Forgotten Demons

Seraph Sabre

He searched, desperately, frantically scaling the rubble and debris that littered the streets, though the search shredded his palms. It would have been two days by now, he realized, if his master was alive in this mess somewhere…

He turned a corner and was greeted with piles of crumbled stones and bricks, a metal raster strewn directly across the street. And beyond it, he could see… something lying in the sand. The form was not unlike a person, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say the size was approximate to that of his master. So he stepped cautiously on a pile of unstable rock, grabbing at the rusted, scraping raster with his hands, and pulled himself over it. Peeling, decaying metal poked into his hands, but he paid the wounds no heed. He practically fell off the raster and onto the dusty terrain, but quickly regained his footing and rushed towards the downed figure.

As he grew closer, it came into focus. Knives was sprawled on his back, his limbs splayed in a mess that looked both unnatural and extraordinarily uncomfortable; it seemed likely that his right arm was broken. There were gouges and blood on every visible area of flesh, his clothing was tattered and bloodied, and his face was contorted into an expression of utmost misery and pain. Legato knelt by his side, tentatively brushing a hand over Knives' brow, as if his beaten master could have possibly managed to cause him any harm. His fingers fell one by one off Knives' head, and he drew his hand back, staring in disbelief at the state of the plant.

Gently, he issued another touch, this time carefully nudging a shoulder, as he spoke softly, "Master? Can you hear me?"

Legato bit his lip as Knives made no response, but he continued, "It's me, Master… Legato. I'm going to take you back to the complex and take care of you, alright?"

With that, he gingerly lifted Knives off the ground and, carrying his precious load, made his way much more carefully out of the ruined city.

-…-

Days had passed, and though wounds had begun to slowly mend, Knives still hadn't given any indication that he would wake up, let alone fully recover. Legato grew increasingly anxious as the hours passed, never leaving the room, except for absolute necessities. Despite his remarkable talent for gluttony, he had barely managed to eat at all since he had found the plant and brought him back. Much more effort went into making sure that Knives received enough nutrition, a daunting challenge in this state. More often than not, it meant preparing food in a more liquid form, and slowly coaxing the unconscious Knives to swallow. He also took great care to delicately convince his master to turn onto or off of a side, to avoid any complications from leaving him in one position for too long. Most of his time, though, was spent waiting.

Sometimes he would pace; at others, he merely sat in a chair and watched Knives sleep, and sometimes he would sit on the edge of the bed and plead with his injured master not to leave him.

He didn't know what he would do if Knives died.

He'd certainly have no idea what was expected of him… he thought that Knives would probably want him to destroy humanity, but he didn't know if he was supposed to, since he was only a human himself and that task was not for his kind. Perhaps Knives would have wanted him to continue his mission; seek out Vash and convince him to destroy humanity, though the task seemed even more of a challenge without his master's infinite wisdom to guide him through it.

Realistically, he would probably just die himself. He knew he wasn't supposed to be allowed death until he had accomplished all of the goals his master had laid for him, but he probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

He always reassured himself, after he came to this conclusion, that it would not be an issue. After all, Knives wasn't weak, like a human. No matter how bad his condition, it would be okay and he would live.

Knives wouldn't die.

Knives couldn't die.