Work Text:
Truck — aka Destruction — had existed for a long time. The time couldn’t even be counted in a normal, linear way, because time moved differently inside the storage realms where he'd spent the majority of his existence, so it was really anyone’s guess exactly how old he was. What he did know was that he was ancient and tired. And, most recently, lonely. An odd feeling for a scythe forged by one of the most bloodthirsty elves in history, but there it was. That elf, whose name was long forgotten, though his family name survived, had certainly not created him with companionship in mind. No, he had been made solely for the purpose of destruction, hence his name.
For what was probably millenia, though he could never judge it very precisely, Destruction never questioned his purpose. While he spent a great deal of time in his wielders’ storage realms, he was always the most frequently used artifact the elven family owned. He was frequently summoned, treated with a brief reverence by his wielder, then used to destroy whatever stood in the way of his wielder’s goals. He thought little of it. This was his purpose, afterall.
Then, something changed. Noctus Mors — the first of Destruction’s wielders whose name he could be bothered to remember — inherited him. Noctus was different from Destruction’s previous wielders in a most puzzling way. He used Destruction to destroy, yes, but not indiscriminately and not just anyone, but only those who directly and purposely challenged him and refused to back down when given the chance. And often, those challenges were because Noctus insisted on protecting those under his rule, something Destruction’s previous wielders cared nothing for.
Destruction didn’t understand what made Noctus so different, but the longer he remained his wielder, the more Destruction grew to respect him in a way he’d never respected his previous wielders.
Then, the unthinkable happened. A curse cast at Noctus. One that would slowly and painfully destroy his mind. Oh that wasn’t the unthinkable part. No, what was unthinkable was how Destruction reacted. Acting on an unfamiliar protective instinct, with lightning speed he sent his own magic towards the curse, redirecting it from his wielder and into himself. The curse, intended for the mind of a living creature, could not touch Destruction’s magical consciousness, but nor could he hold it back for long. It was only because Noctus immediately dismissed him back to the storage realm that the curse remained with him.
Time passed. Decades? Centuries? Destruction couldn’t say. Unlike his elven wielders, as an heirloom weapon, Destruction did not need interaction to stay sane. Still, the isolation grew more and more tiresome. And yet, left alone with only his own thoughts, Destruction began to realize something. He no longer wanted to be nothing more than a tool of unmitigated destruction. His time with Noctus had changed him. The strange elf’s behavior had awoken something within him, something that drove Destruction to protect his wielder, though he’d cared nothing for the fates of his previous ones.
Now, it drove him to make another decision. If ever he got another opportunity to be wielded again, whether by Noctus or someone else, he would never again allow himself to be used as a tool of indiscriminate destruction. No longer would he be Destruction. His last act had been to protect and it had felt satisfying in a way blatant destruction never did.
A new purpose, he thought, required a new name. But he had always been known as Destruction. What else could he call himself?
He finally, impulsively, answered the question when yet another unthinkable thing happened. A new voice called out through the storage realm. Not Noctus’ voice, nor that of another elf. No. The girl’s connection to the storage realm was clearly forged through Noctus’ magic, but she herself had no elven magic. Destruction sensed the other weapons all dismissing the mysterious non-elven girl who spoke to them so strangely. But he was intrigued and oddly…amused...by her manner. And there was something else unusual about her. He couldn’t say how he knew, but the curse that still clung to him would be unable to harm her.
Just as it seemed she was about to close the portal, Destruction made a choice. He wanted to give this girl a chance to wield him, wanted out of this tiresome storage realm.
“Truck!” he shouted. Well. Apparently that was his name now — he’d declared himself. But the girl didn’t call back to him. To his disappointment, nor did she respond to his declaration the next time she called out to the weapons in the storage realm.
It wasn’t until, what he guessed was a few weeks later, when, yet again, she accessed the realm and called out to him specifically, demanding his help, that things finally changed.
Now, Chloe was his wielder, and, for the first time in his existence, he was treated as something more than a sacred weapon. Chloe called him her partner and treated him like it too. It drew out a playful side of him, as he experienced what was perhaps genuine happiness and affection. He hadn’t planned this, but he wasn’t going to question it either. He only hoped it would last.
Months went by, months where he could actually keep track of time properly, because Chloe called him out so frequently, just to talk, not only when she needed him for a fight. She kept saying something about it being “only polite to talk to him when things were calm, not only when she needed his help”.
Then, came another crossroads for Truck. It was a normal day in the elven city, no threats in sight, but Chloe had summoned him out anyway. She wore the armor his magic generated and carried him in his hilt. She was simply walking around the city, Noctus by her side, when a young child interrupted them.
“Queen Chloe!” the child exclaimed. “Is it true that Trunk isn’t just an heirloom weapon, but your friend?”
Chloe laughed. “You mean Truck? Yeah, I suppose he is my friend.”
“That’s what I said! Trunk! And that’s amazing! My mom said no one has ever been friends with an heirloom weapon before!”
Chloe chuckled again. “His name is Truck, not Trunk, Alecia.”
Truck had a thought. He had chosen that name on impulse, probably because it sounded vaguely similar to “Destruction.” Why not choose something else? And something that made his friendly wielder laugh seemed a good choice.
“Trunk!” he announced.
Chloe and Noctus stared at him and he felt a strange sense of amusement.
“What?” Noctus asked.
“I…think he’s saying he likes the name?” Chloe said. “Is that right, Truck?”
“Trunk!” Trunk corrected.
She laughed. “I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
“Trunk!” he affirmed.
Noctus looked torn between laughter and horror. “Either that, or he’s decided it’s his new catchphrase, instead of “Woo, woo!”
“Trunk!” Trunk exclaimed happily.