Chapter Text
You know, opening odd-looking boxes in the middle of empty, flat fields seems like a highly questionable idea.
Smart people would have sensed something odd and simply walked right past the suspicious square package without a second thought.
Smart people.
But Mob wasn't one of those "Smart People."
So he had to pay the price for his foolish action.
Sitting there and staring blankly at Verity, he reflected on his hasty, foolish decisions.
He was an idiot; that was why his only reaction to the strange, never-before-seen box was surprise and a mild touch of curiosity. Instead of immediately packing up his things—though, come to think of it, he didn't have any, having only just discovered the world—he simply *had* to satisfy his curiosity and open the damn box.
And yet, those first few days spent with his newfound friend had seemed good to him—full of fresh experiences.
Yes, that little orb started spouting all sorts of stuff almost immediately—precise data on the exact coordinates of anything and everything. Whether it was ore deposits or a village. As previously mentioned, Verity knows everything. Absolutely everything... probably.
He had never managed to discover the limits of Verity’s abilities. He couldn't even say for sure whether the yellow orb had known about his and Twixel’s plan all along. Something told him it had. Lol, it was literally stated that Verity knows everything.
But come on, there had to be a limit to all that knowledge. Surely Verity couldn't know his thoughts, for instance. Maybe. Oh crap, now he wasn't so sure.
Holy shit.
Damn it, if his hunch was right, then why hadn't Verity exposed them immediately? To clearly demonstrate that Mob and Twixxel couldn't do a thing to him anyway? No—there had to be a limit somewhere!
Speaking of Twixxel—he hadn’t seen him in quite a while. This bred a burning irritation at his lack of freedom in the back of his mind. No—don’t get the wrong idea—Enderman didn’t regret saving his friend from certain death. Not one bit.
It was just... surely, at that moment, he could have come up with something better than: “I promise to do whatever you ask—just keep Twixel alive and don’t touch him, please, Verity!”
Be that as it may, it was the best idea Mob had come up with at the moment. At the very least, it was better than Twixxel’s death.
Blinking slowly, the Hybrid Enderman decided to cut his train of thought short and address the issue of his free will.
— Verity.
The yellow orb immediately responded with the same wide smile.
— Yes, Mob? What did you want to ask?
His yellow friend waits patiently for an answer as the rays of the setting sun fall upon him, Mob, the surrounding grass, and the entire landscape not shrouded in shadow. Oddly enough, the lighting makes Verity look—well, visually more appealing. At the very least, Verity looks friendly in this light.
After a moment—not wanting to let the silence hanging between them drag on—he nervously blurts out:
— Verity, how long have I been here s... since Twixxel left?
— 126 hours!
Four days. That’s all. Yet Mob is already climbing the walls from boredom.
“Why do you need to go get firewood?” “Why do you need mines?” “Why did you need villages?”
He’s sick of hearing those words—honestly, he is—but one phrase in particular, the one the orb constantly adds at the end, really gets to him: “You have *me*, after all.”
The Enderman is no psychologist, of course, but he understands a thing or two. Whatever it is that Verity is so desperately trying to hold onto—trying to force to stay close—it clearly isn’t something normal. Not that there’s anything normal about Verity, but... how best to put it? Hmm, those words clearly mask something human, something alive. And behind that, there is clearly a painful story hidden away.
Hands reach out on their own to stroke the short fur on those coal-black wrists.
— Verity, I... I...
The assistant listens intently. He always listens with such close attention.
— I want to get some fresh air.
— No problem, Mob! We’re already out in the open, so getting some fresh air won’t be a problem at all!
The slow strokes on his arm gradually shift into nervous scratching.
— That’s not quite what I meant.
It feels as though the sounds of the surroundings are fading away. Even the wind has gone quiet.
— Mob, do you want to leave...?
The atmosphere was frankly unsettling.
Goosebumps raced across his body, making his fur stand on end.
— You want to leave me. Here. Alone...
Oh no. This was bad.
— Verity, please...
Mob struggled to find the right words—something that would prompt Verity to listen to him.
— You want to abandon me!
A loud cracking of bones made his nerves go taut.
The Enderman watched in fear as the once-round sphere transformed into a humanoid behemoth nearly three meters tall.
The creature—which had stepped straight out of those terrifying images—let out a loud growl, or perhaps a scream; it depended on one’s perspective.
Suddenly, the world spun a little for Mob, and the next moment, he and the monstrous Verity were lying on the grass in a rather suggestive pose.
To be honest, Mob was utterly exhausted. After Twixxel left, he had essentially been confined to a prison of sorts—a prison of nauseating boredom.
But everything comes to an end eventually.
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his palms dampened the grass—a substitute for the water they so desperately craved, though neither water nor rain had been found anywhere these past few days.
Mob was fed up with constantly walking on eggshells. He didn't even know why himself. Perhaps it was the accumulated stress and fatigue—his body simply deciding to vent some emotion by letting out a shout.
An Enderman-like hiss escaped his lips of its own accord.
— Grrr... I said enough!
His hands clutched the grass, while Mob, summoning his courage, stared at this man straight in the face.
Honestly, he was just sick of it all. Even if he got killed for it, he was going to say exactly what he thought about his so-called "friend."
— Oh God, how am I supposed to have any kind of conversation with you when you react like that to any word you don't like!?!
Monstro-Verity didn't move a muscle while Mob delivered his monologue.
He tilted his head just once when the Enderman jabbed a finger into his chest.
— You’re literally threatening me to make me do exactly what you want!
For the first time, a sound other than a bestial scream came from Verity.
— Mo-o-ob, I would never hurt you if you hadn't tried to leave!
Violet particles swirled around them, poised at any moment to draw closer to the Enderman to merge and become one with him, then whisk him far away. Oh, what a pity that Mob was merely a hybrid; those tiny, violet specks were powerless to do a thing.
— Verity, you... You! How can you say such a thing!?
Oh, dreams.
— I mean, I don't know what happened in your past to make you so dead set against letting me out...
As Mob spoke, air kept rushing into his mouth, causing the Enderman to articulate certain words with short, audible intakes and releases of breath.
— But I! I'm a human! A living being!
The finger that had previously been pointing at the Pale Creature swung around 180 degrees, its tip aiming straight at Mob’s chest.
— I have needs! I need connection! You alone aren't enough. Or rather, no... there’s simply too much of you!
Tears welled up slightly from the anger unleashed with such intense fury.
— You’re suffocating me with your presence!
After a brief pause in the conversation, an idea struck Mob like a bolt from the sky. A way to convince Verity to let him go out into the world. It was a risky plan, certainly, but by combining Verity’s obsession with keeping him close and his possessive nature, a memory surfaced in Mob’s mind.
A hand stroking his tousled hair. A girl pressing close to him, listening to a majestic yet gentle figure tell the story of The Little Prince—specifically the part where he says, "If you love something..." as a voice filled with tenderness effortlessly spoke the rest of the phrase "...let it go, and if it returns, it is yours forever."
He snaps out of that peaceful memory and turns his attention to the entity before him, waiting for his words. Mob looks him straight in the eye.
— After all...
It took him a second to summon enough courage to finish the sentence.
— If you love something...
Squeezing his eyes shut, he spoke the rest of the phrase mid-breath.
— ...let it go, and if it comes back, it’s yours forever.
It seemed something shifted in the gaze of the entity opposite him.
— I... I actually...
His eyelids kept wanting to close—whether from fear or something else, it was unclear.
Inhale. Hah. Exhale.
— I already came back once, didn't I?
The tall man looming over him froze.
A second.
Two.
Three.
Then, a strange noise rang out, and the creature was gone.
Mob began to breathe heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he took in the sight before him.
In place of the three-meter-tall Slenderman, the dissipating mist revealed a rather cute yellow ball. It looked harmless.
— Do you promise...?
Verity seemed somewhat distant, glancing at Mob only once after speaking.
The corners of Mob’s mouth naturally began to turn upward. Yes! Half the battle was won!
But now... how could he convey the sincerity and honesty of his promise? He felt he ought to say it with the utmost seriousness.
Well, you see, Mob didn't have many friends, so he didn't know exactly how one was supposed to handle situations like this. He had to improvise.
He quickly shifted from his reclining position to a traditional Japanese seated posture—calves tucked beneath his thighs, hands resting on his knees.
Calling his friend by name, he waited for the yellow sphere to turn its gaze toward him.
— Verity, I promise I’ll come back.
If there’s one thing about Mob, it’s that he keeps his promises. He’s not the type to make empty ones. Besides, he makes them incredibly rarely—and when he does, he’s duty-bound to see them through.
— I promise.
He repeats it, just to drive the point home. That’s all there is to it.
The mob fixes its gaze on Mob’s face, as if in disbelief, deep in thought. Oh, that’s unsettling. An Enderman, even a half-breed, is still an Enderman, after all.
— For a know-it-all like you...
Gesturing toward the little helper as he said the word "You," he continued:
—...it ought to be a known fact that I always—I emphasize, *always*—keep my word and never make empty promises!
Verity could only watch the Hybrid’s lips moving; he regained his full agency only after the sentence had finished leaving those very lips.
Something clicked inside the little orb’s head.
It seemed as though those black ovals flashed with a spark of hope.
— Well, I think you’re telling the truth.
Mob sat there for a few more seconds, processing what he had just heard. A smile spread across his face involuntarily, and his eyes sparkled with delight. He had actually managed to change the mind of an all-knowing being! Yes!
He scooped up the little round fellow as gently as possible and pressed it against the chest of his black cloak.
His feet carried him automatically along the familiar path home. He soon reached the front door; with a single swift motion, he threw it open and immediately shut it again once he and his companion had stepped inside.
He then set his companion down in its usual spot on the workbench, right next to the bed.
— Verity, I won't be long. Just a day or two.
“Not long” is a highly subjective concept that means something different to everyone, depending on the context in which the phrase is used. It could mean a mere five or ten minutes, or even a full hour—sometimes even longer, as was the case here.
An all-encompassing grin was frozen on the face of the spherical creature. Although the smile stretched from ear to ear, it didn't hide the moment it faltered.
After casting a glance at the creature, one could only heave a deep sigh.
— Listen, I promised I’d come back.
The torches hissed softly, sending up plumes of smoke that wavered with every gust of wind or breath of air.
— I know—even a single day is a long time for you.
Outside, the light was beginning to take on an orange hue. Soon, the torches—once practically useless—would serve as a guide to safety.
Mom and Dad were likely very worried about his long absence. He usually stopped by once a week to chat, catch up, and spend time with his sister and their cat—a creature that absolutely loathed Mob.
And what about his friends? For quite some time, they hadn’t received a word from him—not even the briefest message like "Hi, I’m alive." They might have even gone to his parents to ask why he wasn't in touch, causing the parents to panic even more upon hearing the news.
Deep down, he still harbored a hope that Wispy hadn't nabbed some poor soul and forced them to sample his cooking. There was also a lingering hope that his other friends would be more careful during their travels. And Twixxel... as for Twixxel, he was surely restless, yet he hadn't dared to go looking for anything. Mob had made it crystal clear that no searching or action was required. Twixxel’s salvation had come at a high price, after all, so he ought to appreciate the gesture. Besides, certain information recorded in Twixxel’s book had made it clear to both of them that Verity was unlikely to do anything to the Enderman, provided he didn't try to leave.
— But I need to make up for lost time with my family and close friends.
As Mob walked slowly toward the door, he was watched by eyes filled with a mix of sadness and longing.
— See you later, Mob. Have a good time...
His hands froze with the doorknob in his grasp; a second later, his head turned slightly back toward the workbench.
He was met with the sight of that same smiling sphere. Its smile seemed somehow strained, and its voice had taken on a desperate, ragged edge. The sound of those words made his heart contract—for even now, his assistant reminded him more of a small animal waiting for its owner.
— See you soon, Verity.
With those words, the front door slammed shut.