I'll see you next time, man, Flame says, smiling. Even without armor, he still feels so much stronger. There is a heat going from him, not fading away even now, unable to fade away.
Flame shakes his hand, and his warmth goes to Zam too, embracing them both. It leaves his trace on him, a sign of the acceptance and brotherhood, something inseparable and unifying, a fire swirl right under his heart. Any fire is blazing hot, it hurts and leaves burns, but fire is also a warmth that covers you on long days and gives you hope for the future.
I'll miss you, bro, Zam says. Despite that almost all season they were hating each other, now he thinks not about all these months but about a small moment in their lives when Flame was the closest to him, the one who fed him and hugged him and promised that everything will be okay, and Zam trusted it.
Flame's grip gets tighter, only for a moment.
Kill him, bro, he says. Now you have to do it, or ill know you failed and never forget it.
He swallows a lump. I will kill him, he agrees. I will. I promise.
Of course you will, bro, Flame gives him a toothy smile. You have no choice now. I'm leaving it on you.
He jumps in the void, and it feels like losing a part of yourself. Zam clutches his chest, still feeling the heat burning inside. It makes him move forward. He just can't not to.
(He goes outside. It rains. Because of course it does.)
PrinceZam has an oath. It’s written in a book (presumably with a blood instead of the ink), which lies in his echest (he had to lose two of them to finally learn to do it). Mapicc never read it. He doesn’t need to: he knows its rules by heart.
And, at some point, its contents is a full stop against who Mapicc is. It can suit Zam, even if seeing him like that was still so strange, but it’d never suit Mapicc. Mapicc was a murderer at first, despite the times and his role, someone who actually fully lived only killing people around, even if he had his rules and a pride, even if he also abided by the cycles. He needs to kill, and Mane and Flame are far out of his league. Sometimes he accepts it. Usually he does not.
The second time, he learns that he can’t even kill Kab. Even after she and Zam quarrel, even after she kills 4c and Jepexx, she is still considered too weak and not worthy of being hunted down. "You can take one of her hearts," Zam suggests weakly - it seems like he’s pushing the words out himself - "the one she stole from Jepexx. It’s fair." Mapicc refused, but not because he had too much honor; because if he kills her once, he’d kill her again, and again, and again, until she has no hearts left. He has great control, but had no idea if he’d be able - if he’d want - to stop himself, even for Zam. So he doesn’t do it, and Zam smiles at him and his eyes are even too warm. He thinks I mercy her, Mapicc wonders. It’s incorrect.
But he is still glad to stand by Zam’s side again, you know? They could’ve been teammates before, but season five molded them together, and they still work like a single piece - Mapicc just knows where he needs to close a gap, and Zam starts moving before being asked. It puts things in their right places, and buzz in his head lessens a little.
It’s Zam who takes the most hits in the end - only on seven, he’s so much more fragile and people know it - but Zam is prepared for it. He is always lightheaded and giggly after all the turtles, and he smells like earth and dust, but he is alive, and he goes to fight again, and so does Mapicc. He’s here to kill, and he does hit a lot, but both Blindfolds are too thick-skinned and get away again and again; he draws out their blood but never gets their hearts, left frustrated and bloodthirsty. Almost everyone on this server is forbidden for him to hunt, and he makes himself look away from them.
Blindfolds laugh at him. He knows: they see him as an animal with clipped fangs, but he never was an animal to begin with. He fights them not because they go against the server, not because there are people to be protected, but because that’s what Zam wants. They laugh at that too.
And he takes a shield with grass and a sun as its symbol, and he covers Zam’s back with it and proudly shows it as a reminder of a dedication. He’s self-aware, and the sun on his shield shines in fights he takes for someone else’s faith, for someone else’s reasons, for someone else’s decision. He fights an all-time losing battle, but that doesn’t matter cuz he is where he needs to be, and his grip is as strong as it can be. And...
...Oh?
At first, he barely touches his chin with two fingers, then gathers his hand into a fist and wipes-smears-the blood from there.
Huh.
He stares at the bloody hand, then tries again, this time with half-clenched knuckles. The blood doesn’t stop.
pili is on clown's tower when he sees the roof of aimsey's house blowing up. he jumps, hearing belated noise, lands lightly on his paws, and rushes to the place still shrouded in smoke, listing those who were inside.
yellow. blue. bad. and–pangi, he saw him at the door just a couple of minutes ago! while he did not know what had happened, his allegiances had long been determined, and he draws out his greataxe and empties one potion bottle after another on the move. health. speed. strength. haste...
the first person he sees is ros – she keeps her back straight and proud, and her butterfly sticks to her side, but her stance is shaking. the second one is pangi, no mask, no sunglasses, and an open expression on his face, with obsidian and end crystals in his hands. they are surrounded by those present. tubbo's mutilated and charred corpse lies against the wall.
pangi smiles broadly, spreading his arms, and deliberately slowly approaches ros, gently asking her to return what she stole, while ros hides behind a shield and moves further and further away. pili's almost there when ros turns and runs away, and pangi follows her. pili dumbly stares after them for a couple of moments – bad notices him and, leaning into his ear, begins to explain that tubbo threatened to kill, and stole, and mocked – before rushing after them.
ros is not helpless, the kingdom has trained her to be a warrior, and she knows how to protect vulnerable spots and counterattack, but pangi, weak, funny, silly, helpless pangi is faster – where there used to be gentleness and courtesy, sharp edges and clear movements appear, the greataxe flies in his hands, too fast for such heavy weapon.
he pierces through the shield with a crash, crumbling in half through her blocking with a halberd – the blow passes just a little, plunging deep, but coming out of the flesh without causing lethal damage, and joe broski heals her, stitching meat together, making the blood stop, removing any damage that is too severe. ros is covered in blood, and she's flying head over heels, but she's still clutching her halberd and gritting her teeth in pain, eating one golden apple after another, illuminated by a light glow.
pili's breath catches in his throat. he's a cat, he sees, but he's too far away – in half a step, he drops to four paws and picks up his pace – pangi shortens the distance, and he's in front of ros and swings with his greataxe once again –
pangi told him where he is from, of course. about lifesteal smp being dangerous place, full with murderers and wars, the world who raised him the way he is. that he fought and killed and chose to be more peaceful because he wanted to. pili believed him, of course, but seemed to never realize how serious it was.
– ros is more dignified than most. she defends herself, and she clings to every opportunity, and she runs, but pangi crushes her back, and when she is half-lying, elbow-deep in a muddy river, primal horror is frozen in her gaze, and she covers herself, no longer even with a weapon, just with her hand – and pangi, laughing, lowers his greataxe down.
and – freezes, breathing heavily. when pili is here, it's obvious from the torn body and glassy gaze that ros is dead.
pili is angry, but at first he is ready to defend himself, knowing how fighters in the heat of adrenaline are ready to pounce on anyone, not only an enemy, even an ally, and he had no right to miss pangi's hit right now. but pangi, staring at ros's corpse, probably hearing only the hum of his own blood in his ears, turns to him and-
in just a second, he was once again the one pili knew so well – a smiling and spontaneous friend, innocent and in need of protection. a partner through any kind of turmoil.
– oh, hello, pili! – he says casually, mechanically wiping his own face. blood methodically drips from his smeared greataxe. – i didn't know you were around, it's been a long time, – he scratches his head, – here's the deal... – he stops and stares at ros's corpse under his feet, blinking stupidly. he laughs awkwardly, – oh, fuck, i shouldn't have killed her, should i?
there was something different in how pangi was moving and behaving. he was good in being silly and funny – too good, the way it felt wrong.
it was hard to see pangi's emotions when he weared his – muzzle – gas mask, along with sunglasses covering almost the entire face, but pili still was able to notice other things – ways he was all jumpy and swinging his tail when nervous, how he was peaceful and relaxed and happy, and how anger was making him unnaturally motionless, with slightly wooden movements and an overly obvious emotion in his voice. today he had no mask, not planning to do anything needing it, taking a day to plan and get ready and – and look where they were.
– she's my target, – pili says lowly; after running for a long time, his breathing is short. his communicator is buzzing – it's bad, he warns him that half the server is coming here. he's not sure how he feels, – i left them all to you, but she is my target. this is my personal business.
and pangi, not an open book but much closer to it, with readable eyes and an open mouth, looks at him with a guilt.
– you're right, pili, I'm here to blame, – he says mournfully, – i couldn't resist killing ros, and it was wrong. i'm sorry.
pili looks again – ros corpse in the murky water, scales burned from the explosion, shiny greataxe, blood on clothes and hands and face, and regretful expression on pangi's face.
he smiles tightly.
– i could never be mad at you, pangi, – he confesses, – i'll kill her next time. let's get out of here before they come here.
pangi beams.
– okay! – he doesn't argue, – i'll kill everyone else next time!
he's still laughing, as if there's nothing serious in all this, when pili pulls him by the hand away from the crime scene.
– i missed it, – pangi admits, – really, really missed. but its fine cuz we can fight as muh as we want now! they will come to die by my hand. do you want this world to burn down, pili?
DAY 1: HEARTS – Unable to live in a world where his best friend is rapidly turning into a monster, ItzSubz_ makes a choice. (CW Death, suicidal ideations, god complex, self-harm)
DAY 2: MACE – Clown has no plans to participate in the Peace Trials, but Squiddo says he has to, so he does.
DAY 3: DISTRESS – Trying to save the spawn, Zam breaks the Oath. (CW Temporary death)
DAY 5: BUILD – Zam refuses to leave the floating islands because Subz made them. (CW Temporary Death)
DAY 6: BURN – Despite shapeshifting to suit his teammates better, Zam is still too human for the war. (CW Injury, death, trauma, suicide)
DAY 7: ALIANCE – Wemmbu misses the moment when he does become not an ally, but a teammate.
DAY 8: POTION – Pacifist Zam does not need strength pots. When you are not planning to fight, why would you waste your space?
DAY 9: TRIO — Zam involuntarily grows horns – a symbol of his trust in Subz. It's bad.
DAY 10: VILLAIN – Spoke puts everything on the line for the realization of an absolute plan. (CW Violence, temporary death)
DAY 11: GIFT – It's time for Vi to say goodbye to Jumper. (CW Death, suicidality)
DAY 12: SECRET – Zam meets Mane. They are enemies now, but still not really.
DAY 13: GAME – Under Rek's leadership, Lifestealers go to the BlockWars. With the degree of strangeness expected of them.
DAY 14: KILL – The Abyss makes a special gift for Zam.
DAY 15: TREASURE – Zam gets his happy ending with Vi and Subz, but nothing is that simple.
DAY 16: WOUND – Vi doesn't quite understand what's wrong and decides to check for himself. A direct continuation of day 15. (CW Suicide, death, DDDNE)
DAY 17: FLIGHT – Defeated in battle, the Empire is hiding underground. Zam comes to help.
DAY 18: EXPLOSION – PB&J defeats Wemmbu, but for some reason he refuses to just die. (CW Death, violence)
DAY 19: WEAPON – Kaboodle has a blue bow. It is not just a weapon. She knows it.
DAY 20: BLOSSOM – One day Poafa just decides that he wants to photosynthesize instead of eating netherrack. He's too stubborn to give up.
DAY 21: SIGNS – Mapicc invites Ro in the Abyss. Again. Again. Again. And again. (CW Temporary death, violence)
DAY 22: PUPPET – Leo fights in a war. Many things feel not right. (CW Death)
DAY 23: PROTECTION – Zam gets splashed with some kind of really bad potion. Gladly, Pangi is here to help. (CW Temporary blindness)
DAY 24: BACKSTAB – Zam thinks he can't kill Pangi. He still does it. (CW Violence, death)
DAY 25: VOID – Zam really wanted to be called the Voidwalkers. They are still called the Abyss, but they do walk on the void.
DAY 26: POWER – There is something wrong with Ash's bow. This has absolutely nothing to do with Dodgebolt.
DAY 27: DECIMATION – Bitter Jumper!centric about PB&J. (CW Death, violence, gore)
DAY 28: POSSESSION – Zam stays in the Spepticle's body after Minute's death. War continues, as well as the battle for the control of the body. (CW Death, violence, religious themes)
DAY 29: HAVOC – Vi jumps into the void and hears the god. He has nothing to lose and he has to make sure Jumper will be fine, so he asks to join the Abyss. Maybe there are more reasons than that. (CW Death, suicidal ideations)
DAY 30: LOVE – True Abyss member Jumper and a happy end.
DAY 31: END – Building on the Lifesteal, ItzSubz_ does not expect that his buildings will really stand. It's a little harder than just that.
its not like zam actually tries to talk: he stands, carefully holding his notes, just staring at spawn, noticing one familiar face after another, feeling like all thoughts in his head became too heavy, and then just. turns around. and leaves.
you know, all of the princezam nature is to oppose, is to fight. but the last seasons taught him about just how important it is to appreciate people around, to do not only for yourself but for them too. and just today he promised to not interfere with mapicc's plans.
he can't fight, but he can't support. so he leaves. first time in many days, he has no words to say anymore.
all of it is just too familiar, and memories of the past cloud his mind and make every part of his body weak and stale. story repeats itself, and hed hate to see it continue and weave hemself into it, so he does not. i need some time to be alone, he says to derapchu and goes almost to the border – to sunny hill, surrounded by snow-capped mountains.
this time something in it reminds him too heavy. he doesn't build a castle. instead, he builds a hut.
it's not so bad, he says to himself, laying firewood in the stove, it's not season 4 anymore, noone will backdoor the server and mapicc will stop. sooner or later. i cant fight him, but i dont have to. everything will end. and then ill go back.
he feels so fucking tired. only now he understands just how tired he is. so he lies down. and sleeps. and sleeps. and sleeps.
it never gets better; the tombstone of exhaustion only presses him down harder and harder. he sleeps and sees dreams. he cooks himself food and eats it, feeling no taste. he plants flowers and takes care of them. sometimes he talks to derapchu. he never tells where he is.
only in so slow time he suddenly understands just how misplaced he is. he's patch on patch, stitched over and over again with scraps of fabric, no matter how worn or unsuitable they may be, over and over and over, stitched with scars running through his spine. he is a trace of something forgotten, overlaid by images of other people and experiences, accustomed to it so much that it feels like himself. he sleeps and sees no nightmares. maybe it's for the worse.
so far from anyone, without any real goal, Immersed deep into himself, he easily starts missing hours, days, and weeks. time doesn't feel real, and he, at the end, too. people write him. sometimes he answers. he never agrees to meet.
i'll go back when the mawn thing will be over; he promises to derap but hardly believes in it himself. something makes him feel like he has nothing to come back to. this house is also not his home, but it's at least silent here.
derap persists, but in the end he gives up too. and, in the end, he is left alone. he grows dandelions in the field around. when an unfamiliar flower appears in the field, he does not prevent it from growing nearby.
he blinks and feels like he missed a whole week. sometimes he just lies there and doesn't move. he doesn't feel the softness of the pillow, the springy floor under his feet, and, after all, he doesn't feel pain either. a ringing void freezes in his head. he feels tired, but sleep doesn't help.
he missed a moment something changes.
something about how the world exists around him. something about how forest smells like. something about how the grass is rustling under his feet. something is wrong, but he barely makes himself care. it doesn't matter, not really, but time still slows down. he slowly dips his hands into the loose earth, feeling the coolness and texture. nothing here belongs to him, but that's not the point. he plants some poppy seeds. one of them ends up in a pot on his windowsill.
i'm fully okay, he says to derap while not being able to remember what he ate today, i'm just in retirement for now. i will go back to you, i promise. i just need some time.
the boards under his feet creak differently. sometimes something whistles, like an unfamiliar bird. sometimes it seems to him that the grass next to the house is crushed.
isn't this a true peaceful life, he asks himself. to run away from everything and be alone. in the end, there is no way to harm anyone if you are alone. he feels like he was running a marathon all this time and only now stopped.
he adds blue orchids, but their blue is drowning in the red. he takes the smallest orchid inside and turns it into a magnificent flower. In a moment of weakness, he takes the cornflower inside. the next one turns out to be an orange tulip. he doesn't comprehend it.
is it what i wanted in season four, he asks himself. this place strangely reminds him of it. he reminds himself of it, too, allowing himself to feel anything. he still can't decide if it's a good thing.
the rain is pounding on his window. someone is knocking on his coffin lid. poppies fill the whole field.
i miss them, he writes on a paper. but i can't go back yet. not while spawn is someone's. not while i have to fight my best friend.
when he comes back from the forest, his house still keeps warmth. his footsteps are echoing, and his diary is open by the wind. i miss being able to decide, this page says. i was good at it once.
he doesn't feel sick. he feels dump. the green in his cape is starting to fade.
sometimes it seems to me that i won't be able to overcome this, he writes. but I know i can handle it. i always can. i will overcome anything. i just can't give up.
the forest smells of pine and fir, and it has not been lost in the trees for a long time, wandering far beyond the edge. the forest always brings him back when he wants to. it never holds him by force and generously supplies him with tree cones and wet moss. he always comes back because he has nowhere to go.
this time, when he comes home, he has a visitor. he is not surprised: he calls them by name, nods, makes tea from fir needles.
mapicc rests his head on his elbows.
– lets go home, – he says. zam shakes his head.
– to mawn? – he asks.
mapicc squints.
– yes.
– i won't.
– why.
zam looks at him almost regretfully.
– because i refuse to fight you, – he answers simply, – and i will have no choice but to.
– even fighting me is much better than- than whatever this is, – mapicc remarks irritably.
– i don't want to fight you ever again, – zam signs, – i know you like me as your enemy. i do not.
– you don't have to fight me. join me.
– i hate everything you've created, – he answers with pity, – and i can't change it. please, leave me alone. do whatever you want to do. and one day i'll be able to go back.
– i dont understand why you oppose it so much. you haven't even given it a try. is it, like, that bad? people love it; you can love it too.
zam shakes his head.
– did you really come to convince me to love what I hate?
– i came to invite you to my thing.
– not this time.
in the end, mapicc still leaves. only after that zam takes his floor apart to find a secret passage under the boards. it leads to a dug-out underground room filled with anything. there are books everywhere. an unmade bed. and a pot with a dandelion in the middle of the makeshift countertop.
mapiccs room, says the sign. he adds a glow ink to it and looks around again.
for an infinitely long moment he considers just starting to live here.
4C sees a figure coming up a hill – a yellow spot catches his eye instantly, and there is simply no one else here like it, and he raises his hand to finally, after too long an hour of an event, greet Zam in person.
He only needs a moment more to see the purple cloak and too much blood to be just his own. For a split second, 4C stops, and a freezing chill hits him to the bone. He immediately understands everything.
The cold is replaced by calmness and confidence. He knows the situation. There's nothing to worry about.
He waves at him.
– Hey, Zam!
Zam smiles brightly and waves back.
– Hey, 4C!
PrinceZam whispers to you: you know what to do.
There is complete chaos here: suspicious people appeared, no one understands anything, everyone is pulling each other in different directions, looking for solutions to the threats, and all this is mixed into an ear-crushing hubbub. And Zam... he just stands there, listening to people, watching as one of the team members climbs as high as possible, deciding to hide from hunters in the air.
Zam whispers to you: should I just kill them all here
He's not answering. He pulls people into conversation until they disperse into smaller groups.
DTR, having broken away from the others, winds circles around them, and 4C mentally says goodbye to them. In the rush of the moment, he doesn't even feel sympathy. All of them are already doomed anyway.
– Imagine, I was able to make 11 people play a scene from Titanic, – he shares while they slowly walk in the opposite direction from the rest, and Zam tells his own adventures in tune with him, and how he was teleported many thousands of blocks from his house, and DTR adds here and there, rushing back and forth. They tell how suspicious one of the guys in their group was, that he even threatened them, but no, he didn't seem to be a hunter; he didn't have any diamond armor or netherite weapons, but anyways, all sorts of people exist, after all, PVP is turned on for everyone-
4C liked DTR. They were a ray of sunshine, eternally energetic and motivating and unable to stay in place, and ready to tell the whole story of their lives. He puts his hand on their shoulder, and DTR stops, staring at him curiously with their bottomless fishy eyes.
– You don't have to worry anymore, – he warmly assures, – I'm good at fighting, and Zam is even better!
– Are you doing nothing but fighting there? – DTR seems perplexed, – of course, we also have fights sometimes, but usually we just have fun together.
– Well, not only that, – 4C agrees, – relationships between people, teams, stories, interests, all this is also very important, but in the end you often still need to fight, – and he smiles.
Diamond sword pierces DTR right into the heart, and then Zam leads it down, ripping the chest open. Blood gets on 4C's clothes, and he lets DTR go, allowing them to fall from the horse onto the ground, muttering something muffled.
– And if you fight over and over again, one day it becomes your life, – Zam purrs, and then bursts into laughter until DTR stops moving – and their pupils roll up – and they die, crumbling into nothing.
4C dusts off his jacket, but blood has already soaked into it.
– You've stained me, – he remarks reproachfully, powerlessly trying to clean it at least a little, – how can I pretend to be innocent if I'm covered in someone else's blood?
– I'm sorry, – Zam pulls, hiding a sword, – but it's not so noticeable from the distance, maybe they wouldn't notice?
– Zam that doesn't mean I want to wear dirty clothes, – he retorts, shaking his head disapprovingly. Zam raises his hands in defeat.
– I'm sorry! – he admits, - I'll try to be more careful, 4C, I promise.
– I'll keep an eye on you, – he threatens frivolously and, unable to restrain himself, giggles. They let the horse go and continue walking in the same direction.
When they reach a river, Zam honestly tries to help him wash the blood, but it is tightly stuck – there is no way to fix it on the spot. But he manages to clean himself – remove blood from his head, clean his mouth after the past internal bleeding, wipe almost everything off his hands, leaving only red outlines under the nails. Only his coat remains the same – darkened, half-lost its own color, dragging corpses and grave earth. At least it's still better than it was, says 4C optimistically.
– I thought you had renounced your past self, – he remarks, – does it really not matter as long as you're not on the server?
Zam smiles back at him gently; there is no threat in it, but it is still subtly different from how he smiled before.
– Oh, no, no, 4C, of course not, – he shakes his head, – you can say, that guy took a break. He will return to you in complete safety upon our comeback.
He sighs. Well, this is within the norm of strangeness for a Lifesteal player. He hardly felt even a little surprised.
– Okay, okay, – 4C shrugs, – do you want to find someone specific, or do we take care of those we find first?
– Of course, I am interested in all our dear friends and comrades, – Zam draws out, – and, of course, Fruitberries! I'll be so happy if I get a chance to kill him! – he chuckles enthusiastically, – but we still need to kill everyone else, too. I would prefer to hide my role for now, so we should focus on singles to leave no witnesses. With you around, everyone will believe that we are completely innocent!
– Sure, Zam, – he ironically agrees, – I am, without a doubt, the friendliest player of the event.
– That's what I am talking about!
***
It's even too easy: they follow a compass, determine a situation, and come into contact with singles and duos. Zam looks almost normal and draws them into a conversation, and almost everyone here knows 4C, and they take his benevolence and desire to help for granted. Not used to always being suspicious of everyone, they easily succumb to kind words, gifts and help, open to befriending them, even after discovering the secret of the event, hoping just to spend time well. Not warriors, peaceful people, why should they even be involved in a meat grinder between hunters and the strongest of the strongest?
– Oh, we don't just fight on the Lifesteal, – Zam mysteriously declares, and his listeners are staring at him, catching his every word, listening like a fairytale; – we also, just like you, tell our stories, it's just that there are a lot more deaths in ours. For example, one day I set out to corrupt the whole world, and in the process, wanting to prove my case, I killed a lot of people! – he waves his arms and shrugs his shoulders as if it were an everyday occurrence, – and he, – points to 4C, – was my first victim, with whom it all began! The president whose unwise decision led me to shift my vision!
– Did he murder you? – gasps the first, – and you're still friends?
– Yeah, it happened, – 4C laughs, shaking his head, – I was expecting something like this when we decided to remove the heart recipe. Everyone needs to survive somehow, and I was an obvious target. I don't hold a grudge. Besides, Zam has changed.
– Oh, yes, – Zam murmurs, – I've changed since then! I realized that I was wrong, and I can't let this happen again! I took an oath that I would never kill anyone!
He burns them alive – 4C hands him a camping bottle of ethanol, and Zam laughs hysterically, setting them on fire and then watching agonizing death, admiring and warming hands. Some of his fingertips are licked by flames, getting burns, but he doesn't pay any attention.
4C, waiting for him to finish, is sorting through his backpack – it's been too long without long-distance trips, he completely forgot what he even had with him. A couple of times he winces at the smell of burnt meat. The screams subside over time.
– Are we going to hide the corpses? – he asks, going through all the available elements of his swiss knife.
— No. It's useless, there's not enough time, – Zam replies, putting his hands in his pockets. He's not smiling anymore, but he sounds drunk, still not completely sober from murder, – soon the border will start to close. They won't make it. But we also need to move.
– I really need to figure out my armor, – 4C remarks, looking down at himself, and puts all the things back in his backpack. Only iron boots and helmet, absolutely unsuitable for battles, – when we pick up someone, leave their corpses next time, okay?
Zam drowns the next traveler by holding them by the neck under water until they stop resisting. 4C takes their half-broken protection 1 iron leggings, which still smell of mud. After three more murders, he takes a diamond boots from someone's riddled body.
– I missed killing people, – Zam shares, hiding the third axe under his coat, – it's so much fun, they are too weak, though. Are they so unaccustomed to war? I've killed the weak on the Lifesteal too, but you were different from them. You were so vulnerable just because you chose it.
4C shrugs his shoulders.
– I'm like them, Zam. I am not a warrior. I don't like fighting. There are so many things in the world more interesting than direct war. I don't want to waste my time on it.
Zam chuckles. He turns his trident from side to side, already lying in his hand in his native way.
– Don't worry. You don't have to fight. I will gladly take it for myself.
– It's always important to let people do what they like, – 4C smiles, handing him a helmet from the second corpse lying with a crossbow bolt between their eyes. It still smells of blood and is obviously too big, but Zam doesn't seem concerned about it.
They wade through the river, but it doesn't knock down any smell or stains, just leaves them both wet. 4C glimpses how deeply the blood has seeped into Zam's coat. This is the same coat – the one that wrapped Zam's corpse on the burial and the one that Zam himself stole from his own grave when he possessed Pangi's body. Even now, many months later, there are still traces of 4C's own blood on it – barely discernible, uneven blue streaks on the dark, worn purple. With the still readable trajectory, it is obvious that the hands holding the sword were shaking. He doesn't know how he feels about it.
– It's too easy, – Zam complains in a childish tone, rolling enchantment for the trident for the third time in an hour, – they barely even resist. Don't they value their lives?
– This is an event, – 4C remarks, shrugging; he wrings out his soaked jacket, – no one's going to actually die. Besides, in their worlds, no one will come up and just start killing you, you know? Some might never have fought against anyone other than mobs.
– But I want a real fight, – he objects, – what should I do so that they take swords in their hands and really try to kill me? – he stands up, breaking an enchanter, and his fingers, clutching the handle of the trident, tremble with tension, – is it really necessary to find a bigger group for this? – Zam asks sadly, – this will increase the chance of revealing me... Do you think I can just run into Coldie like that? Or, like, Raddles? – he asks, almost tenderly. – or Fein? Or, – his breath comes in short gasps, and 4C is pretty sure he meant to say "Fruitberries".
– I'm sure if we hurry up, you'll be able to find someone strong, – 4C remarks casually, – they're outstanding players, they can beat other hunters. And what about those who are weaker... – he pauses, thinking, – yes, it makes sense to look for bigger groups. It's going to make it harder to keep your role a secret, but that just means we need to shoot everyone before they run too far, right?
– That's right! – and Zam smiles at him and laughs, clearly imagining how many people he can still kill before the end of the event, – you're right, it's so easy! – he sincerely declares, – we just have to kill them sooner!
It's easy to notice when you know Zam long enough: he gets worse. In the sense that it was worse for him then – he is rapidly losing his self-control and humanity in the desire to kill someone, constantly touching one or the other weapon, tearing his hands, and laughing under his nose. And how did someone like that eventually take the oath of pacifism, 4C thinks distantly, putting his hand to his forehead and looking at the horizon.
He notices it first – a human figure, a girl entwined with pink flowers. A girl is different in some way – she throws a knowing glance at Zam, as if capable of sensing something amiss, intercepts her delicate rapier, and then rushes away. Zam swears under his breath and shouts something, clearly still trying to play a card of just-a-player-definitely-not-a-mass-murderer-
4C may not be a warrior, but he still knows how to fight. His arrow hits the girl in the leg, piercing her knee, and she stumbles and falls. It doesn't take long for Zam to get close, but for a while he just stares at her writhing in pain.
– Why in the leg, – she moans, – better have killed me right away, but now I'll remember that too! If you had shot in the head, at least it doesn't hurt so much!
Zam continues to glare at her.
– It's an offering, – 4C smiles, – do you know, like to an ancient god? For the good luck to both of us at the games.
Zam's fingers, clenched into a fist, turn white. He doesn't say a word, as if intoxicated.
– I'm here, actually, – the girl remarks, – conscious and all that. I won't run away, of course, but I still have one life left. I'll tell everyone about you. Two hunters at once, wow!
– You'll tell them everything? What's about my name? – Zam asks softly, pupils dilated. – you should remember the name, right?
He kills her before she finds the answer. When he looks up, 4C notes that some of the blood seems to have entered his eye. Zam doesn't even try to wipe it off his face and instead smiles toothily.
– Let's find a bigger team, 4C, – he says too calmly, and he nods. He barely remembers to take arrows from the corpse with him. In addition to them and bolts for the crossbow, Zam silently throws him half a stack of rockets.
– She probably learned enough to tell the others, – 4C remarks after a long pause, – maybe not your name, but-
– Just imagine, – Zam interrupts him, – she thought you were a hunter. It's funny, isn't it?
– Undoubtedly! – he agrees, – in her gaze, I must really look like one of you.
– The difference is small, – Zam shrugs, – they didn't turn off the friendly fire.
Zam doesn't show it, but his trembling finally stops. He seems like a cat full of sour cream, but 4C knew better than anyone that it won't last long.
***
The next time they come across a company of five people. Zam burns the first alive and pierces the second by throwing a trident. The third and fourth, realizing that there is no way back, grab their swords, and they fight – honestly and with dignity and to the death, but Zam's face expresses boredom and disrespect while he dissects them like frogs. The fifth tries to run, and 4C finishes them off in the back and carefully wipes his sword.
– You're a grouch, – Zam jokes, – how did you even survive here?
– I'm not a grouch,– 4C corrects pedantically, hiding the sword, – I just don't want it to stay dirty.
– He won't have time to rust, – Zam sounds surprised, and 4C shakes his head. He's not answering.
The closing of the border becomes noticeable when it appears on the horizon, and they change direction, moving directly to 0, 0, where the paths of all the survivors and hunters were converging.
– Imagine if all our friends had already been killed while we were messing with the little things, – Zam groans, – I wanted to kill them all so much! It's such a pity that there's no point in killing hunters... I'd love to finish Kyle off. – he sighs in frustration, – well, I can still do it at least once, but he might get mad and stop me from killing the ones I want. – things are always more complicated when a person is immortal.
He hardly pays much attention to random passers, many of them are just running, but even those who are trying to fight are not interesting enough. Zam still wears his shitty starter armor, and- and even the fact that he is obviously not afraid of death, playing into its hands, he goes ahead, leaving himself vulnerable, and it scares. He fights every time but still always solves everything in a few punches. He fights quite differently now, much more sweeping and aggressiveness, but he leaves himself too open to enemy attacks.
– You still have an almost human body, – 4C reminds him, tying a bandage on his arm, – you're vulnerable.
– I'm immortal, – Zam chuckles, but doesn't move, letting him do his thing, – what's the difference?
– It would be even more inconvenient to look for you all over the map right now, – 4C reminds, fixing the edge of the bandage, – we don't have time for this if you want to find all your favorites. And we don't have any potions to heal your wounds. You're counterproductive, Zam. At least put on your armor or what?
Pause.
– A little later, – Zam answers more seriously, – I need... a first murder that will mean something. – and, instantly switching over, already smiling again, – where do you think Derapchu is now? He shouldn't have died yet... I really want to hit his skull with an axe!
– Who knows, – 4C spreads his hands, – depends on your luck. And you, as far as I know, are extremely lucky.
Instead of answering, Zam bursts out laughing. 4C doesn't interrupt him.
The next person is unknown to him. But they are familiar to Zam. And Zam is clearly familiar to them – they squint, focusing their gaze, and, realizing who is standing in front of them, swear profusely in an unfamiliar dialect and rush away. Zam, smiling too broadly, takes off after them, and 4C follows.
The person is a raccoon: small and nimble, but with a bearing and ironed clothes. He seems out of place.
– Fuck, fuck, fuck, – he chants, – no! Not you! Not like this! I refuse!
They seem to know each other.
– Ka-antje, – Zam pulls lovingly, – this time you can't just watch!
– I can do whatever i want! – raccoon lies down, putting a web behind him and fighting back, and this only excites Zam.
4C keeps a short distance, looking at how Zam, eventually catches up with Kantje and clings to him by the scruff of the neck and then lets go, laughing with a bloody mouth, and hits, and hits, and hits.
– Tell all our friends the news! – he laughs, splitting his skull with an axe, – tell them that I'm here! And that I would come for them!
Kantje hisses him to fuck off before dying. Zam needs almost a minute to calm his laughter.
***
Kantje fulfills Zam's request: all the people they recognize immediately know they are dangerous. Many of them are running, but the others turn around and fight. Fortunately, Zam finally puts on his hunting armor and swaps the axe for a netherite one.
4C knows how to fight, but he's not a fighter. Lifesteal taught him to keep a battlekit with him and hit into weak spots, but it still didn't give him the thirst for a battle. It didn't please him, never. And Zam did not expect that he would fight back to back with him – on the contrary, he took the fights to himself alone, as if every opportunity to put a sword between someone's ribs was the best reward.
4C does something else – throws him new and new ways of killing, patches his wounds, scouts the situation, and, when teams stand against them, shoots those who prevent Zam from taking the desired fight or try to run.
While Zam is clashing in battle with Plushy, 4C shoots Meta, and the fight ends too fast. Zam cradles his friend like a child, almost crying, saying how sorry he is that he did not kill him by himself, that he would have given him the best death possible, that he loves him and will always love him. And even if the corpses don't talk, 4C can't say that he can't understand him.
When the body crumbles to dust, Zam abruptly stands up and wipes his face. 4C shakes his head.
– Okay, – Zam states, – we still have so many people to kill.
4C is about to say something else, but Zam activates his tracking compass, and they both stare at it in deathly silence for a while.
The needle of the compass trembles restlessly, as if with impatience. "JustKaboodle" is engraved on a metal rim.
They look at each other. Zam nods slowly, stiff with bloodlust. They take off in record time.
Kaboodle, even if the closest to them, is still at a decent distance, and Zam, without slowing down, follows her for the entire half an hour without a break. They don't talk, but it's not so bad – 4C feels that he is already approaching his limits. They don't have to get close to see that she's surrounded by people.
They know many of them. They don't know some of them, but the way they stick around Kab tells them everything they need to know. "Zam," shouts Kab, and Sushi first grabs the sword, Kantje is already here too, and in a split second a random deserted village turns into a massacre.
There is no option left to just stand, and 4C hides behind his shield, clutching an axe with his right hand. Arrows rain down on his armor, and he, ducking from the blades, rushes forward, aiming to kill.
You see: 4C did not like fighting, but on Lifesteal it was rarely synonymous with inability to fight, as his weakness in comparison with the best fighters of Lifesteal did not indicate his incompetence. And oh, he loved to think that he appreciated someone else's life, but as long as it wasn't about his teammates, it was really not that important.
He is almost half as slow as Zam, but even that is enough. While Zam is laughing madly, taking on two-three-four people at the same time, 4C swings and blows off the head of the person closest to him.
He never stopped wishing that the first blow of the orbital cannon had killed everyone present. Here's what was true about him: he preferred to give people a quick death.
– You're all going to die here anyway, – he says even cheerfully, – let's get this over with faster and return each to our world, – and his axe shaft almost crumbles in his hands from the blow of the sword taken at him, – hey, hey, take it easy!
He has to let go of the axe, because the next blow crumbles the handle, and he changes it to his sword. Adrenaline makes his hands tremble.
4C deals with another opponent when he catches a glimpse of the moment where Zam pierces Kab through and leads the sword lower and lower, and she painfully slowly settles down, muttering curses and repeating over and over again that he has not changed a bit, that he is the same as then, that he is a monster born to destroy – and Zam, smiling tenderly at her, says how glad he is to be the one to ban her and that he will gladly do it again but already on the Lifesteal-
It's not that 4C is distracted – on the contrary, he is still attentive enough to react and block the blow. The point is different: while Zam is distracted by the taste of his victory, those who remain in battle almost synchronously turn to look at 4C. And he is far from being good enough to do anything in a tough 1v3 clash: he misses one, two hits, and it's all over.
Hmm, he thinks dreamily, not really resisting the death pulling him down. It wasn't a bad adventure. It was... funny. Making things fun is the most important thing. And then an axe flies between his eyes.
To his own surprise, he does not wake up behind the border or at the spawn – it seems that he set his bed somewhere else at the beginning of his journey and forgot. This is another village with no sign of life. For a while, he just lies there silently, staring at the ceiling, feeling the phantom wounds give off pain in his body. After that, he gets up.
There's still time before an end of the event, and maybe he has something to do, but every part of his body feels like it's filled with iron. Instead of moving... somewhere, he climbs onto the porch railing and watches a sunset, swinging his legs from side to side. Birds are chirping in the surrounding forest.
It's a long minute, two, three. The sun is completely sinking below the horizon, but it is still here, and twilight is descending on the world.
His communicator is vibrating.
PrinceZam whispers to you: coordinates
His hands tremble but instantly regain their firmness. He smiles, and then, after checking, writes his coordinates. He remarks distantly that this is almost the other half of the map.
He likes to just pause and look around sometimes. The world around is beautiful, and it's a pity not to be able to appreciate it. The full moon sticks to the sky like a porcelain saucer, and its light silveres the crowns of trees, the tops of houses, and wide fields. In a sense, it's the same as on any other vanilla server. In a sense, even the air here feels different – cleaner, fresher, but also frostier. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of the taste of fir needles.
When Zam arrives, it is already dawn. 4C is almost surprised that he's here. He's also almost surprised that Zam doesn't kill him. Instead, the first thing he does is give him his own full set, food – clearly forgetting that it is endless here – and several more golden apples, an obviously random sword, axe, shield and pickaxe, and also one of his tridents.
– Hi,– 4C says calmly, and then looks at the helmet. Prot 3 – only hunters have these on the server, – Zam, are you sure?
Zam snorts.
– I can die as long as I want, – he reminds, – but you can't do it anymore. Come on, we don't have much time.
4C nods and gets ready. A shield falls back into his left hand, but in his right is a trident shining in the dawn rays of the sun. Zam activates the compass, and they move on again.
***
Endgame is close, the border is extremely small, and most of the survivors are more than competent. Almost everyone is fighting to the death. Escapees have to be driven into hundreds of blocks. They try to lead them into traps several times. Twice they are ambushed.
Once, Zam chases the only survivor of her squad, the purple catgirl, and begs her to fight him one-on-one, promising fair and equal conditions, and at one point she turns around. Zam throws her golden apples, and Raddles slowly chews one of them, looking at them darkly and menacingly from under her eyelashes. Zam blocks 4C with his hand.
– Don't interfere, – he begs, – I need–I need a real battle. If I die, do whatever you want. I don't think she's going to kill you, – Raddles shakes her head slowly, clearly having heard the conversation, and then spits an apple stub into the ground and draws her blade. She is all like a cat – bouncing movements, low stance, lowered head, lightweight armor. There is no doubt about her lethality, and she takes off at the same moment when Zam moves.
And... 4C just watches. He can do a hundred other things, including just turn around and walk away, but he watches. Raddles fights bloodily and swiftly, and Zam is forced to gain speed to match her. These are infinitely fast exchanges of blows, short cuts, attempts to hit weak spots – at some point it looks more like hand-to-hand sparring than sword fighting, and they are not inferior to each other. At some point, Zam breaks into some unfamiliar forced style, and in another skirmish, he punches her in the stomach at the cost of a knife blow that barely misses the artery. Raddles quickly regains consciousness, but Zam is faster – not paying attention to the fact that he is bleeding, he leads a sword from the bottom up, opening her stomach.
– Thank you,– Zam mutters, without taking his eyes off her, – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
– Fuck you,– Raddles mutters, and her eyes roll back.
4C puts a pressure bandage on Zam's neck and forbids him to move for a few more minutes until regeneration from the golden apples stitches at least the deepest damage. He really never saw himself as a medic; he wore bandages for self-help, but in war you either heal or cripple, so it was hard for him to be surprised. Zam is indignant and constantly whines but obeys and then jumps up, as if overflowing with energy again, clenching and unclenching his fists, and says that they need to run. 4C sighs and before that washes his hands. When he returns, there is an unnamed cross on the field. They can only move on.
Something about how insanely familiar it all was made him permanently uncomfortable. He didn't mind remembering his own death, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Zam was rapidly losing control of himself. They did not see each other often, separated by the entire server, but he remembered individual moments – the madness of the meat grinder in order to ban CaptainSparklz, insane laughter, threats to buildings, taking hostages, explosion after explosion after explosion, a sleepless night of the marathon, a bloody stroke of bans, and – death surrounded by flower petals, 1v4, happy and ready to accept who won for himself in spite of everything.
Zam rushes into battle, ignoring wounds and exhaustion and a half-empty inventory, rushing because he only knows how to fight and how to kill, and 4C regretfully lets him go to a certain death, telling himself that at least hunters cannot be banned. That Zam might die, but he would always come back. He watches with regret as Coldie disembowels him like a fish. Coldie does not touch 4C, but takes the trident from Zam's corpse and, nodding, disappears into the fog. 4C gently strokes Zam's hair, looking at the face of the doomed to die, and immediately after the body disappears, he DMs, asking for coordinates.
– And how did your teammates get you out? – he asks, chuckling, returning Zam's belongings.
– They did the best they could, – Zam grins, – and that was enough. I wanted it myself; what can they do? They wouldn't have forced me against my will.
4C smiles, suppressing another giggle, and shoves a spare shield in his face.
– We are almost at the end, – he reminds, – how many survivors are there, about twenty people? Every kill counts. Be careful.
At this point, both Mid and Squiddo have been killed. He has nowhere to turn around.
– Do not doubt, – Zam grins, – that I will use the rest of the time to the fullest.
This is the first time they see spawn. it is beautifully decorated, like a Christmas tree on the eve of a holiday, and that's why the traces of murders scattered here and there look especially grotesque. Here they see other hunters, many of them for the first time. 4C politely shakes hands with the other two survivors who have switched sides, pretending not to notice that the Zam's hands are shaking. When it comes time for Kyle, he is clearly forced to make every possible effort not to try to cut off his head.
Few survivors sitting on the spawn are hiding. The rest stick to that small part of the outer territory that has not yet been absorbed by the border. They catch rare survivors by falling on their heads or catching up or shooting them right in the head. Black and red fireworks explode them with bloody confetti. There is a lull before the final, while everyone is preparing for the final dash, and even Zam is forced to stop.
4C patches him up and makes him eat and drink. Zam's entire clothes and body are covered in blood to the point that it does not wash off, and even now he is staring into space, unable to hold his own hands, trembling so much that it rather resembles convulsions.
– Kill, kill, kill, kill, – he chants, – I have to kill them. Who's left? Fruit? Fein? Misty? – he breaks into a smile, – Derapchu, – squeezes one hand with the other so hard that the bones crackle, – such a feast, I can't believe it... And that's it for me... I just have to make sure that the others are not taken away... Abyss, I would give anything for the opportunity to kill them too...
He makes a fire and warms his icy fingers, counting the minutes until the moment when the border will reach here too.
– Be careful, – he reminds, – the rest are competent fighters. They can kill you. They'll kill you.
– It doesn't matter, – Zam chuckles, – I'm immortal! I will always come back!
– You're going to waste time, – he retorts, – and that's what we're all limited to right now. Time until the end of the event. Time until your targets are killed by someone else.
Zam looks at him. His pupils are huge.
– You're right, – he agrees breathlessly, – time. It doesn't matter if it hurts me. It matters if I have time to kill them. And I have to kill them. How can I miss an opportunity?
He finds the answer to his unspoken question very soon: only five minutes, and the border almost touches them. He puts out the fire with his boot and loads crossbows with bolts and fireworks. Zam takes off from his place, and he does not try to call out to him, only clutches one of the crossbows in his hands, and slides down through the wet snow into the hollow of spawn.
The border closes in, locking everyone within the ornately decorated square, and this quickly announces losses – before his eyes, Zam, laughing, blows off the head of a frightened player in iron armor, not ready for the meat grinder of the final. Fireworks fill the sky all around, and their light casts deep shadows from the bird squad of survivors holding onto the roofs, each of whom had elites on their backs. 4C aims at the figure closest to him, but they dodge without any effort.
It's like a dance – everything starts slowly, hunters and survivors die one by one, with rare pops, but gradually the production, emboldened, picks up the pace, and very soon you can't keep track of what is happening – the survivors try to keep their distance and hide in the heights and lowlands, but the hunters desperately attack them, dying one by one, exploding clouds of thick smoke are in the air, but materializing again only moments later and immediately rushing into battle again.
4C quickly finds himself in the company of two other survivors who have allied with the hunters – it seems impossible to keep up with Zam, he can only cover him from a distance, and this has never been hindered by good company. The guys are funny: they talk, joke, and accept him instantly, connected by common experience.
– Why did you decide to do this? – he innocently asks when Zam dies again from Fruit's axe, – to help hunters, – he clarifies pedantically.
One, a man in a blue hiking suit with stubble, shrugs his shoulders.
– It's more interesting this way, – he sums up, – I didn't want to just run away the whole event. And when will I be free to kill so many people, right? I had a lot of fun.
– It so happened that my friend became a hunter, – says the second, younger, heavily built, and obviously used to fighting, – I did not dare to go against him. What's the rest to me if we've come all this way together? He snorts, – What about you?
4C looks at Zam again – just respawned, he, along with several others, is storming a survivors' squadron – and then shakes his head expressively slowly. Instead of giving a clear answer, he just smiles at them.
This time he sleeps for too long – not because he gave up and not because he was not afraid, but because his too mortal body is so exhausted that he lies in oblivion for almost a day. When he finally opens his infinitely heavy eyes, Mapicc is already here. He is a shadow melted into the corner of the house, burning gaze and still posture. He's silent. His hand clutches an axe.
The situation could have been considered ridiculous, even funny, if he hadn't been so horrified.
It's not that you can't talk to Mapicc, but talking to him is a minefield: he can hear, but he doesn't want to listen. He doesn't need any apologies. He doesn't need a compromise. He needs to put an axe between Zam's eyes, and again, and again, until the weak body gives up, peeling, crumbling, bubbling and crunching. And again. And again. And again.
He doesn't have a chance. Mapicc slowly and methodically chastises him for his weaknesses and mistakes, for his unworthiness and for his pity. He imputes him for betrayal, and Zam, really, has nothing to say, because Mapicc is right.
At this stage, the only realistic option was to give up, but what remained true about Zam was that he refused to give up. And he takes up the sword and collects a parody of a battle kit from his remains, and everything falls apart in an instant. Mapicc attacks once, twice, thrice, and very soon Zam is cornered, and Mapicc mauls him, hitting again and again, even when he stops moving, letting the splashing blood stain himself and everything around him, breaking bones and severing arteries and tearing muscles and splitting his belly open. There is not even sadism in this, there is no joy and pleasure – Mapicc is silent, keeping an unperturbed expression on his face, and just hits, and hits, and hits, and hits.
At some point, Zam starts screaming. At some point, he stops. At some point, when there seems to be nothing working left in his inhuman body, he finally dies. It's excruciating. It's a relief.
This time he wakes up instantly. His whole body is giving off phantom pains. There is inky darkness outside the window, simultaneously frightening and sheltering. He sits down on the bed, breathing heavily, and clutches his head.
To come up with. He needs to come up with something. Solution. The way out of this.
***
The castle is as beautiful as ever: only completed, solidly built, and cleaned. Brand new brewing setup, clean bed, fresh dandelions on the windowsill. The quiet idyll of a man who has run from problems, but he sees blood stains here and there – when you refuse to leave space, there are only so many places to die.
He fought Mapicc every new time. Prepared and not, sooner or later, but this is how it all was ending: Mapicc wins. Mapicc kills him. It starts all over again. No matter what he did, it was useless: nothing could equal their skill difference. He could have been prepared as much as he wanted – once he spent all his remaining time on grinding a full battle kit, and the other time – on mining the area around the castle, and in the end everything turned out to be useless anyway. Mapicc went ahead, took the blows as if they were worthless, threw venomous words and hit, and hit, and hit. This was not a battle that Zam could win. He tried, and tried, and tried – even after he realized that he was stuck in a time loop, he died over and over again, but he only had more splashes of phantom pain on his body. A couple of times he calls people for help, but they always die before him, and he stops.
It's an endless loop. He gets up, he prepares, he fights, he dies. Even if something changes, the outcome remains the same. Mapicc still looks at him terrifyingly, and his axe still easily crumbles the ridge. And then Zam wakes up choking on blood.
This is the first time he decides to run away.
And: don't get me wrong, he loves this place, truly loves and appreciates it. But even his pride is worthless if everything stays as it is. And he says to himself: I'll let him destroy the Sanctuary. That doesn't mean I'm giving up.
It's terrible, it's monstrous, it will break his heart, but if time continues to flow on, then he can – he can do at least something. Restore it. Turn it into a memorial. Anything.
He hides all his pets a hundred blocks away from the castle. He takes the horn from Walter's grave. He prepares – to the best of his ability. And when his time runs out, when Mapicc will soon find this place even with the turned-off beacon, he runs.
It's almost absurdly easy – almost the entire vast world is in front of him, and he gets lost in endless forests thousands of blocks from the Sanctuary, mourning his fate, but promising that he will do... Something. He stays away from known places, spending long hours alone and never ceasing to think about what he left behind.
And then Mapicc finds him.
Mapicc is a furious hellhound, blinded by the chase. This time he doesn't give him time – he rushes at him, barely preserving his humanity, and hits, hits, hits. Zam, of course, defends himself, but he is scared, he is terrified, he – how could this happen, he thinks in despair, realizing that he sacrificed the most important place for nothing. Mapicc is so out of his mind that he doesn't say a word. And then Zam wakes up.
He does a lot of things: he fights, he hides, he runs. In the end, he betrays all his principles, because they are worthless in a frozen world, but nothing ever justifies his hopes. Mapicc finds him even at the edge of the world, and the longer the chase, the worse he gets. Sometimes Zam remembers the second season. Was he like that then, he thinks, and starts to feel sick.
He hates it, but mostly he's scared. His ex-partner became his worst nightmare. He killed Zam so many times that he stopped counting long ago. He dragged his corpse all over the server and smeared the entire Sanctuary, a place of peace and tranquility, in blood. Zam had no hope, but he couldn't afford to give up. He never gives up, and maybe he couldn't.
The pain does not go away, and at one point, after a particularly crushing blow, which eventually hit right on his wrists, his hands begin to shake. He manages to suppress it – one cycle, another, third, fifth, tenth, but one day it becomes unstoppable.
– Look at you, – Mapicc says with disgust, – how far have you fallen.
He puts him down. Zam barely resists. For him, this is the closest thing possible to giving up.
He sleeps late, and every joint in his body responds with excruciating pain. He gets up, makes himself a cup of coffee, and drinks it. He writes goodbyes to those he values – even if they are erased the next day, something in this makes it better. he braids his hair and plays with Friend. When Mapicc bursts into the castle, bringing snow and wind from the outside, he does not even flinch.
– I miss you, – he says almost softly. He didn't give up. He didn't give up. He didn't give up. He didn't give up.
Talking doesn't solve anything, and he knows it from the very beginning. Mapicc answers him, but he is still bitter, and when he asks if Zam is ready to accept death for the betrayal, he agrees. This death, at least, comes quickly.
He wakes up and looks at the window, behind which a blizzard is sweeping. He notices that the dandelions on the windowsill seem to have wilted.
– planet, – he says to parrot at day 1 and takes too long to realize. he corrects himself. he gets it wrong again less than five minutes after. parrot doesn't even look upset or annoyed, just amused, and asks if he forgot which season it is. bacon scolds him.
the worst part of it all is that planet doesn't even look any different. his smile is still soft, his hair is a big mess, and his eyes stay warm, looking at him almost lovingly. and then they kill him, and the blade is sharp and his blood is cold. in the end, there's nothing bacon can do, and planet looks him in the eyes to the very end, so familiar yet different. bacon doesn't care, yet he still feels stupid and dumb. he fights back but still dies like an idiot.
they're not teammates; even more, bacon hates him. for some reason, it never helps. 3 heart trio was, in its core, a fairytale about a true team, staying together till the very end. they lost – or they won – and they gave each other their warm goodbyes, knowing they won't be together next season, but still deeply appreciating everything that happened in this.
planet's embrace was barely perceptible, too light, only a hint of pressure and texture, still too weak from just being banned – and unbanned. planet tells that he was happy to be their teammate. that it made them very, very happy. he is, at that point in time, his planet. the one whom he wanted, he needed to keep safe (and failed). they break up on a warm note, fulfilled and glad.
next time bacon sees planet, they fight.
ok, alright, he lied; he cares even if really would prefer not to. he's an awful liar. of course he does. it's planetlord. are we dumb. but he is very, very annoyed. this planet wears a face of his dear friend even if they are not friends anymore, and he's walking hand in hand with spoke now and their sword always meets a goal. he has to die for it, bacon desides. and then fails.
they barely talk. when they do, it leads nowhere. planet seems usually sweet, but bacon can't trust even a word. planet pursues an idea of the obsolete power, pushing away everyone else, and bacon is the first to be slashed in half. he expects to feel betrayed, but he just gets more and more angry.
lala legion is elusive; their goals are never fully clear, they play on several fields while staying true to each other, but planet is still always here. they slip into any narrative, regardless of how relevant or irrelevant they are in it, and sometimes he takes their side, but it never helps nor changes anything.
that's what is true: planet is an enemy of the abyss. he stands in their way on each turn, doing everything to make them fail, but they push through him, and one day he'll have nowhere more to run. its not bacon succeeding, but his teammates – mapicc and zam put planet down, blowing up a minecart in their face, and planet, strong and confident planet, he still pops like a grape. he comes back like nothing happened, with a new gearset and the same confidence, again and again.
bacon feels like hes chasing a ghost of someone long dead. is there even any personality left if you sell yourself to the thirst for blood? he talks to abyss, and her fingers ruffle his hair, leaving his heart cold. if everything is a cycle, then planet will be back too, she reminds.
but planet slips away from him once again – throwing out his arms, he allows himself to fall into the very depths of the abyss, to where there is no return, and at this moment, staring into the void of a wound that absorbs even light, bacon feels powerless.
