(TW: blood, description of injury, and potty mouth words but not excessive.)

Helsknight rarely gets salty over sword duels since he wins the majority of the ones he participates in.

... Except for the duels with his clone. The Netherborn wishes he was joking, but he wasn't.

It was infuriating.

Hels stumbled through the Nether-side of the portal, clutching his bloodied chest with a shaking hand. His orange blood stained the battered chestplate he wore. It still dripped to his elbow from his arms, eventually falling to the ground with a small pitter. Was he supposed to be losing this much blood from a simple chest wound? It wasn't that much in the past.

The knight narrowed his eyes to his surroundings, sagging against the frame of the swirling portal as he willed his heart rate to come back down from the skies. The teal trees of his home biome blurred with the netherrack and blackstone of his base. Should that be concerning? Possibly.

As he walked—stumbled, more like, to the entrance of his base, colorful swears ran through his mind. He and Wels were supposed to be equals in everything, including skill in swordsmanship. The only reason he lost is because Wels played dirty and decided to include traps. If the blasted knight didn't cheat, he would have won.

Hels knew he was only thinking that to make himself feel better. If the common trend still continued, he would have lost to Wels anyways. Like normal.

With his vision swimming and a limp to his step, the Netherborn staggered to his pathetic excuse of his base. The halls were familiar enough to not get lost but were still new to where he'd bump against the corners of the walls. Up the staircases and through the maze of corridors, the knight tripped into his room and flopped onto his makeshift bed, barely acknowledging the fact he hit his head on the handle of a golden pickaxe.

As he stilled on his 'bed' (two planks of wood with old wood draped on top of them), the pain in his chest faded slightly, to Hels' relief. Constantly moving and making his chestplate rub against said pain didn't help in the slightest.

... Speaking of his bedroom, how did he get there that fast? He surely hadn't run... did he really forget walking to the room? Did he zone out as he was trudging through his halls?

Hels scoffed to himself and took the pickaxe under his head in his hand, throwing it against the opposite wall with all of his remaining strength. It bounced weakly, barely leaving a chip in the blackstone block. He would never admit he was weak and tired. It was just a bad throw.

"Well, someone's acting pissy," a voice in the doorway said. It took a few moments for him to comprehend what they said, and when he did, Hels groaned and rolled to his side, his back facing the person.

"Shut your mouth," he growled. A clot of blood dripped out the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away only to cough up more. Orange blood sprayed across the sheets, and he groaned again at the thought of cleaning them without water or peroxide. Might as well burn them and steal more from the Overworld.

Hels ripped the helmet off his head and pushed it to the floor. It clanked loudly, and there must have been a fresh dent, but he couldn't care any less. The sting from losing yet another duel with Wels hurt more than accidentally damaging his beloved armor.

He cared for his ego more than his armor after all.

After a moment of complete silence, the other person spoke up. "Did Wels whoop your arse again?"

"Shut up, Evil X," Hels snarled as soon as the last word left the other's mouth. The other laughed. "He used a trap. A prank. And that's completely cheating."

"Aye. I'm sure." The pounding of boots against the blackstone floor indicated him coming closer. In a quieter volume, they continued, "Will one healing potion suffice?"

Hels narrowed his eyes then nodded wordlessly, his hands unconsciously hovering over the large slash in his chest.

"I'll get three. Sit tight here, 'ight?" And before the knight could reply with a snarky response, Evil X's footsteps trailed into the hall, quickly fading from hearing range.

Hels scowled once more when the thought of the fight with his clone made its way into his mind. Not even one moment of alone time and he was already thinking about the duel. It was something that took up his entire day and mind. Not even he could deny—it wasn't only a habit, it was obsessive.

What happened during the duel was normal. The quick slices, powerful jabs, strong parries, and unbreakable blocks happened far too fast to comprehend correctly. The only reason he managed to stay alive was because of all his training. Otherwise, besides the skill level, it was unfair. If Wels didn't trap him in those stupid spider webs, he would have been able to get a few more hits on Wels here and there, perhaps lowering him to at least half health and forcing him to wipe the smirk off his face.

was peculiar to Hels, however, was the length of the duel. The shortest duel he and his clone has ever done was thirty-seven minutes long without a break. They have gone for far longer. Neither Wels nor Hels should have been slipping at the twenty-minute mark, but today, they did. Why were they tiring at half the length they normally do? The duel four days ago lasted fifty-six minutes (though with a short break that was not long enough to recover fully), and Hels doubts he and Wels were sitting around doing nothing in the time period between the two duels.

And the worst part about that? Hels seemed to be tiring faster than Wels. Not only was that a low hit to his ego and pride, but it greatly boggled his mind. He absolutely wasn't resting the entire time, and Evil X could account for that. The hours he spent in the courtyard of his base was used for one reason: training. (And maybe a bit obsessively.)

The possibilities ran through his head. Lack of training was out. He doesn't get sick, and if it was the small chance he was, there would have been more symptoms. It was not a bad day for him, Wels seemed to be having problems too. But it seemed to be only the two knights since Evil X was still his annoying self.

Hels visibly deflated. Whether it was at the thought of his apparent weakness, or the rest of his energy draining into the mattress underneath him, he didn't know.

He automatically shifted positions to get more comfortable (how comfortable can one be when they're still equipped in half a set of armor?), and he absolutely did not whimper in pain when the gash in his torso flared.

Hels' hands made their way to his hair, tangling in the sweaty raven locks. He ignored the stabbing pain in his abdomen when he moved his arms, instead choosing to focus on the blood he's staining in his hair. Would the orange mess up the red-dyed ends? Maybe. But as long as the tips of his hair were another color to carry on a Nether tradition, he didn't mind.

An audible hiss escaped his lips as he ran his fingers through his tangled hair, his scalp getting pulled when his digits got caught on a knot. Moments after, a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling it away from his head.

"Hey, don't do that." When had Evil X come back? "I've got the potions, 'kay? Drink two of them and I'll pour the third on the wound."

The knight grunted, "That hurts like hell though." EX raised an eyebrow, choosing to otherwise ignore the possible pun.

"It'll heal better and faster if you do it the way I said. We've got the same books in both of our bases' libraries. I can pull it from yours if you'd like." A cold and round object was pushed into his hand, and a pat on his shoulder made him shift away.

Hels glared at the pink liquid that swirled in the bottle. His desaturated skin deeply contrasted the bright, almost neon pink. Just his skin tone alone made it seem like he needed some healing, because if anything, he naturally appeared sick.

But no, that's how the knight's been his entire life. Maybe he could pass it off as his wounds being normal, his blood loss being normal, though he doubts Evil X is stupid.

In an uncharacteristically weak voice, Hels finally said, "I've been managing just fine-"

"I don't care what you do when I'm not around to help. Do it my way, trust me, it helps." When Hels didn't move, Evil X grabbed his shoulder with a firm grasp and pulled it closer to the bed. The Netherborn hissed as his wound was disturbed.

"If you let me heal you, it won't hurt and you wouldn't be hissing like a cat."

Why was Evil X helping him? It's not like he asked for it. Hels batted Evil X's hand away from his chest, causing the open potion in his hand to splash. EX rolled his eyes, moving to wipe it from his wrist.

The Voidwalker then sighed, "Listen, Hels, I'm trying to help you. I can head back to my base if you'd like, but you have to drink the potions. Don't claim that experiencing pain will help your immunity to it."

"It does-"

Evil X glared. "Heal up. Or I will force it down your throat." The threat would have been effective if he said it like a threat, not like he was talking about the bad bartering trades with piglins.

Hels only raised an unimpressed eyebrow, popping the cork off the top. "How nice, but you're too much of a Voidwalker to actually come through with what you say," he snarked, before downing the two potions in quick succession.

The unpleasant sensation of his skin starting to slowly pull itself together made him wrinkle his nose and frown in disgust. It was never the part of the day he looked forward to.

EX pursed his lips at the comment, moving Hels' arm away from the wound and tugging the chest plate away from his body. "I'm not here to threaten you. Maybe I'm here to annoy you-"

Hels deadpanned, "That's not a statement you begin with 'maybe', that's all you do."

The Voidwalker sighed again, setting the empty potion bottles on the bedside table and slipping the backplate from under Hels. "Quite possibly. Now hold still." And without another warning, he tipped the bottle over his chest. Drops of the pink potion seeped into the wound, and Hels had to dig his heels and twist his hands in the sheets to not curl into himself and mess up the healing process.

The stupid potion method that supposedly heals the wound hurt just as much as how he got it.

But thankfully, the pain was gone almost as quickly as it came, and Hels found himself sagging pathetically into the sheets underneath him. Evil X better not have mixed weakness into the potions, but Hels decided he wasn't that much of a quick thinker. He lifted his head slightly to look at the wound, and, true to EX's word, it was healing faster than it would have. He scowled at the realization that Evil X was right.

EX snickered at the expression and patted his shoulder. "Now rest for once before going out for more training. I don't want to carry you back in like that one time." He laughed when a weakly thrown pillow flopped in his lap. "Right. Alright. And the bed's not gonna blow up?"

"Mm, no, it's not a bed made in the crafting table," Hels muttered into another pillow, already beginning to succumb to the grasp of sleep. Evil X dropped the one he threw back into his lap. "Scat, nerd," he continued, his eyes fluttering close, "if I find you here when I wake up I'm going to throw you into the lava pool."

The sound of footsteps receding reached his ears again, similar to how EX left to get the potions. "How threatening," he said in a quiet voice, dimming the lights of the room, "considering I have natural fire and lava resistance. Hope you haven't forgotten that, I'd be offended if you did."

Hels wasn't awake to respond.

(I hate first chapters.

Welcome to another Hermitcraft fanfiction. This is not a shipping book. Hels and Evil X are just friends that are really irritating to each other.

Things I'm basing this off:
-A one shot I wrote named Countdown to Death but it's not really the same
-My Birthplace AU, also can be found in the one shot book (don't have to read it though, everything you'll need to know will be stated here)
-A crack DnD campaign whose idea will come into play later in the book

>This will be a bit more... laid back than I would like, but whatever, who said I needed to use brain cells, this stuff is just for fun and improvement of skills.

>Trust me when I say I wheezed when I wrote a few of the chapter titles.

>Like normal, every chapter will be over 1k words.

>This is literally fanfiction of fanfiction. It's not canon to my AU because Hels and Evil X are friends. The ideas I'm using are the same though.

>Updates are maybe twice a week because I have the chapters already planned out. Idk depends on my motivation level. Wednesdays and Saturdays, perhaps?

>General Warnings: blood, game typical violence, self-hatred

>I say I'll edit this after I finish the entire book, but honestly I'm gonna get lazy and not do it. Heh, whoopsie.

>Date and word count at the end of the chapter, word count doesn't include the A/Ns.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the book!

-Quill
[Ariyaquila])

(November 15th, 2020. 2115 words.)