all."

"Oh! Heh, sorry Anthony, I kinda zoned out." Angel's emerald eyes glanced to the side as he grinned sheepishly, digging his feet into the wood chips below him to slow his swing to a stop. "Uh... What'ja ask again?"

"What super power would you wanna have?" Anthony tilted his head to the side with curiosity.

"Pff, that's an easy one." Angel smirked, looking up at the overcast sky. "Flight, hands down."

"Huh? Why flight?" Anthony arched one white eyebrow.

"So I can fly anywhere in the whole world, duh." Angel said like it was obvious, smirking over at Anthony. "If I could fly, I could get outta this crummy city."

"Anywhere in the whole world, huh..?" Anthony spoke quietly and thoughtfully, looking down at his feet.

"I might even take you with me, if ya ask nice." Angel winked an eye shut, grinning playfully.

"... Angel always dreamed of having wings. He wanted to fly away." Anthony's eyes narrowed painfully as he watched the memory. "At first I was afraid he wanted to fly away from me. But... Then he said he would take me with him."

"I can't leave this place, Angel." Anthony waved a hand dismissively, speaking like the idea was silly. "Who'd take care of my mom?"

"That stuff don't matter when you're flyin', Anny." Angel grinned up at the cloudy sky. "It's all yours up there."

"Haha! Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this." Anthony smiled gently. "Would you at least come visit me?"

"Well duh." Angel looked over to Anthony, closing his eyes and smiling wide.

"What kinda best friend would I be if I didn't?"

"..." Hair fell over Anthony's eyes, shadowing them as his lips fell in a frown. Anarchy wore a similar expression.

"I... I drew him with angel wings, soaring through the sky." Anthony finally spoke, lowering his head to avoid looking at the dark world around him. "And he was... He was carrying me. He had taken me with him."

"I spent so much time looking over the drawing. Night and day, a thousand and one sketches, all with the wrong hand." Eyes obscured by his ivory hair, Anthony's lips dared curve up, just a little. "And, when it came time to give it to Angel, I was sure he was going to hate it. He was going to tell me it was dumb or looked bad, he was going to point out every little thing I'd nit picked on the way there."

"... But, Angel, he..." Anthony swallowed the lump forming in his throat, struggling to get his words out. "He loved it. When he looked at it, his face absolutely lit up. It was... The happiest I've ever seen him."

Anarchy didn't speak, he just watched Anthony with his empty eyes. He listened to every word, even if he already knew how this story ended.

When another memory manifested, Anarchy looked towards it, but Anthony did not lift his head.

"Here, just a sec!" Excitedly, little Angel handed his albino best friend his drawing back. While Anthony was dazed and confused - unable to speak through the relief and the joy he was feeling - Angel threw open a closet door, disappearing inside of it.

"Uhm... Angel..?" Anthony skeptically walked up to the closet, before jumping as Angel raced back out of the storage, grinning excitedly and holding a photo frame in his hands.

"Here, look!" Angel took the picture hastily from Anthony, popping it right in the photo frame before holding it up to show his friend, one big ol' grin gracing his childish features.

Little Anthony was stunned. His beautiful red eyes were wide, and as his jaw dropped they began to fill with tears. This surprised Angel, made him lower the frame and take a worried step towards his friend.

"Anny? I'm sorry, I-I just thought-"

Angel's eyebrows rose with shock when Anthony cut him off, darting forward and hugging him tight with his one good arm. This made a smile appear on Angel's face, and he slowly returned Anthony's hug, even as his friend cried into his shoulder.

"Thank you..." Anthony managed to choke out between his sobs.

"Thank you so much..."

"..." Anthony took a deep breath as the memory faded, reaching up to wipe a single tear from his cheek. After doing so, he lifted his head to look Anarchy in the eye.

"That, right there?" Anthony pointed to the darkness where the memory had just been, a weak smile on his lips. "Was the happiest moment in my entire worthless life."

"... We wanted to fly away, too." The Anarchist concluded emotionlessly, those bitter eyes matching his bitter frown.

"... Yeah..." Anthony answered quietly and after a moment of hesitation, nodding his head. "But, we were afraid... Even with as horrible as our life was, we... We couldn't bring ourself to leave."

"So Angel flew away, and left us behind." Anarchy's jaw clenched some at this fact. Simple as it was, it defined the both of them. Planted the seed that grew into their hatred for their Angel.

"Didn't even visit like he'd promised." Anthony frowned with his bitter words, eyes narrowing and glossing to the side.

"Do you think he knew?" Anarchy tilted his head to the side. "How important he was? What our life was like without him?"

"Well, I tried my hardest to keep that part of my life away from him. I was sure he didn't know for awhile." Anthony glanced up to the filthy ceiling thoughtfully. "But, looking back..."

Another memory manifested from the inky black, and the two turned their identical heads to watch their past unravel before their eyes.

"So, you're... You're sure we'll see each other again..?" Anthony asked skeptically from the end of his driveway. His eyes were desperate, longing.

"I'm just moving across the city, Anny." Angel forced a sad smile, a poor attempt at comforting his best friend. "I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"But we didn't." Anarchy thought aloud, unblinking eyes watching the very moment Angel flew away.

"... Here, I've, got something for you." Angel spoke hesitantly, pulling the backpack from his back and unzipping it.

"Huh?" Anthony said with some surprise, before his eyebrows raised at the framed drawing Angel retrieved from his pack. He recognized it of course, he was the one who'd drawn it.

"Here." Angel handed the frame to Anthony, who took it skeptically, furrowing his brows at Angel.

"You... Don't want it?" Anthony asked, a tinge of sorrow in his voice.

"H-huh? No, of course I want it!" Angel quickly dismissed, before the panic disappeared from his expression, replaced by genuine care. "It's, just..."

"I think you need it more than I do."

"..." Anarchy's jaw tightened as this memory faded, his hands clenching against the knees of his jeans.

"Now how would he have known how badly we really needed the image of us flying away if he didn't know what he was leaving us with?" Anthony narrowed his eyes over at Anarchy. "If he didn't know just how badly we really needed him?"

"Is that why we hate him? Because he knew he was leaving us to die, and he still flew away?" Anarchy tilted his head to the side with his question, those eyes glowing their piercing red into the black.

"You and me both know it isn't the only reason." Anthony's cold answer made Anarchy's lips curl into that less than comforting smile of his.

"So, what happened after he left?" The Anarchist cocked a brow. "Did'ja go back to wanting to die?"

"No, not this time." Anthony shook his head with his answer. "At first, it was because I was desperately clinging to the hope that I would see Angel again."

"I mean, I understood it would be difficult. We were kids, and the city was big and dangerous. We didn't have phones or too good of an internet back then, but..." Anthony looked to the hard, cold floor beneath them. "Surely Angel would find a way, wouldn't he? I would go to the ends of the Earth for him, after all. Surely he felt the same..?"

"But he didn't." Anarchy's expression reflected his fury, his indignation. "And we didn't know where he had moved to, so we couldn't go looking for him."

"... No, he didn't." Anthony's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "Because all of that best friend shit was a lie. He didn't really care about us, not like we cared about him."

"It was spite, wasn't it?" Anarchy smirked gently, a sick kind of joy flickering in his eyes. "We survived on spite."

"... Yeah." Anthony frowned hatefully at the ground, slowly nodding his head. "I stopped viewing myself as the problem once it started to click in my head that Angel had abandoned me."

"It became clear as I was cast deeper into my personal hell that it was the world that was twisted, not me." That same darkness that lurked in Anarchy's eyes swam in his own when he lifted his head to look at his other half. "And that's when you started calling out to me, Anarchy."

"As eager as I am to get to that part of the story," Anarchy frowned as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "I can't help but feel that we haven't addressed a certain child abusing, crowbar swinging bitch of an elephant in the room."

"... Right. Sorry." Anthony looked to the side to avoid Anarchy's gaze. "I guess mom is just the hardest part of the story to tell."

"Of course it is." Anarchy shrugged with his agreement. "She was our mother, we loved her."

Then, he hesitated.

"We... Wanted her to love us, too."

"... But she didn't." Anthony lowered his head, eyes narrowing painfully. "Because we looked like dad. And she hated dad."

"I don't know why she hated him, or how we came to be." Anthony lifted his head, the two halves both wearing the same hopeless expression. "I don't know if we were a drunken mistake or, if dad forced himself on her, or..."

Anthony shook his head, swallowing the disgust he felt towards whatever sick intentions had went into his and - by proxy - Anarchy's conception.

"Who knows." Anarchy finished his thought. "Mom had probably been unhinged her whole life. Maybe she really did love dad, and him hittin' and quittin' her sent her over the edge."

"Well whatever he did to her, it turned her into a psychotic, bitter drunk that couldn't take care of herself." Anthony leaned back on his hands as he spoke. "By the time I was seven years old, I was cooking dinner for her and we were living off welfare."

"A good portion of that welfare went into drugs and drinks." Anarchy crossed his arms, letting his head fall to his shoulder as he frowned. "She'd down a handful'a pills with a mouthful'a booze, then she'd kick the fuckin' shit out of us."

"She was certainly a pissed off drunk..." Anthony muttered, glancing to the side before looking back to Anarchy. "But no matter how many cuts or bruises we had, we'd always clean up whatever broken glass and vomit she left in her wake."

"The crowbar was only for special occasions." Anarchy's eyes drifted down to the twisted steel in his lap, and he gently ran his fingers along its grimy surface while he spoke. "If we screwed something up or said something we shouldn't have."

"She had other things she used to hurt us. A bottle, a fork, a knife..." Anthony partially rolled up one of his sleeves, looking over the several scars on his forearm alone. "But nothing made us scream like the crowbar."

"Yeah, because nothin' made us spit up blood like the crowbar." Anarchy looked up with one hate filled frown, his fingers wrapping tightly around the object of their shared torment. "And that wasn't even the worst part of gettin' beat with it."

After Anarchy's words, images and memories began to flicker all around the basement. A thousand different instances, a thousand different beatings. Images of Anthony at differing ages, cowering and alone in the darkness.

Some curled up near the door at the top of the staircase, like a dog begging to be let inside. To be granted escape from the cold, dark night. Others laid in bloody messes, curled in painful balls and whimpering pathetically.

"... She would drag us down here, grab the crowbar, and beat us within an inch of our life." Anthony's eyes glossed over all the memories, each one still fresh in his mind. "Then she would leave us down here, without food or water."

"For hours. Days. One time we were in the dark for over a week." Anarchy rested his chin in his hand. His lips curled upwards, displaying the joy he derived from his past cruelty. "But she probably ended up regretting that last one, huh?"

"... When we were younger, we tried our best to keep our mother's sorry state from Angel." Anthony ignored Anarchy's twisted foreshadowing. "We knew we'd be separated from her, and then who would take care of her?"

"Even after everything she put us through, we still wanted to protect her." Anarchy smiled bitterly, eyes drifting to the wood and pipes of the ceiling. "What a moron we were."

"But, that began to change as the years passed." Anthony's hands gripped the knees of his jeans tightly, a deep frown settling into his face. "As we grew, mother started to notice we were bigger than her."

"She was really such a little thing, wasn't she?" Anarchy smiled with some sick nostalgia. "All the years of drugs and alcohol made her scrawny, short, frail, sickly..."

"Meanwhile all of our beatings seemed to have made us stronger." Anthony's eyes narrowed as he spoke, watching his powerful hands curl into fists. "Bones came back denser, skin regrew tougher. Not to mention the onset of puberty and all the years of keeping the house standing with nonstop chores."

"Soon enough, we were a foot taller than her with triceps and biceps big enough to snap her pencil neck between." Anarchy bared his fangs, his smile shifting to a twisted grin. "And what was once a unique hatred started to shift into that same fear that everyone else had in their eyes."

"This insecurity made her beat us harder. Break out the crowbar more often." Anthony's frown was a stark contrast to Anarchy's grin. "She couldn't drag us to the basement anymore, but we were a good, obedient child. She would scream at us to follow her down here, and we would silently walk to our beating."

"We stopped screaming with pain sometime in those years. Our tears dried up." Anarchy explained with more of that sour nostalgia. "All that kindness and empathy we once had was becoming an endless well of fury, hatred. Empathy turned to apathy, optimism to nihilism."

"We started to realize that we had the opportunity to be just as nasty to the world as it had been to us." Anthony clasped his hands together, those empty eyes staring down at where they laid in his lap. "There was a voice in Anthony's head. A laughter that sometimes tried to escape his quiet throat."

"We were getting so itchy, weren't we?" Anarchy's grin was from ear to ear, his eyes wide with manic joy while he rocked back and forth excitedly. "All concepts of order, all the rules we'd set ourselves to were seeming more and more frivolous with each passing second."

"Dreams that were once hopeful for kindness, a gift, a reprieve from the dark... Were poisoned." Anthony looked up, narrowing his eyes at Anarchy and tilting his head to the side. "Those happy notions were silly. They were too structured, too controlled."

"We spent our whole life up 'til then thinking of others. Being respectful and kind..!" Anarchy reached up, shaking his head as he grabbed handfuls of his ivory locks. "This disgusting order we had signed ourself away to had betrayed us! Unrewarded and left for dead!"

"Anthony fought Anarchy with all his might." Anthony's eyes were distant, staring a thousand yards through his other half. "'I don't want that!' He cried out to quell his cravings. 'Things will get better, I just have to keep trying!'"

"But! They! DIDN'T!" Anarchy smashed his fists against the concrete, frothing like a rabid Old Yeller. His memories struck his mania, sent him spiraling into excitable fits and outbursts.

"But it wasn't the hateful feelings, the fury that had built up inside. It was not Anarchy's whispers or Anthony's craving for blood that convinced him to give up on order and dedicate himself to chaos." Anthony blinked those eyes, and they refocused, narrowing as the darkness to their right shifted with memories once more.

"It was his father's wisdom."

In the memory, a sixteen year old Anthony made his way down an unmanaged dirt path. He reached the gate of a familiar chain link fence, but to his surprise, he found the latch had already been lifted, and the gate was already ajar.

Anthony lifted his head, looking out from under his umbrella to the playground ahead of him. His crimson eyes only had to scan for a few seconds, before he spotted someone seated in a bench ahead of him, facing out towards the playground with their back to him.

Anthony considered turning and leaving. He returned to the playground as his one safe place, the one place he could be alone and away from the fearful glares of humanity.

But... Something about this stranger caught his eye.

It was a regular day, sunlight peaking through some of the smog and streaking down onto the playground.

So why on Earth did this stranger also hold an umbrella over his head?

Anthony had his to protect his sensitive skin from the light that burned and rejected him. But no one else would suffer from this issue, he alone was shunned by the sun. At least, as far as he'd seen.

This curiosity brought Anthony into the playground, skeptical steps dragging him closer to this stranger, until he finally peaked around the man's parasol, daring to reveal himself just to get a look at his face.

"Hello." The man in the bench lifted one ivory hand, lips curling up in a polite smile.

Anthony's ruby eyes were wide as they met with the ruby eyes of his Father. He was amazed, stunned, and baffled. He'd never seen someone else like him in his entire life, never seen anything like himself. That was a bitter, soul crushing loneliness. It often made him feel like he was the last man on earth.

"... Y-you're... You're like me..." Anthony finally managed to speak, those wide eyes unblinking. The man was older, having at least twenty five years on Anthony. And though his face was shaped with a few wrinkles, and from his chin to his upper lip he wore a well trimmed, white goatee, their was a stunning resemblance in his facial structure to Anthony's.

"And you're like me." He stated, clearly amused by Anthony's shock. There was no fear in his red eyes, no hatred. He welcomed Anthony, and seemed to enjoy his presence. This was foreign to Anthony, something he hadn't experienced in roughly five years.

"T-this... This is amazing!" Anthony exclaimed, stepping closer as his face lit up. "I've never met anybody like me before!"

"Well you knew you weren't the only one with albinism, right?" Father scoffed with some amusement, smiling at Anthony's bewilderment.

"W-well, yeah, of course!" Anthony blushed with embarrassment. "I-I just never thought I would meet one! A-at least, not one as full blooded as me!"

"It is pretty rare, isn't it?" Father scooted to the side, giving Anthony space to sit next to him. "I can't say I've met someone quite like me, either."

"I-I've got so many questions!" Anthony took a seat next to his Father, fidgeting excitedly.

"Ask away." He waved a hand casually, glancing over to Anthony.

"Uhm..." Anthony reached into the swirling vortex of curiosity's in his mind and pulled one free.

"Do you... Need reading glasses?" Anthony glanced awkwardly up to his Father. "Because I think I do, but I don't really have any way of getting a pair right now..?"

Father snerked at that question, looking over to Anthony. "All the things you could ask, and you question my vision?"

"W-well it was an easy question!" Anthony defended, cheeks lighting up with embarrassment. "I-I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable with something too intense..."

"C'mon, gimme something interesting!" Father egged with feigned playfulness. "I'm sure you've got a few good ones."

"... Well..." Anthony hesitated, lowering his head before he spoke. "Are... People afraid of you..?"

"..." Father paused, turning his head to look out at the playground. He rested his arms along the back of the bench. "Terrified."

"... Yeah, me too..." Anthony looked away, frowning with empathy. "Have they... Ever hurt you for looking the way you do..?"

"My entire life, until I was about your age." Father answered without hesitation, not looking to Anthony. His expression had turned cold, unfeeling.

"H-huh?" Anthony lifted his head, looking over to his fellow albino with surprise. "What changed? Why'd they stop?"

"It was easy." Father's lips curled upwards then, wicked grin twisting his expression as he turned his head to face Anthony once more. Murderous joy flickered in those blood red eyes.

"I just started hurting them back."

Anthony recoiled, his ruby orbs going wide with shock. He didn't speak, but he felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he stared into The Killer's eyes. His Father's eyes.

"You feel it, don't you boy?" Father narrowed his cold eyes. "You want to make them hurt, hurt like you do."

"... I-I..." Anthony placed his hands over his chest, avoiding Father's gaze.

"It's okay, you know." Father smiled devilishly. "The rules and the laws of this world, they weren't made for people like you and I. Order doesn't apply to the ones that are seen as animals."

"Just look at yourself, boy!" Father put one proud hand on Anthony's shoulder. "So young, and you're already becoming a mountain of a man!"

"Who could really hurt you anymore?" Father leaned in close, red murder sparking in his eyes as he spoke. "Who could stop you if you wanted to slaughter them?"

Anthony couldn't speak. He wanted to object, but how could he? Everything The Killer said, every word from his Father's mouth rang true in his head. He knew how easy it would be, he thought about it every day. It kept him up late, woke him up early.

"What is your name?" Father tilted his head to the side with his simple question.

"... Anthony." Anthony hesitated for a moment, but managed to lift his head and look Father in the eye, steeling himself.

Father stood then. His gaze drifted out to the playground around them, before he turned his head, looking to his kin from above. "Order isn't for people like us, Anarchy. Chaos is the only escape from your torment."

"Anarchy..?" Anthony's brows furrowed with confusion up at Father, remaining seated. "I, said my name is Anthony..."

"But it doesn't have to be." The Killer smiled down at his son, before he turned and began walking away, towards the gate of Heaven.

"..." Anthony lowered his head, sitting in quiet contemplation as his Father's words echoed in his head. But, just before he was out of ear shot...

"Wait."

The Killer paused, looking over his shoulder to Anthony, who now stood, a DETERMINED glare on his face. "I've got one more question."

Father smiled at that. his smiles were usually a means to an end, fake and plastic. Not this time. There was pride, seeing his own venom growing and infecting his only son.

"You... You're the reason mom hates me, aren't you?" Anthony's eyes narrowed in a rare and threatening display, his jaw clenching. "You're my dad."

The Killer just smiled at Anthony, closing the playground gate between the two. He turned his back on his son, it was easy. He'd done it before. Like his smiles, like his words, it was all a means to an end. But, before he walked away, he found himself with one last piece of advice. A simple bit of wisdom for one of the four running to be his successor.

An unfair advantage, perhaps. But what could The Killer say? Anthony was a difficult boy. He needed a little more elbow grease put into him than the other seeds he had planted.

"Kill Her."

Things were silent between Anthony and Anarchy as the memory faded, and in sync they looked back to one another. Their Father's words echoed like a bell struck in their head, even now. Reminded them of the foundation on which their body count laid.

"When we returned home, we didn't hesitate to tell mother that we'd met our father." Anthony spoke emotionlessly, unblinking eyes not leaving Anarchy's. ""Not sure why. Maybe we wanted to provoke her."

"She beat us worse than ever before. Left us down here until we lost track of the days." Anarchy returned Anthony's lifeless stare, the two explaining a story that each of them knew like the back of their hand to one another. "We never cried out, never begged her to stop or to release us from the darkness."

In unison the two of them stood, stepping away from the center of the basement and looking to the floor where they had been sitting. There, in their place, laid a sixteen year old Anthony. Flat on his back, mouth hanging open. His eyes were devoid of any of that old joy, the light that had once illuminated them extinguished.

"Our body ached every second we clung to our pitiful existence. It hurt to move, and we felt no desire to do so." Anthony watched his past self lay dying, the both of them expressionless. "So we laid there, on the ice cold concrete, wondering if Death would come to take us away from this place."

"But it didn't. Something deep inside of us refused to give out." Anarchy crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes down at the filthy, beaten boy before him. "Even when our blood dried on our flesh. Even when we couldn't hold it any longer, and had no option but to soil ourselves. Even as we starved and dehydrated. We should have died days ago, but our body would not give in. Our will to live would not break."

"The air stung our throat, poisoned by our disgusting form." Anthony narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he watched his dying self's lips start to curl upwards. "And yet, with our stomach digesting our body, our bones aching from our mother's twisted love, our dry mouth inhaling the horrible odor of our own piss and shit just so we could keep clinging to life... We could only focus on one thing. A single phrase repeated in our head. Over. And over. And over again."

In unison, Anarchy and Anthony spoke. Recalled the motivation behind their DETERMINATION. In this desire, they were identical. In their shared skull, they both heard these words whisper louder than any scream.

"I don't want to die."

The dying Anthony's chest twitched, his lips splitting and sending fresh red streams down his face as they crept upwards at a gradual pace.

"... Ha... Haha... Hahaha..."

A dried, horse and gravely laugh dinged off the walls, the pipes, the wood. It bounced around the depths, surrounded Anthony, screamed in his ears and fueled his madness. He kicked his aching legs, clawed at the concrete until his finger tips split and bled. His mad laughter grew and grew, sending vicious, hysterical strength through his body. He threw his head from side to side, his bloodshot eyes wasting what water his body had left and sending tears streaming down his face. His cheeks ached, his throat burned, his lips bled. But he couldn't stop smiling, couldn't quiet his laughter.

The worms, the twisting shadows opened their fanged mouths. They giggled right along with Anthony, reveled with him in his misery. What insane person wouldn't laugh, anyway? The kid's destruction was an absolute knee slapper. At least he was good for a laugh.

It was all just so goddamn funny. Anthony was furious with himself for not getting the joke sooner. But the punchline had landed, even if he hadn't understood the set up. And it made him cackle and wheeze. Brought him joy and fear and anger and sadness the likes of which he had never experienced.

"... This was terrifying." Anthony spoke, the laughter that was nearly the two halves final testimony a mere buzzing in their ears. "Not just the disturbing, delusional visions, or being on the verge of death in the darkness we were so afraid of, but..."

"Knowing that our grip on reality was slipping." Anarchy finished for him. He reached up as he spoke, placing a single hand over his chest. His free hand dangled at his side, white knuckled fingers wrapped around his crowbar. "Not being sure what's real and what's some disgusting fantasy."

"Feeling my mind cracking, my personality splitting..." Anthony's eyes were wide, and he reached up, placing a hand over his face. His fingers split, letting his haunted eyes peak through. "To this day I've never felt anything like it, this moment. When we really disconnected from reality."

"There were no words to prepare us for this." Anarchy narrowed his eyes with spite. His hand grabbed at his shirt, balling the fabric in his fist. "No explanation for going insane, no accurate definition of psychotic."

"I guess that makes sense." Anthony's grip on his face tightened, like he thought it might be ripped from him. "It's a kind of horror no sane man or woman could ever grasp."

"... But the fear was nothing compared to the joy."

"..." Anthony was silent with hesitation, and his body relaxed, hand dropping from his face. Hair shadowing his eyes, he finally spoke. "... Yeah. I cried for awhile, but when I finally got the joke?"

"Aha..! Ahaha! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"It was hilarious."

"And then we were free." Anarchy's faced contorted with his wicked grin, that crowbar shaking in his grasp. "And our life wasn't a tragedy anymore. It was a comedy."

"This realization, this new discovery that madness gave us, it pushed us to survive." As Anthony spoke, his past self's wide and bloodshot eyes darted to the crowbar that laid in the one stream of light in the vantablack. "To ascend and break open the gates of Hell."

The boy forced his aching body to move, his cackling sending tremors throughout his twisted form as he used his bloodied fingers to rip his filthy clothes from himself. He was a stumbling, writhing mess, giggling while he wrestled out of his grime and pushed himself onto his bare feet.

Soon enough, there he stood. Naked and in the dark. A wild animal. A frothing dog, a cackling hyena. A filthy bug, broken free of its chrysalis. But there were no wings, he was not a butterfly or even a moth. He had pincers for clawing out of the dirt hole his egg had been laid in, and a poison dipped stinger for skewering his prey. He was a scorpion.

He stumbled to that crowbar, and without hesitation he snatched it from the floor. Mother had left it there for him, he was certain. It was all she would ever give him. It was all he was ever meant to own. His inheritance, his claws and his stinger.

Next, he shambled his corpse to the one visible pipe on the ceiling. It had loomed over him, mocking him with the salvation it held out of his grasp. But his pincers could reach now. His tormentor was no longer safe from his wrath. Standing under the pipe, he swung upwards, smashing it open and sending water pouring down over him.

His blood, his sweat, his waste. All cleaned from his scarred body. All the trash, all the filth washed away in the cold waterfall of his psychosis. All the agony his former life had brought him, down the drain. He drank, gulped down the water to wash down all of the blood and venom on his tongue. He took his torment deep inside of himself, buried it forever with the madness he drank from, the madness with which he cured his weakness.

The coin was flipping now, and the earth would shatter under it when it collided back to the ground.

And when the indistinguishable sound of a pipe breaking and water flooding your homestead reached his mother's ears, her fury returned to her.

Anarchy sat on his knees, his lower half shrouded in the darkness. Only his chest and head was visible, soaking wet hair falling in snow white streams over his face as he held his head low. He listened to every step, an honest smile concealed as the floorboards creaked, closer and closer to the door atop the staircase.

"You brat! What the hell did you do?!" Mother snapped, hobbling her tired and broken down body towards the motionless beast, submerged halfway in darkness.

She had frizzy, brown hair. Her skin was pale, her cheeks sucked tight to her face. She looked like a skeleton with skin, her blue eyes sunken in and surrounded by dark bags. She was short, only a few inches over five feet tall. She looked worse than Anarchy had ever seen her, likely as a result of a bender while Anthony wasn't there to take care of her. A self destructive fool, but it would not be her own cowardly and slow suicide that would rip her life from her. That task fell to the scorpion.

"Did you break that pipe, you worthless little shit?!" Mother loomed over Anarchy, her hands balled into fists. "Didn't you learn your lesson?!"

"I'm gonna-! Gonna..." She hesitated, eyes scanning the lighter side of the basement. "Hey, where's my-?"

Anarchy did not lift his head, even as his left hand emerged from the darkness. He presented that crowbar to his Mother clear as day, without hesitation.

Fear struck the Mother when she saw her equalizer in the hands of her son, her eyes going wide and her pupils shrinking. A stinger rose from the blackness in the form of that crowbar, a poisonous spike that curled and loomed over her, ready to puncture her cruel heart and let her life splatter across the chilled concrete in a sickly red.

"G-give me that!" She snatched out towards the chunk of metal, but her heart jumped in her chest when Anarchy's pale fist wrapped tight around her wrist, stopping it in place. She was trapped now, in the vice grip of one pincer. Prey at the scorpion's mercy.

"... Mother..."

Her eyes narrowed, teeth chattering before she ground them together. She watched as her child lifted his head, their eyes meeting in the deepest depths of their shared torment. But those orbs were different now. Wide and soulless, analytical of his prey's every movement. No remorse and no joy. His eyes were that of an arachnid, showing no desires beyond that to survive. To kill and consume, no matter how cruel the trap or how desperate the prey.

"I've been a rotten son, haven't I..?" Anarchy tilted his head to the side, frowning quite sadly as that crowbar dropped with his hand back into the darkness. The curved tail disappeared into the black, where The Mother could no longer see it. As if she could possibly forget doom was lurking just out of sight.

The Mother growled, tugging on her hand desperately. Cold sweat beaded down her forehead, and she gulped when Anarchy's grip did not budge. A squirming rat without a lick of dignity, ready to lie and show her belly just to keep out of the scorpion's hungry maw.

"N-no, Anthony." She lied quickly, eyes trembling with fear. Iced blood pumped quickly through her veins, courtesy of her pounding heart. "You've... You've always been a very good boy..!"

This made Anarchy smile. A warm, genuine smile. He looked so happy to hear that. He brought his mother's hand close, and he gently rubbed his cheek against her palm. There was a sweetness there, a show of love and affection he'd spent his life chasing. He closed his eyes, and took one deep, calming breath. For just a moment, there was no scorpion. There was no rat. There was a mother and her loving son.

The Mother's expression softened with relief, not daring try to struggle away now. She even opened her hand, gently caressed her son's cheek, though it disgusted her. But, if it would save her pathetic life, allow her to scurry away like the cowardly rodent she was and continue to wallow until her substance abuse put her out of her misery, she would do anything. She would give the terrifying arachnid the love it craved, even if she was revolted by it.

"... Mother." Anarchy paused, one beautiful ruby eye opening to stare up innocently at the woman who was supposed to care for and nurture him. He had one question, all he'd ever wanted to know and all he'd ever needed. "Do you love me..?"

"..." Her teeth grit, and she swallowed the fearful lump in her dry throat. She wanted to spit in his freaky little face, tell him how much she'd come to loath him in the passing years. How angry his loving smiles made her, how she hated his kindness for all the guilt it poisoned her with.

... But then that anger faded. A simple realization that made a regret unlike any other wash over The Mother. It made tears build in her haggard eyes, overflowing down her crows feet. For just a moment she was aware of how pathetic she was. She knew she was a rat, and she knew her son had the potential to be so much more. This thought always lurked in the back of her head, and usually it filled her with spite, envy, hatred. She was usually indignant, furious to be outshined by the bastard son that monster had left her with.

But, in this moment, she had been reminded. How she'd felt so many years ago, before all of her self loathing made her forget how to love. She knew now, why she'd kept her baby. He was not his father's son, he was her's. And that made him special to her. The most special thing to ever emerge from her. She was worthless, after all. But this boy didn't have to be. Maybe she still had a chance, maybe Anthony could be the one worthwhile thing she could contribute to this world.

The answer was clear. The fog of her madness had cleared with the gusts of emotions long forgotten.

"... Yes, Anthony. Of course I love you." Tears cupping her sickly cheeks, The Mother smiled sadly down at her one and only son. "You're all I have, and... You've always been so wonderful to me..."

"... I know I didn't deserve it." Her eyes glossed to the side, her head lowering shamefully. "I know I'm terrible, I know I've done things to you that no human being should ever have to experience, I know I'm a monster. And... I'm sorry, Anthony... You never deserved any of this..."

Anthony stared up at her with raised eyebrows and unblinking eyes. He looked stunned. That was reasonable, he honestly thought he'd never hear those words from his Mother. See such... Genuine emotion in her usually lifeless eyes. This was a beautiful moment, something defining in such a putrid existence.

"Ha... Haha..."

Or, it would have been.

The Mother's brows furrowed, watching her son lower his head as his body began to tremble with giggles. "Anthony..?"

"I-I'm sorry!" Anthony grinned in his amusement, clenching his eyes shut while he snickered. "It's just, so funny!"

"Ehehe... What's so funny..?" The Mother slowly tilted her head to the side, nervous sweat breaking out on her forehead as she made a piss poor attempt at mimicking her sons joy with one nervous laugh.

"I wasted, so many years wishing you would love me back!" Anthony had trouble speaking through his grin and the tremors of his joy, his body leaning forward and his soaking wet hair falling around his lowered face. "B-but, now that you do..!"

In one swift motion, Anarchy whipped his head back up, his mane of white hair flinging back and out of his face, giving his Mother clear view of his wicked expression. His bloodshot eyes, his ear to ear grin.

He really did look so much like his Father.

"Now it's too late!"

His Mother's eyes widened at those words, horrified pupils shrinking as Anarchy opened his mouthful of sharp teeth wide, the scorpion opening those chelicerae and chomping down over her index, middle, and ring fingers. He ripped them clean from her hand and crunched their bones in his mouth, not at all minding the streams of red spraying through the air or his mother's scream.

Her horrified screech was short lived, however, when Anarchy's crowbar swung up from the darkness she'd thrown him into, smashing into her jaw and shattering it, along with several yellow stained teeth. A vicious jab from the tail, mutilating the rat's face in an instant and quieting it's pathetic little squeaks for mercy or help before they could begin.

The Mother dropped onto her back, cowardly tears flooding down her face and mixing with the blood that overflowed down her chin. She desperately crawled backwards as Anarchy stood to his full height, stepping from the shadows and looming over her as he finished chewing, swallowing the bone his powerful jaws had crushed to mush.

"And isn't that just hilarious?!" Said the scorpion to the rat, reveling in the twisted irony that was his relationship with his prey. The only thing the rat ever had, the little white and red egg she had hatched with her emotion. Oh, the beautiful things it could have been, if only she hadn't nurtured it on her hatred and her fear.

"You're finally ready to love me, only after you taught me to hate you!"

The Mother gargled on her own blood, coughing and sputtering while she desperately crawled away. The scorpion was fast, however, Anarchy quickly grabbing her ankle with one pincer of a pale hand and dragging her, squeaking and writhing, back into the range of his stinger.

"Come on, isn't that funny to you?!" Those cold arachnid eyes reflected none of the joy in Anarchy's grin, even as he yanked back his crowbar for another decisive strike. "Laugh, damn it, laugh!"

Her leg caved easily, knee snapping unnaturally to the side, bending around the tail that shattered it. And while the rodent's desperate screeches resounded, Anarchy's starving jaws parted once more, ripping into the flesh of her calf. He tore a mouthful of meat from his prey, viciously chewing it and gulping it down to soothe the desperate cries of his long empty stomach.

The rat screeched and flailed, easily restrained by the shattered leg the scorpion held in its pincer. That too was ironic, that one of the limbs on which she would have used to escape she was now trapped by.

"Louder, louder!" Anarchy cackled, mercilessly stomping his powerful foot down on his Mother's frail rib cage, sending crimson spewing up her throat and more blood spilling out of her decimated mouth. "Cackle! Sob! Let me share the LOVE you taught me!"

Anarchy ripped another chunk of flesh from his Mother's broken leg with his fangs, snapping his jaws mercilessly and swallowing another piece of the rat. Then, he threw the shattered leg aside, and planted one devastating kick in his Mother's side, flipping her into her stomach and sending another shock wave rippling through her dying body and forcing another cough to send red splattering across the floor.

The Mother reached out towards the light of the staircase desperately, but Anarchy's crowbar fell from the sky like divine retribution, snapping her bony arm like the twig it was and sending another garbled scream croaking from her blood soaked throat.

"Don't try to run away!" Anarchy dropped one knee onto his Mother's back, slamming her spine with all of his weight and making her arch her neck and shoulders up, giving the scorpion a perfect opportunity to grab a fistful of her hair, holding up her blood soaked face towards the light. He was proving a point now. That the darkness hadn't killed him, and of his tormentor he was making an example. "C'mon, the basement is a fine place for a rat to die!"

"Just! Feel! The! Nice! Soft! Concrete!" With each sadistic word Anarchy bashed her face into the unforgiving floor. shattered her nose. Her eye sockets. Her front teeth.

Anarchy continued to strike the ground with his Mother's face. His laughter eventually stopped, replaced by primal screams. In this moment, all of his anger and all of his wrath exploding through his veins. And such pure, raw emotion gave him clarity. Cleared all of the confusion, the static indecision that had clouded his brain for what felt like an eternity disappeared with each abusive strike, each cruel use of his power over another.

He was not the hero.

Anarchy yanked his Mother's head up from the blood soaked floor, displaying her mutilated face to the light of the staircase.

He did not exist in the same world as the rest of man.

Howling his rage, Anarchy threw up his free hand, pointing the crowbar that he wielded straight downward.

Order was not for him. There were no rules, no laws, no commandments that protected him. In the eyes of humanity, he was a beast. He was not a human being.

Anarchy stabbed down with all of the might in his scarred body, the wicked light of murder burning in his eyes for the very first time. With his venomous and powerful tail, he stung to kill the rat.

He was the scorpion.

The top of The Mother's skull caved under the curved end of Anarchy' inheritance, the cruel steel crashing through her brain and killing her instantly. Anarchy didn't rest, however. With one furious roar he shifted his grip on his crowbar, yanking the top of it back towards himself and sending the half of it that was in his mother's head bursting out from her forehead, sending bits of skull and grey matter flinging through the air. Crimson splattering up the left side of Anarchy's face with this motion, and it became apparent that he wasn't grinning anymore.

And he was starving.

Chest heaving with his rabid breaths, Anarchy let his stinger recede, lay on the floor at his side. He leaned over the corpse of the rat, and his pincers and chelicerae tore what flesh it had from it's bones, feeding into his voracious jaws until he was soaked in red and his stomach was full.

"... And then we were ready." The Anarchist finally spoke again, watching his past self stand from what remained of his dear mother.

"..." With narrowed eyes Anthony watched his past unfurl, seeing the scorpion walk through the blood and viscera of his victim to the bottom of the stairs. "... And then we escaped Hell."

The scorpion, dripping with blood and sweat, wrapped one red stained hand around the railing. The stairs creaked, begged him to stop as he ascended. But they were weak, and he was strong. They could not stand against him.

He reached the doorway, and without hesitation he jammed his crowbar between the door and its frame, snapping apart the cheap wood and sending the gates flinging open with his will.

Anthony and Anarchy watched that naked, beaten animal disappear, before the memory faded, and the basement door was closed once more.

"But now we're trapped again." Anarchy's eyes drifted down to his crowbar, narrowing with thought.

"... Yeah." Anthony took a few steps towards the stairs, looking up to the light that streamed down, not daring touch his flesh.

"... After we killed mom, we took a shower and got dressed." Anarchy continued to retell while he walked back to the center of the basement, right where pitch black met the dim light, and took a seat once again.

"We cleaned ourself up, disinfected our cuts and drank water until our stomach hurt." Anthony spoke while he too made his way back to the center, stepping past where his shield lay on the ground and taking a seat across from Anarchy. "Then we slept for about eighteen hours on an actual bed. All above our mother's rotting corpse."

"When we woke up, we left this house and we never came back." Anarchy stared unblinking, his lips curving up some. "For weeks, we slept in alleys. Random naps wherever we found a quiet hole to hide in between our murders."

"We killed a lot of people, and were subsisting mostly on human flesh." Anthony frowned, but Anarchy looked quite amused. "The city was suddenly on edge. People were looking over their shoulder during the day and staying in at night."

"There were rumors of a ghoul lurking in the shadows. One with ghostly white skin and blood red eyes." Anarchy's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his grin from ear to ear. "Suddenly, everyone who had once hurt us was wetting their bed at the thought of being one of the mangled corpses they were finding in every dark corner'a the city!"

"We were something supernatural. The way we hunted and killed, they dubbed us inhuman. Thought we had to have been some monster. Thought no human could do what we do." Anthony stared into Anarchy's psychotic smile with a rather bland expression. "But if anyone knows just how evil a human can be, it's us."

"This was the golden age of our madness." Anarchy leaned back on his hands, smiling quite proudly. "There was no method, there was no discrimination. Young, old. Rich, poor. Black, white. We killed whoever we damn well pleased. Hunted them like an animal. We could be anywhere at any time. There was no where to track us back to, because we had no home. We had nowhere to return to."

"We wondered how on Earth the police hadn't found us yet. We'd killed rich people, so surely they were looking for us." Anthony crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "We didn't find out until later that it was because we had a purposely sloppier copycat killer who was drawing the attention away from us."

"Another red eyed, white shadow." Anarchy narrowed his eyes, his grin subsiding to a smirk. "Seemed Father was looking out for us. There really was a first time for everything!"

"There was one person who could see the difference, however." Anthony tilted his head, his lips drooping in a slight frown. "A certain someone who was assembling a team. Getting ready to make a power play."

The blackness to their side shifted once more, displaying a gas station in the night. It was mostly empty, apart from one figure who wore an oversized black sweatshirt with the hood up. He kept his head low as he pulled a gallon jug of water from the shelf, hiding his face in shadow.

He wandered to the cashier, setting the jug on the counter while he rummaged through his pocket. By the time the jug was rung up, he'd yanked some crumpled, loose dollar bills free and set them down beside it. He grabbed the water, turned, and walked out without a word, not waiting for his change.

He left the store, glancing from side to side along the empty, street lamp lit sidewalk. When he didn't see anyone, he tore the cap from his gallon of water, immediately turning it upside down on his dry and cracked lips, hungrily sucking down the jug's contents while he walked.

As he tilted his head back to drink, his hood slipped from his head, revealing his unkempt mane of white hair and pale skin.

"So it wasn't an exaggeration. That is surprising."

Anarchy turned his head instantly, lowering his jug and throwing his free hand out to the side, sending his crowbar sliding out of his sleeve and into his grasp.

"Easy, easy!" A young man the same age as Anarchy stepped from the shadows of an alleyway, holding up his hands defensively. He wore a red on black suit and tie, his redish black hair slicked back. He looked far too wealthy to be standing in this neck of the woods. "I'm not here to fight you."

Anarchy didn't respond. He screwed the cap back on his jug of water, set it down at his feet, and took a step towards The Gatherer. His filthy hands were white knuckled around his crowbar.

"Ahem." Gatherer straightened his tie calmly, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Predator."

Anarchy's ruby eyes suddenly widened when a figure flipped down from a rooftop above. Before he could react, she had landed behind him and spun around, the curved blade of her scythe wrapped around Anarchy's neck from behind to threaten his throat.

"So, you're the one who's been rampaging all through the city, yes?" Gatherer tilted his head to the side with his question. "The murderer everyone is so afraid of?"

"So what if I am?" Anarchy finally spoke, his lips cracking upwards while he nodded back towards the raven haired young woman behind him. "You gonna have Black Mamba here kill me?"

"I might." Predator spoke, those ice blue eyes narrowing as she brought that blade closer to Anarchy's throat. "If you don't put the crowbar away, that is."

"Go ahead and chop my head off." Anarchy grinned over his shoulder at her, madness flickering in his eyes like a basement light in a horror movie. "Just don't be surprised when I pick it up off the ground and use it to beat you to death."

"Take it easy, Lexi." Gatherer spoke calmly, earning a glare from his teammate. "We aren't here to pick a fight."

"Then whaddaya want?" Anarchy narrowed his eyes back at the Gatherer. "I'm a busy man, so make it quick."

"I've been watching you." Gatherer confessed, holding his hands behind his back. "You kill like nothing I've ever seen. You hunt people like a wild animal."

"I am a wild animal." Anarchy frowned, hand balling into a fist.

"You're a wounded animal." Gatherer's lips curved up ever so slightly, and Anarchy grit his teeth.

He recognized those words as true. His bones still ached from the beating his Mother had given him that he'd never properly treated. He was squalid, muscles torn and cuts infected under his hoodie. Food and water had been scarce, he often went days at a time without one or the other. Not to mention the twisted, schizophrenic visions that taunted him, that hissed and snapped their jaws at him from just outside his line of sight. The longer he went without taking a human life, the more frequently they appeared. The more vicious they became.

"You shamble through the pain, but you understand that your body will fail you in these conditions." Gatherer narrowed those cold, analytical eyes of his. "You know you can't keep up this lifestyle, even while you claim to be unkillable."

"... What do you want from me?" Anarchy narrowed those eyes, watching Gatherer carefully. He knew a snake when he saw one, as a scorpion he had good eyes for such a thing.

"Something has been taken from me. I want to reclaim it." A frown settled onto Gatherer's face at some unpleasant memory. "Surely you can understand that?"

"'Fraid I can't." Anarchy blinked his dead eyes, raising his crowbar. "Only thing I've ever had is this, and I stole it from someone to get it."

"Hm." Gatherer's lips curved upwards some at those words. "Then I suppose you have more in common with my associate behind you."

"... Hey." Anarchy spoke casually, nodding over his shoulder to Predator. She smiled in a way that was less than friendly, returning his nod.

"My point is, I have a very large inheritance clutched in very greedy hands. Hands that the money must be pried from, once they are cold and dead." Gatherer narrowed his eyes, and his hands clenched tight behind his back. "Cold and dead. I'm certain that is something you understand very well."

"... Yeah. I do." Anarchy squinted his red orbs suspiciously, analyzing Gatherer's every movement. "How much money are we talkin' here?"

"Enough to get a hospital to look at those injuries and keep their mouths shut about your identity. Enough to pay for some antipsychotics to keep whatever disorders strangle and twist your brain at bay." Gatherer smiled convincingly, tilting his head to the side. "Enough to give your dangerous life a bit more of a guarantee."

"..." Anarchy was silent, contemplating Gatherer's every word behind his cold expression.

"... So who do you need to die?"

"That started a new chapter of our life." Anthony spoke once more as the memory dissipated into the inky black. "With Lexi's help, we got into the mansion, got the drop on all the guards, and then took care of the greedy relatives Xander mentioned."

"Originally we were gonna go our separate ways after that, but we all worked together so well and had so much money in our hands that it gave G an idea." Anarchy smiled wickedly, leaning forward and grabbing his ankles, his legs crossed. "We were gonna run that shitball city."

"Soon enough, we were recovered from our lingering injuries and medicated enough to not wanna murder the other three we shared the mansion with and not be hallucinating anymore." Anthony narrowed his eyes, and his jaw clenched furiously. "... There was just one problem."

"Angel The Hacker." Anarchy spoke with the same measure of contempt that was in Anthony's expression. "What a sorry sight for sore eyes."

"It took him awhile to even get the balls to say a word to us." Anthony's hands balled into hateful fists. "And when he did, it went pretty poorly."

"So G enlisted you too, Anthony?"

Anarchy stiffened some as he was addressed, his eyes narrowing at the food on his plate and his knuckles whitening around his fork. He was sat at the kitchen table, his back to The Hacker.

"..." He was silent, choosing to put this moment into figuring out how he would handle this.

"Huh. Small world." Angel was trying his best to sound casual, but the awkwardness he felt was seeping into his tone.

"..." Anarchy looked over his shoulder, and The Hacker nearly jumped from the coldness in the crimson eye that landed on him. "Who are you, exactly?"

He remembered Angel full well. But if he had forgotten Anthony for all those years, Anarchy decided he would return the favor.

"What, you don't remember me?" Angel almost sounded offended, stepping to Anarchy's side to get a better look him. "I know it's been a few years, and uh..."

The Hacker hesitated then, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck while he glanced to the side. "Clearly stuff has changed a lot for you in that time, but..."

"Get lost." Anarchy stated coldly, eyes drifting back to his food.

"Yeeesh..." Angel grimaced, before looking back to Anarchy. He took a desperate step closer, putting a hand over his chest. "C'mon man, it's me! My name is-"

"I don't give a damn what your name is!" Anarchy snapped, Angel's emerald eyes widening while shadows covered Anarchy's. "Leave me alone, I'm busy!"

"..." The Hacker was in a stunned silence, before his eyes narrowed painfully, and he lowered his head. "Right. I get it. I've uh... I've gotta, finish setting up my room, anyway."

Anarchy didn't move as Angel turned and began to walk towards the exit of the kitchen.

"... See ya later, Anthony."

"Anarchy." Anarchy responded simply and bitterly, making Angel arch a brow over his shoulder at him.

"What?"

"My name is Anarchy." The Anarchist once more turned those chilling red eyes on The Hacker. "Stop calling me that other name."

"... Yeah." Angel's hair fell over his eyes, and he turned his head to look back ahead. "Gotcha."

The memory faded, and the two pissed off halves of one pissed off whole looked back to each other.

"For two years, Angel lived in the same mansion as us. Yet in that time, I could probably count the amount of times we talked on my hands." Anthony exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

"But that was fine." Anarchy explained, leaning back on his hands. "We didn't wanna talk to him. We kept ourself busy."

"Us and Predator were the enforcers when things got started." Anthony's eyes fell to the ground, narrowing with some kind of unpleasant emotion. "Gatherer made offers and deals, and whoever stood against us wound up as an example. Soon enough people got the point: we were in charge."

"We spent most of our time between the crimes we had to be directly involved with training and getting stronger." Anarchy smirked lightly, murder gleaming in his eyes. "The Predator had been fighting her whole life, so she picked up quite a few skills that she was happy to teach us."

"We avoided Angel, but the other two were alright. Enjoyable, even." Anthony shrugged, eyes glossing to the side. "I knew Xander was a snake, but he also never had any fear in his eyes. And I respected that."

"When we first met her, there was a bit of that fear in Lexi's eyes. But when it went away, we realized it wasn't fear for us." Anarchy looked upwards, seeming to be thinking. "I think she might have encountered a different killer albino. One that we probably reminded her of."

"But, when she got to know us, she stopped seeing that reflection." Anthony's eyebrows furrowed with confusion then. "Which was... Strange. Someone that hated us had never taken the time to get to know us before, and they had certainly never stopped hating us."

"I'm bad at understanding these kinds of things, but I think we may have been... Friends." Anarchy, too, looked confused. "One day, she said something strange to us."

Another memory manifested from the dark, and the two turned their attention to it.

Anarchy laid on a bench under florescent lighting, bringing a metal bar with weighted plates on each end down to his chest, before pushing it back up as far as his arms would reach, and then repeating the process of bench pressing.

The mansion had a personal gym for a basement. Certainly a step up from the last basement he'd known.

"Hey, uh, Anarchy?"

Anarchy tilted his head back, cocking one upside-down eyebrow at Predator, who stood at the bottom of the stairway. She watched him with a foreign amount of hesitation, and on some level, that concerned The Anarchist.

"What's up, Predator?" Anarchy asked calmly, racking his bar and sitting up. He turned his body, letting his feet hit the floor, which was covered in mats.

"I uh, I need to apologize for something." Predator admitted awkwardly, walking across the basement to meet Anarchy.

"Apologize?" Anarchy tilted his head to the side, repeating her word with confusion. It wasn't just that he didn't know of anything she had to say sorry for, it was that the very concept of apologizing was foreign to The Anarchist. In all eighteen years of his life he could count the times he'd heard one on one hand.

"Do you, remember when you were little, holding an umbrella over a crying little girl in an alleyway..?" Predator rubbed the back of her head, eyes darting to the side nervously. "One who uh, shoved you down and called you a freak before running away?"

"..?" Anarchy furrowed his brows, looking quite confused for a moment before his eyebrows rose, his eyes widening some with a surprising realization. "Oh my god that was you."

"Ehehe... Yup." Predator grinned awkwardly back to Anarchy. "I just, wanted to say sorry for that."

"I was..." Predator's eyes narrowed painfully, looking to the floor. "Having, a pretty bad day. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"..." Anarchy stared at her with genuine confusion for a moment, before closing his eyes and shrugging. "Don't worry about it, Lexi. It's fine."

Lexi sighed, like she'd felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Anarchy turned his back on her for a moment, glancing over his shoulder while he began taking the weights from the bar he'd been using. "I mean, you were right, anyway. I am a freak."

These words came casually from Anarchy, but they certainly seemed to strike the wrong cord with Lexi, who's expression hardened with some kind of irritation.

"Hey, don't say that!" Lexi exclaimed, stamping her foot and further confusing The Anarchist while he set the weights he'd been using back on their respective racks.

"... You're being weird." Anarchy stated bluntly, turning around and crossing his arms while he faced Lexi. "Why are you suddenly so concerned about my self esteem?"

"..." Lexi hesitated, lowering her head and narrowing her eyes painfully at the mats. "Angel told me about your childhood."

"He did what?" An immediate response through gritted teeth. The Anarchist stepped forward, lowering his head to be at eye level with The Predator. Instantly he looked furious. In his anger, he forgot he'd been pretending none of those things happened and that he hadn't known Angel.

"Look, I'm sorry!" Predator threw up her hands defensively. "Don't be mad at Angel, I'm the one who dragged it out of him!"

"Well it was none of your goddamn business!" Anarchy snapped furiously, taking a step closer and forcing Lexi to step back.

"I know that!" Lexi defended, placing a hand over her chest.

"Then why'd you go digging?!" Anarchy threw his hands out to his sides angrily.

"BECAUSE!" Predator snapped right back at him, making him recoil. After her explosion, there was a pause, in which the both of them were too surprised to speak.

"... Because..." Lexi's eyes drifted to the floor, and she reached up, rubbing her shoulder. "... You guys are the only family I've ever had."

Anarchy was quiet, just narrowing his eyes with further confusion while he waited for Predator to continue. Her words were hard to grasp. 'Family'...

"I, get that we do bad things. I get that we've hurt people." Her bangs shadowed her eyes as she spoke, a frown settling in on her face. "But... Does that have to make us bad people..?"

"... Lexi, I've eaten people before." Anarchy narrowed his eyes coldly, his harsh words coming out without much thought. "I don't know what you want me to tell you."

"... Right." Lexi winced at his words, keeping her head down. "Sorry for bothering you with this, I... I know you're busy."

Anarchy's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing painfully at these words and the state of his comrade.

"H-hey, mom? Look! I drew us!"

"I'm busy, Anthony. I don't wanna look at your shitty drawing."

"H-huh? Oh, uhm... Well, it's, just a rough draft! I-I can make it better, i-if you want."

"I don't care, just take it somewhere else."

This feeling was foreign to Anarchy. Guilt, and some kind of care for another. He hadn't felt such a thing in years, certainly not since he became... This. Anarchy was aware of and could handle just about every kind of pain he'd ever felt. But this feeling he did not want to tolerate. It was annoying, thought provoking in all the worst ways. So, he had to make it go away.

"..." Anarchy lifted his hand, and Lexi jolted with surprise when he placed it on her head in an admittedly awkward and unskilled attempt at comfort. But, when in combination with the three words he spoke, his attempt landed, and succeeded in lighting his friend's shoulders.

"You aren't evil."

While Lexi stood there, stunned by this out of character kindness from her serial killer friend, Anarchy took his hand off her head and turned around.

She watched him walk away, holding her hands together in front of her chest. But, when Anarchy reached the stairway, she felt she had something else to say.

"... Anthony."

Anarchy looked over his shoulder at her, not uttering a word. Usually hearing that name would have aggravated him, but just this once it stirred no contempt. It felt... Right, even. Like he was comfortable hearing that name from her.

"You aren't evil either." Lexi spoke from her heart, lowering her hands to her sides and giving Anarchy a DETERMINED stare. "And I don't think you're a freak, even after everything you've done."

"..." Anarchy stared at her for a few seconds that dragged on like hours. He wanted to speak, but there were no words that felt appropriate. Nothing that could explain the complex emotions that such simple words made him feel.

... Simple. Truthfully, for The Anarchist, it was always the littlest things that held the most value. His life had been denied even the tinniest scraps of joy for its majority, so now seeing those scraps brought an undeniably pleasant feeling about.

"... Thanks." An easy, one word response. Something small, like the tiny things he appreciated. Then, The Anarchist climbed the stairs, and left The Predator in the basement.

"... Truly, our life is made up by chilling moments with crazy women in basements." Anarchy spoke as the memory faded, looking back to Anthony.

"The next day, we gave up our life so Lexi could live." Anthony's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, glossing to the floor. "I'm not sure we would have if she hadn't said those things to us."

"She said we were family. And family is supposed to look out for each other." Anarchy crossed his arms, eyes darting to the side. "... 'Course, if we were a family, that'd make Hacker the deadbeat dad."

Another memory manifested. The two watched with dead eyes.

"... Anarchy?"

"... Didn't mean to wake you up." The Anarchist spoke emotionlessly, blinking those ruby eyes at his former friend. He stood in the light of the kitchen, and Angel was waking up on one of the lobby couches. "Go back to sleep, we've got an important mission tomorrow and we can't afford you falling asleep at the screens."

"Then what are you doing up..?" Angel slowly sat up, rubbing one eye with his fist.

"None'a your business." Anarchy answered clearly and coldly, flicking off the light behind himself and dimming the lobby back to moonlight as he began to make his way to one of the two hallways by the staircase to the upstairs.

Angel furrowed his brows, lowering his eyes to the tile floor while his hands slowly clenched into fists against the knees of his jeans.

"... Anthony..?"

Anarchy stopped, glaring over his shoulder at Angel, his expression souring significantly. "Hacker, I already told you not to-"

"Do you ever feel bad about it..?" Angel cut him off, not lifting his head. "Do you ever just lay down and think about all the mistakes you've made?"

Anarchy's eyes narrowed, but his expression softened some. Barely, but some.

"Just... Sit around and kick yourself for the people you've left behind and let down and stabbed in the back and-..." Angel clenched his eyes shut tight, biting his tongue.

"... Sorry. I'm, probably barking up the wrong tree here."

Anarchy was silent for a few long moments, just staring back back at The Hacker with an unreadable expression.

"... Go to bed, Angel."

Angel's eyes widened some as Anarchy referred to him by his first name, something he hadn't done since the two were children. He lifted his head, but found that Anarchy had already disappeared into the darkness of that hallway, and the glimmer of hope disappeared from his eye.

"We know Angel well." Anarchy narrowed his eyes with aggravation as the memory disappeared. "We knew he was acting strange for a reason."

"There was an air about the mansion that day. I think in some subconscious way, we all knew a big change was comin'. Us n' Angel were just the only ones who knew death was gonna be a part of it." Anthony narrowed his eyes hatefully, hands gripping the knees of his jeans. "We couldn't prove it to anybody else, and we hoped our gut was wrong, but..."

"But tomorrow came, and Hacker screwed us." Anarchy finished with contempt, those murderous red eyes gleaming with their hatred.

One last memory.

Anarchy and Predator stood side by side, their hands raised above their heads and their backs against a wall. Sweat beaded down their foreheads while they looked out at the wall of criminals that blocked their path. There was about eight of them, several of them pointing guns at the two, including the one who stood at their center.

The lead of the gang members was a slender and tall man, wearing a black duster that was open in the front, revealing a white tank top and dirty, torn jeans. He was an intimidating man to most, but the only power he held over The Anarchist and The Predator was the glock in his hand.

"The Anarchist and The Predator." He grinned, ash dropping from the cigarette in his mouth while he tilted his head to the side. "We're gonna be a real big deal after we make examples outta you two."

Anarchy narrowed his crimson eyes, thoughts racing through his mind as he scanned the enemies before him. They'd gotten the drop on them, shot and killed all four of the poor scumbags the two had brought with them as backup. Now four of them had handguns drawn, one of them was brandishing a knife, and the other three were arrogant enough to stand there with their arms crossed, smirking condescendingly.

Needless to say, this pissed Anarchy off. He was certain this was Angel's doing. It was too calculated, there was information these thugs had that someone on the inside would have had to have told them. Now he was here, being threatened by extras. Nothing pawns and their crackhead king.

His eyes drifted over to Lexi. The Predator was keeping a stiff upper lip, but Anarchy knew. He could see the fear in her eyes, the ice cold sweat beading down her forehead.

She didn't want to die. And Anarchy didn't want to see her die. That was odd, a desire for someone other than himself to live. It had become foreign to The Anarchist, a level of humanity that disappeared when he hatched as The Scorpion. Now, staring Death in the face, it resurfaced. He thought that was cruel, but he knew he deserved cruelty.

"Does that have to make us bad people..?"

... Lexi, however, did not deserve anything of that sort.

"Lexi." Anarchy spoke softly and out of the corner of his mouth, catching Predator's attention.

"We're screwed, right?" Lexi whispered back to Anarchy out of the corner of her own mouth. In any other occasion, a response from her that blunt would have amused Anarchy. But he didn't have time to entertain those things now.

"I'm going to make an opening, and you are going to run." Anarchy told her clearly and concisely, clearly catching her off guard.

"Wait, what?" Of course The Predator was surprised, she never thought Anarchy the type to sacrifice. Whether that sacrifice would be a bit of food or his life, he had never seemed willing to part with either.

"Get ready." Anarchy's eyes locked onto the lead of their enemies, lowering his hands and balling them into fists.

"W-wait, Anthony!" Lexi spoke in a harsh whisper, reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of her friend. It was all she could do, though it wasn't much at all. "There's gotta be another-!"

"You said you don't think I'm evil?" Anarchy cut her off, those ruby eyes striking her with all of their intensity.

"Well... Yeah. And I meant it..." Lexi furrowed her brows with concern, her mouth hanging open some, as if she wanted to say more. But no words came. They were choked in her throat by the lump growing there.

Anarchy turned his head back to the enemy, slowly exhaling and narrowing those murderous eyes.

"... Then let me prove you right."

Anarchy didn't give her the chance to respond. He didn't watch for her reaction. He closed his eyes, let his body relax and let the thoughts fade from his mind.

And when his crimson eyes opened again, they were soulless. Devoid of love or hate. Cold arachnid eyes, staring through all the delicious mice and lizards before him. The abandoned warehouse they were in pressurized. The lighting that peered in through the large windows above dimmed and flickered. In an instant, a dark presence had overtaken the area.

The lesser of these evils could feel it pierce their wayward souls like a poison drenched stinger. It was a dark feeling, the presence this albino beast was radiating. Somehow they could feel it in their hearts. His desire to hurt them, to kill them. To devour their flesh and make himself stronger. It was heavy, restraining. And when Anarchy took a step forward, they were all horrified to find they could not move. The poison jab of those eyes had paralyzed each of them, and that brought about a terrifying conclusion.

He was not trapped in here with them.

They were trapped in here with him.

"... Well?" They flinched when The Anarchist spoke. It was all they could do. They'd never heard his voice before, not like this. It was low, quiet. Forced their ears to hang on to every sound and the brain to pay attention. It was what some of them had imagined The Devil to sound like. Not distorted, not monstrous. Human, in all the wrong ways.

"What's the matter?!" Anarchy snapped, his step forward making the ring leader step back, bullets of iced sweat racing down his forehead. Everything behind Anarchy disappeared, replaced by a void of flickering, writhing darkness. They could almost see them, the worms. Gnashing their teeth hungrily, flicking disgustingly long tongues.

Anarchy's eyes were wide, flashing all of the horrors he'd seen right back on his prey. His grin encompassed the majority of his face, bared his fangs and made them fear his bite.

He leaned in, got right in the leader's face and ripped through his eyes with his own, making the man lean back while he trembled violently.

"YOU'RE NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK, ARE YOU?!"

In a flinch, a knee jerk reaction, the king of these pawns tried to bring up that pistol, put a shot in The Anarchist's stomach at point blank. Anarchy was faster however, grabbing his wrist in one powerful pincer and pushing it back down. In one swift motion he reached behind his prey's head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back before his head darted forward, ripping through his throat with his teeth and sending a waterfall of red gushing down his chest and into The Anarchist's thirsty maw.

This horrific sight woke the seven pawns from their stupor, made the three holding guns lift their pistols and take shaken pot shots at the scorpion. Anarchy held up the writhing and dying form of their king, using him as a meat shield and letting several bullets jam into his back while he yanked the gun out of his hand.

He aimed over his bleeding shield's shoulder, eyes locating his targets with killer precision, a kind of accuracy only one born to kill could perceive. Three bullets fired from his gun. Two blew apart the skulls of the gunman, and the third bullet rammed into the chest of the third shooter, piercing his heart and sending him tumbling to the ground with the corpses of his comrades.

Anarchy threw the leader's corpse to the floor, and one of the remaining four rushed forward, stabbing his knife right into The Anarchist's side, pushing it to its hilt. This made the beast snarl ferociously, those arachnid eyes landing on his prey while he dropped his gun, reaching out and grabbing the poor fool by the collar of his shirt.

Anarchy threw his free hand out to his side, sending his crowbar slipping from his sleeve and into his grasp. Without skipping a beat he swung, cracking through the skull of the lizard that had stabbed him. Just as The Anarchist dropped that corpse, another gunshot rang out, but he didn't feel the bullet pierce his thigh. He couldn't, not with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Not with the wonderful thrill that taking another life gave him.

He snarled, spinning on his heel and whipping his crowbar overhand at the goon who laid on his back, bullet wound in his chest. Anarchy's crowbar struck him square between the eyes, knocking something loose in his skull and sending his head dropping back limp onto the concrete.

Suddenly, the unmistakable rumbling of the large garage door of the warehouse resounded, and one of the pawns spun around with surprise to see it being pushed up. light flooded in around The Predator, who was shoving the door upwards to make her escape.

"She's getting away-!" Just as the pawn was distracted, Anarchy rushed from behind, gripping the back of his head and his face and viciously snapping his head around, twisting his neck like the cap of a water bottle and quickly earning a deathly snap from his brain stem.

Three more gunshots, three bullets embedded in Anarchy's back. He arched his spine from the impact, blood spewing up from between his jaws and adding to the crimson that already coated his chin. He snapped his jaws shut quickly however, spinning on his heel and ripping the knife from his side without hesitation. As he spun, he threw the knife on the same swing of his arm that came with him pulling it free. The switchblade raced through the air, its dagger-like point sticking right through the shooter's forehead and cutting his legs out from under him, making him drop dead the very next instant.

Gasping for breath, Anarchy winced, pausing for only a moment. This moment was all the last remaining pawn needed, darting forward and slashing rapidly across The Anarchist's back with his combat knife. Anarchy stumbled, grinding his blood soaked teeth as cut after cut lashed across his back in some frantic and vengeful strike. The poor bastard was trying to punish Anarchy instead of going for the kill.

With one primal roar The Anarchist spun around, grabbing the mouse by his wrist with one claw. He yanked the knife wielding hand aside, cocked back his free fist and hooked his leg behind the knee of his victim. He smashed a right hook into the man's face and pulled his leg back, sending the man tumbling onto his back with Anarchy on top of him.

Anarchy was vicious, snarling and frothing as he beat the man's face in with his right fist. The fool squirmed, cried out for mercy while Anarchy struck again and again, hand holding down his victim's knife wielding hand and knee pressed down on the forearm of his other arm. He punched over and over. Until pain raced up his arm from his knuckles, until the man's nose, front teeth, and orbital sockets gave way. When the mouse stopped its squirming, he yanked the knife from its hand and pulled it up over his head.

With a primal roar, he plunged the knife down, right through the cracked and bleeding forehead of his victim. The lights in those dying eyes went out instantly, his body twitching and convulsing with death throes before he finally ceased movement.

Chest heaving, Anarchy's head hung forward, hair falling around his his crimson painted face. The intensity slowly drained from his eyes, his expression softening while adrenaline faded away.

Gradually, he lifted his head, looking from the massacre he'd single handedly created to the wide open door of the warehouse. It opened to brighter lights, the possibility of a kinder world.

That was where Lexi had escaped to.

That was where Anthony could not follow.

... Be good, Lexi. Anthony's eyes were half closed, his mouth hanging open with ragged breaths that ached going in and out. Be better than me.

After another few moments of quiet and lonely contemplation, Anthony's eyes glossed over to where his crowbar lay.

This was no place to die.

Grunting with pain, Anthony pushed himself to his feet. He hobbled his broken body over to where his inheritance lay and scooped it from the ground. Leaning down hurt, but he refused to leave his only possession. Such a cursed item belonged with him, and him alone. He would take it with him to his grave.

... His grave.

The Anarchist lifted his head, one hand grasping the oozing gash on his side and the other hanging limp, gripping that crowbar tightly. He looked out to the light of the streets, and he knew where he had to die.

So he walked. Dragged his bullet punctured leg and forced his aching lungs to breath, his exhausted heart to beat.

Once he made it out of the warehouse, he shut his eyes and leaned his back against the front wall next to the doorway, taking a few deep breaths.

C'mon, it's not far. Keep moving.

He pushed himself from the metal wall, and he began to limp down the sidewalk. Though there was still daylight, it was likely the sound of gunshots had scared any bystanders away. This was a terrible place, heavy gang territory. The police didn't journey here and innocents didn't wander here.

So Anthony walked. Stumbled his way through the world, alone and dying. As he carried his corpse with a stubborn refusal of Death's offers to relieve his pain, the most ludicrous and silly thoughts pervaded his mind.

He pondered what it would have been like if him and Angel hadn't met. If Angel had been kind. If he'd befriended Lexi or Xander instead. if he'd befriended them all. Ridiculous notions, the things the four could have done in their childhood. The fun they would have had. If they had just become a family before they were all damaged, then perhaps...

Well. The Anarchist didn't deal in what ifs. For a bipolar schizophrenic, he kept himself well grounded in reality.

... Still. What a nice thought. A pleasant dream. Something that felt warm, even as his blood ran cold. As he looked upon the playground, he couldn't help but imagine four happy children, playing on the equipment. Chasing each other. Hiding and seeking.

Pale fingers wrapped around the gate of that chain link fence, the crimson liquid they were drenched in leaving smudged finger prints. He dragged his fingers over the metal, shoving the latch of the fence up before he batted the gate open with his hip.

... Bittersweet dreams now, in the cold reality of his impending demise.

He was going to die. The Bastard Son, Son of a Bitch. All his worthless birthright and all his worthless life concluding as it had began, alone.

"..." Anthony and Anarchy were silent as the memory faded away, silenced by the somber memories of their own death.

"... We have the option now." Anarchy finally spoke, nodding his head towards Anthony's shield. "We can live that dream. Undamaged and happy, we could be a family."

"..." Anthony's eyes glossed down to his shield, which he took in his hands, inspecting its every detail.

"We have three options Anthony. We can wake up. Go back to being a monster, we can step out of this Fountain and ERASE this world." Anarchy frowned, his expression unusually somber. "Or, we can die in here, let King's wound put us out of our misery."

"... Or, we can take back our identity, step out of this Fountain with our old power and stop King. We can seal the Fountain, and we can live in our perfect dream, even with all the memories of our agony." Anarchy's eyes narrowed, drifting to the floor. "... But it won't be real. And we'll know that. We'll know that Angel is still out there, the real one. We'll remember every terrible thing we've ever done."

"..." Anthony still didn't speak, squinting his red eyes and tightening his grip on his shield.

"I know how bad you want this, Anthony. And I told you that I don't hate you." Anarchy lifted his head, looking to his other half with a measure of care unheard of in his killer eyes. "I won't take this away from you if you don't want me to."

"... No." Anthony finally said, pain swimming in his ruby eyes as he stared into his shield. "Not like this."

"We don't deserve it." Anthony lifted his head, his expression hopeless and longing. "We can't just live this dream and pretend we were never awake. We were. And we did horrible things. Inhuman things."

"There just... Isn't a way to make up for that." Anthony lowered his head, shaking it slowly. "It would be a cop out now. It would be wrong. And... It would be a lie."

"We're a lot of things, Anarchy." Anthony stood, extending his hand out to his other half. "But a liar isn't one of them."

"So... You want to wake up?" Anarchy took Anthony's hand, being lifted to his feet and looking himself in the eye.

"I don't have any other choice." Anthony nodded once, DETERMINATION overtaking his expression.

"Hm." Anarchy smiled. It was bittersweet, but it was grateful. They would come together, and they would be true to themselves.

They were Anthony, and they were The Anarchist.

"Then it's time to leave the basement."

There was a shift in lighting. The shadows moved, watched carefully as the two became one. A single body stood, shield on one arm and crowbar in the other.

He turned his crimson eyes to the stairs, and he walked. His footsteps echoed, bounced along the stone walls. When his feet touched the crude wood of the steps, they groaned and whimpered pathetic pleas that The Anarchist did not hear.

He ascended, and one last time he jammed his crowbar into the door frame, shattering the wood and breaking the gate way open.

Blinding lights washed by, and reality shifted.

Heads and Tails, both free from the Fountain.

---

"COME, CHAOS INCARNATE! RETURN TO US, AND LAY WASTE TO THE LIGHTNERS' PATHETIC WORLD!"

Angel let go of King's ankle, being sent sliding on his side across the ground to the middle of the rooftop before the winds died down and he came to a stop.

There he laid, beaten and broken, with a clear view of the end of the world. His tears stopped flowing. Any emotion at all seemed to be crushed under the gravity of this moment. Of the sight before him.

This is how the world ends. Not sad, not desperate to survive. Just... Numb. Watching death race closer with cold eyes and an empty heart.

And in Angel's mind, only one thought could survive.

... We failed.

For Whom The Bell Tolls Instrumental by Metallica began playing.

He grunted as he sat up, the magic spades having faded from his flesh, leaving bleeding gashes in his arms, legs, and back. He watched in terrifying awe as darkness began to spread from the peak of the black beam that fired into the sky.

The vantablack writhed in the sky above Angel, and he was sicked and disturbed when hundreds of giant eyes opened from the darkness, blood red irises staring down at the dark world below. The chaotic gaze of the eyes was only made more freakish when a mouth split in the darkness under each pair, slowly creeping up into a smile.

Angel's emerald eyes trembled, wide with shrunken pupils as each revolting face contorted. Eyes looked in different directions, cheeks puffed out like they were about to burst, and then...

"HAHA! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The many dark mouths exploded open with hysterical cackling. Crimson eyes darted all over the place, went bloodshot while red tongues hung out past sharpened teeth. The laughter was ear piercing, all consuming. The faces looked like they were choking on their own giggles, wheezing and gasping for air in the milliseconds between their hysterics.

Angel could feel this darkness, deep in his heart. It terrified him, paralyzed him and made him cower before the inconceivable display before him. Not in his worst and most terrible nightmares had he ever imagined something like this.

"YES! BEAUTIFUL!" King cackled right along with the damned sky, throwing his head back and holding his arms out to his sides.

The pillar of darkness swirled and flared vibrantly, sending waves of power and gusts of wind blasting across the land. Angel and King both watched eagerly, with heavy anticipation as the front of the crucible began to shift, flicker.

Then, suddenly, one muddy sneaker stepped through, attached to legs covered by ripped jeans. With awe and horror the last two men standing at the end of the world watched The Anarchist step from his chrysalis.

He wore different clothes, his armor replaced by beat up jeans and a long sleeve black shirt with three red stripes. He was slouched, his hands halfway in his pockets and his mane of white hair shifting with the winds. He expressed nothing, his dead eyes locked right on King, who stood about eight feet in front of him.

"... Anny..?" Angel spoke in a whisper, fear and concern in his eyes as he watched his best friend return, uninjured and with a terrifying aura.

"Kneel before your master, Chaos Incarnate!" King ordered confidently, both of his mouths grinning wickedly, his arms still out at his sides.

"... Kneel?" Anarchy repeated, confusion dusting his expression as he slowly tilted his head to the side, like he really didn't understand.

"Yes!" Aggravation crept onto King's face, his arms lowering as his jaw clenched and he glared at Chaos Incarnate. "I brought you into this world! Kneel and obey me!"

"..." Anarchy was silent then. A sweet, loving smile graced his lips as he looked out at The King. Angel recognized that smile, its kindness had illuminated his life.

Suddenly, the pillar of dark power shifted, and one enormous bug-like pincer bursted free, King's breath catching in his throat and his blood freezing as it snatched him from the earth, lifting his large body like a feather as a curved tail ending in one massive stinger also slipped out from the Fountain.

"W-what are you doing?!" King exclaimed, blue in the face as he looked down at Anarchy, now hoisted many feet above him. "What is this?!"

King's eyes went wide with horror as he watched one giant scorpion head push from the vantablack before him, all seven of it's disgusting red eyes locking onto him. The Fountain was fading, being sucked into the body of this beast and taking the form of one titanic arachnid, big enough to devour King whole. Its pointed legs had to reach around the sides of the building, hooking into the stonework walls to keep the beast balanced on the rooftop.

"N-no! Wait! Stop!" King begged, flailing and struggling pathetically as The Scorpion slowly brought him closer to its snapping maw. "Not like this! Please! Anything but this!"

Anarchy held his arms out to his sides, wearing that loving smile and closing his eyes. He tilted his head back, King's sweet screams ringing beautifully in his ears as he was ripped and shredded in the hungry chelicerae of his familiar, the black beast of his shadow. King's blood poured from above as he was devoured, splattering over Anarchy, who couldn't have been happier.

Eventually King's screams stopped. The crunch of his bones disappeared. From the sky his white crown plummeted, clanging to the ground and bouncing, rolling across the floor. Maw now dripping with blood, the scorpion lowered its pincer, letting both of the vicious tools rest on the strained stone rooftop.

"Anthony..." Angel slowly climbed to his feet, haunted eyes not leaving The Anarchist. He held his limp right arm, sweat and blood dripping down his face from his grueling battle with the one who Anarchy just slaughtered like it was child's play.

"... I was asleep." Anarchy spoke calmly, that smile fading back to a blank expression as he lowered his head. Blood that was not his own ran in streams over his face. The sky ceased its giggling, now watching its master with twitchy, excitable eyes. "This was a dream."

"... Such a nice dream..." Anarchy smiled softly to himself, his eyes only half open.

Suddenly, his smile faded, and he lowered his head. The shadow beneath him lifted from the earth, slowly shaping and forming a rectangular button, with one word engraved upon it.

ERASE.

Anarchy narrowed his eyes at the button before him, the decision he had already made.

"But it's time to wake up."

He pushed the button inward, and a pulse washed out from it, blasting over the land and into the distance in a matter of seconds.

Angel stood there, confused as the wave passed him. But when he looked around, he realized everything it has touched was fading, turning to green ones and zeros and dissipating into the nothingness that was left where it once was.

"No..." Angel slowly shook his head, looking around the crumbling world before him. His lunch rose in his throat when his eyes caught Lexi and Xander, who both lay unconscious. They, too, were quickly disappearing into green coding.

Just before he could rush to either one's side, however, Angel spotted his own hand, and a special kind of hopelessness overtook his expression as he watched numbers flicker from his finger tips, slowly but surely ERASING him.

For Whom The Bell Tolls faded out.

"Anny, no..." Angel's voice broke, KIND green eyes landing on his best friend. "Please, don't do this..."

Anarchy just watched Angel he approached, even though more code was streaming off of him. Some confusion came to Chaos incarnate's expression, not quite able to grasp the anguish on Angel's face.

"Please, Anny, everyone else I can handle, b-but..." Angel shook his head, tears filling his eyes as he fearlessly approached The Anarchist. "Anny you're all I've got..! You're all I've got and I never told you and I'm sorry!"

"Just please!" Angel lowered his head once he stood before his best friend, clenching his fading fists as tears streamed down his face. "Don't do this!"

"... Angel." A measure of care and remorse flickered in The Anarchist's expression, and he took a step forward, putting a hand on Angel's shoulder. "You were the best friend I've ever had. You were everything I needed my Angel to be."

"But... You aren't real."

"But I'm right here in front of you!" Angel snapped, grabbing Anarchy by the shoulders and staring into his ruby eyes with his tear filled emerald ones. "Isn't that enough for you?! Doesn't that make me real enough?!"

"..." Anarchy's hair shadowed his eyes, a frown clear on his face. "I'm sorry Angel. But..."

STAB.

"No. No it doesn't."

"G-... Guh..." Angel's eyes went wide and he hunched forward, blood beginning to dribble down his chin as he looked to the black spike that pierced his abdomen. It had fired from his own shadow.

"A-... Anny..." Angel sniffled, his weak legs giving out and making him lean against The Anarchist's chest. Anarchy tilted his head to the side, like he really didn't understand. "I... I don't wanna lose you..."

"..." Anthony furrowed his brows, slowly wrapping his arms around Angel to keep him from falling. His expression was soft with genuine confusion.

"... Please..." Angel's voice was choked, tears streaming down his face as he clung to his best friend. "... Please don't go..."

"... Angel, you're the one who's..." Anarchy trailed off, lifting his hand from Angel's back and examining the blood it was covered in.

"... I-I'm begging you... Don't... Leave me..."

"..." Anarchy's hair shadowed his eyes, and he slowly dropped to his knees with Angel, hugging him close to his chest. "... Shh... It's okay. I've got you. I'm here."

Angel seemed to relax, his dying eyes struggling to stay open as Anarchy held him.

"Just rest now, Angel... You're safe..." Anarchy's eyes narrowed painfully at the ground past Angel while he gently smoothed his hair with his blood stained hand. He spoke softly, with comforting kindness. "Close your eyes and go to sleep..."

"... T-thanks, Anny..." Angel spoke in little more than a whisper, but Anarchy caught every word. And Angel smiled, feeling warm and safe as his killer held him. "You're my... Best friend..."

"..." Anarchy lifted he head, looking out to the sky of self inflicted nightmares as his dream died in his arms. "... You're my best friend too, Angel."

Then, in barely a whisper.

"... Thank you for that..."

Anarchy's grip tightened on Angel when he went limp. When his arms unwrapped from The Anarchist and fell to the ground. His eyes burned from under the shadow of his hair, and though it was no longer raining after the Fountain had disappeared, a warm droplet cascaded down his face.

There he sat, for seconds or hours as the world disappeared. He hugged the body of his Angel for as long as he could, but eventually it too faded away.

This feeling was complex, and it was painful. But he was used to feeling those things, and knew there was no time for them now.

Anarchy climbed to his feet, and with his fist he wiped the tear from his face. Then, he threw his head back and sent the hair flipping out of his eyes, revealing a cold and unfeeling expression.

He was alone, in the inky blackness. The sky of giggling faces converged on one point, dripping down in a solid stream towards The Anarchist like some disgusting black liquid.

Anarchy reached up, let the slime of madness land in his open palm. There, it took shape. It formed and curved, condensing until it took the form of his inheritance. His crowbar.

His eyes glossed to the floor, and his brows furrowed when he spotted his shield. A sapphire blue, laying prone after it had fallen off of his sleeping form.

"... Huh." Anarchy spoke with minor interest, stepping on the corner of the shield and sending it flipping up, where he caught it on his arm. Another possession. He had two now.

His crowbar disappeared up his sleeve, and he strapped his shield onto his back. Then, he turned, looking up to his Scorpion. His Shadow, his LOVE. The giant creature stared down at him, unmoving and obedient. Darkness that The Anarchist had tamed, that his will had gained the respect of.

He reached out, and The Beast lowered it's head. He placed his pale hand just above its mouth, and it's seven eyes closed, it's body turning to the blackness of the Fountain and washing up Anarchy's sleeve. It swirled in thick streams, racing over him and draining into the red soul that flared brightly on his chest.

The darkness of Anarchy's LOVE blasted throughout his soul, but he closed his eyes with calmness and tranquility. Eventually the Scorpion disappeared back into The Anarchist, slipping into his wretched soul. For a moment, the left side of his soul was pitch black. The eerie shade of his shadow, of his Scorpion, of his LOVE.

But then his soul faded back into his chest, concealing its darkness from what was left of this world, which was looking to be nothing at all.

"Ay, Gaster, you there?" Anarchy lifted his head, looking up into the emptiness above himself. "I think we're done here."

Not a second passed before a portal opened at Anarchy's side, and he watched Badster humbly step through.

"Splendid job, Anarchy!" He grinned that crescent, pressing his hole punched hands together at his chest. "You did better than I expected!"

"Yeah, I'm a real over achiever that way, doc." Anarchy smirked in that unsettling way that had become his trademark.

"This test was of your will. I needed to know if your hatred for The Hacker could overpower your deepest desire." Badster stood tall, placing his hands behind his back and looking down to Anarchy with a pleased smile. "I needed to be sure that you could not be swayed, that your torment was strength, and could not be exploited as weakness."

"But... Just look at you!" Badster gestured to Anarchy with childlike excitement. "Not only did you prove the strength of your will, you made it stronger! Your DETERMINATION, your LOVE, your soul!"

"It's all grown exponentially! Somehow you're even more unstoppable than you were before!" Badster bounced giddily, mind brimming with all the possibilities. "Oh I'm just so proud!"

"..." Anarchy smiled wickedly, looking down to his open palm. He slowly clenched his fist, watching shadows dance along his fingers and hand. "Perfect."

"... Hm. That's odd."

Anarchy looked up, furrowing his brows with confusion. He saw Badster looking across the void, and followed his eyes to find that King's ivory crown had survived the ERASE, still laying on its side across from him.

"What's that still doin' here?" Anarchy tilted his head, cocking a brow at the item.

"I don't know." Badster, too, looked puzzled. "It must have more importance than we realized, if it did not disappear."

"Huh." Anarchy stated blandly, before walking across the void towards the crown. He crossed the distance, his footsteps echoing in the nothingness before he reached the royal head wear. He leaned down, plucked it from the vantablack floor, and stood back up to inspect it.

"Now what use would The Bastard Son have for somethin' so fancy?" Anarchy's lips curled upwards with some amusement. He'd lived his life as a gutter rat, after all. The idea of being a king did strike some kind of note inside him. On some level it stroked his ego.

"Heirs to the throne! Chaos's Crown could be your own!"

King Anarchy. Anarchy's smile grew, and he began to lift the pointed crown over his head. Now that sounds regal.

King of Chaos. How fitting, that it would be the Heir of Nothing, to Nothing, from Nothing to dawn the mantle. That it would be the least anticipated and the most chaotic choice.

"Uee hee hee!"

Anarchy's ruby eyes widened, feeling the crown snatched from his grasp just before it landed on his mop of snow white locks.

He spun around on instinct, and a metal clang resounded. Crowbar connected with Devilsknife, and Jevil flew back through the air from the force of the impact, the bells of his weapon jingling excitedly as he landed on his feet and skidded back away from The Anarchist.

"... You're the freaky little dude from the cage." Anarchy smiled wickedly, holding his crowbar out to the side as he watched Jevil carefully.

"You won the game!" The jester exclaimed excitedly, hopping from side to side. "I'm overjoyed! You've made it so far, far!"

"I don't care." Anarchy began walking fearlessly towards Jevil, white knuckled grip on his crowbar and white knuckled fist at his sides. "You should have disappeared with the ERASE."

"Your rules don't effect me!" Jevil pointed his scythe at the approaching Anarchist, haphazardly setting the crown onto his goofy hat, doubling down on head wear. "I said it before, I'm the only one who's free!"

"This doesn't make sense." Badster narrowed his cracked sockets, his jaw clenching. "You're just a piece of code that I edited with this timeline! You shouldn't know anything about Anarchy, and you should have been ERASED."

"A sinner playing God?" Jevil smiled chaotically, looking over his shoulder to Badster. "Such a small view, view! Don't you understand?"

"I am free!" At this point Anarchy darted forward, jaw clenching as he swung his crowbar at the distracted Jevil's head. The jester moved fast however, front flipping over Anarchy and placing a hand on his shoulder, springing over him and flipping to land on his feet, facing the two while he slid back. "I can do anything!"

"Jumpy little bastard, aren'tcha?" Anarchy narrowed his ruby eyes at the jester that had stolen his crown. He was furious of course, but still he smiled. The dancing monkey was amusing, after all. And every word that dribbled madly out past his lips was perfectly understood by The Anarchist.

"Now you and me are both free!" Jevil grinned from ear to ear, once more pointing his wicked blade at The Anarchist. "Birds of a feather, one plus one makes three!"

"That's a nice thought." Anarchy spoke sarcastically, pointing his crowbar out towards Jevil and narrowing his eyes. "Now fork over the crown and take your beating."

"Uee hee hee!" Jevil jumped back into the air, and Anarchy's jaw clenched as he saw the jester float there, suspended in mid air and clapping his feet together. "If you really believe you are the heir to Chaos's Crown, you will have to hunt me down, down!"

Anarchy pursed his lips, crimson eyes analyzing this foe. After a momentary scan of his feelings towards the jester, he came to a conclusion and he made a decision.

"... What's your name?" Anarchy spoke after a moments thought, watching Jevil's every move carefully.

"I'm glad you asked." Jevil's lips curled in a knowing smile, a portal ripping open in reality behind him. "Jevil is my name, Chaos is my game!"

"Alright, Jevil." Anarchy's expression formed a similar smirk, his ruby eyes narrowing. "I'll play your game."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Jevil exclaimed excitedly, slowly slipping back into the portal behind him, which was already beginning to close. "I expected nothing less of you, you!"

And then, just as he disappeared, a prophecy.

"Come after me, and everyone will see, a world of complete and utter devastation!"

"Apologies, sir Anarchy!" Badster raced humbly to Anarchy's side, The Anarchist turning his head to arch a brow at his assisting doctor. "I have no idea how he did any of that, he shouldn't have survived the ERASE, he shouldn't have-"

"Yeah, you wouldn't get it, doc." Anarchy lifted one hand, silencing Badster. "It's fine. I'll handle it soon."

"For now, I've got some questions." Anarchy's expression hardened then, a frown creasing his face. "I was out for awhile, right?"

"Several days, yes." Badster nodded dutifully, his hands behind his back.

"So, tell me." Anarchy smiled, though his teeth ground together. Those his grip tightened on his crowbar. He had been asleep for so long, he was dying to be updated on the state of reality.

"What's Hacker been up to?"

---

I'm so super excited to see what you guys thought of this chapter so pls review I will give you head pats-

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