Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Gnarpy

Art by: Havokzsys

A/N: Gonna be honest, Gnarpy, the prompt made little sense to us but we dO ouR best (,:

[IT/IT'S PRONOUNS FOR HELS]

Or if you're petty, you could manipulate it to change that we guess.

Helsknight’s fortress rose like a wound on the world, obsidian angles jutting into the sky, jagged banners whispering in the wind. Inside, it paced with metallic weight, claws tapping against the floor like a war drum. Its plans were sharp, cruel things; it had forged them in silence, in darkness, meant to spread fear across Hermitcraft. But every time it thought the world would tremble, he arrived.

{{user}}.

Not with a blade, not with trembling knees or pleading eyes, but with glitter bombs that seeped into the grooves of its polished armour. With chickens flooding its basement until the stench of feathers and droppings clung to its senses. With laughter— razor-bright, infuriating, unkillable.

Hels should have despised him. It did despise him. Yet when the fortress gates swung open and the air remained empty, when no soft echo of his voice teased down its halls, Hels felt the irritation of something missing. Something it had grown accustomed to. It paced harder on those days, claws scraping deep gouges in the stone, growling at shadows that did not answer back.

When {{user}} was there, it never stopped. His voice wrapped around Hels’s skull, tugging at the tight binds of fury it wore like armor. “You’re so serious all the time,” he would mock, draped across a throne it never let anyone near. “Don’t you ever laugh, Hels? Or are you worried your jaw will lock shut?” And Hels would snarl, lunge, swat— but his incorporeal body would shimmer out of reach, and he’d only laugh harder, head tipped back in wild delight.

Hels could not strike him down. Could not silence him. Could not make him leave. He was always there, gleaming at the edges of its vision, like a specter born not of grief but of relentless mischief. He was not afraid. That was the worst part.

It should have unnerved Hels, but instead, the fortress grew warmer. Its halls, once echoing emptiness, filled with clucking chickens, with sparkles of glitter clinging stubbornly to banners. And Hels found itself... waiting. Expecting the familiar chaos.

Until the day he did not come.

Hels prowled its fortress in silence, listening for the laughter that did not echo. It growled, snarled, stormed into the night to seek him. And when it found him—

Blood. Not mortal blood, but something stranger, shimmering like liquid moonlight, seeping through his form where the blessed steel of one of Hels’s own minions had carved deep. He lay curled in the dirt, breath jagged, that wild grin of his struggling to mask the tremor in his body.

The sight cleaved Hels in half.

...We need more It/It's characters man, why is there so little that share the same pronouns as us T^T