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i almost turned around / you chased me to the ground / you asked me how i’ve been / but how do you begin / to tell you i should've chased / you across every single state? / i lay down my sword for fate / 'cause it's too little, way too late
TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE
And just like the world spins and time ticks by, it is inevitable. They were always meant to be like this—destroyed. Broken invisible red strings of fate severed and left to wither. It is not something that either of them can escape from, because this is Fluixon's fault and goddamn it, Saparata needs revenge by hook or by crook. And he knows Fluixon, or at least— he used to. Maybe he'll show up. Or maybe he won't, and this will turn into another thirty minutes of trying to find him.
I'll be there, he says. Saparata doesn't exactly know if he trusts that.
But Fluixon decides he will be there, because running away is simply too easy and that is stupid. If he wins, it will be earned. He will win. He will claw his way to victory and make this world a better place once and for all—
Well, he hopes, at least.
⿻
Saparata doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he walks into the colosseum. But Fluixon did say he would be there, and lo and behold, there he stands, waiting. Waiting for him.
Huh. He was not expecting that.
“Wow, you actually showed up.” Saparata says, and there is a hint of softness to it, rounding the edges of his tone, but still mixed with malice and apathy. Still, he watches as Fluixon averts his gaze, focusing his attention on the crafting table beside him.
(There is a sort of tension in the air, a tension that says that fate cannot be rewritten and this is what they are doomed to be for all of eternity— that this is all they are. A concept and nothing more.)
“Can’t say no to a friend, can I?” Fluixon replies, his eyes not meeting Saparata’s, and there is no real bite to his tone. In fact, it’s a bit sweet— which he never is, and Saparata can only assume that it’s sarcasm.
But he did show up, so.
“Let’s make this a fair fight, okay?” Saparata asks, and to that Fluixon does not reply to— and Saparata is not surprised by in the slightest. “Flux,” He tries.
There is no reply to that either.
“Look at all of these people dying because of you.”
It’s only then when Fluixon finally speaks up.
“Y’know, Saps, none of this would’ve happened if you had just died; like you were supposed to.” He says, and there is definitely a bite to that tone, the end practically dripping with malice. And there it is, a sharpened diamond axe pointed and ready, wielded like a weapon and not a tool.
The thing is that no matter how long passes and the earth spins on its axis, Saparata is here. He is here because he is too kind, far too giving for his own good, and that is exploitable—
It's such a shame that he fell into the wrong hands, then.
Because Fluixon is a taker and Saparata is a giver, and that is how they work— not one without the otter, two halves of a whole, yin and yang. They are bound to each other, their fates tethered to one another. Saparata, the light; and Fluixon, the darkness. This is how they have always worked.
⿻
The last day of chaos dawns like this— an arena, and two— ex-friends? enemies? Honestly, Fluixon couldn't even put a word on their relationship if he tried—standing on opposite ends, and no matter how much they fight— one of them will die today. Either peace wins, or chaos takes over.
But everyone knows how this will end, so there is no point dwelling on it. Fluixon knows he will die at the hand of Saparata’s blade, and he will die proud. At least he tried.
Or maybe he'll turn the odds in his favour again.
The last day of mortality dawns like this: A clash of swords, raised shields, a duel, then it is over. The fight is not pretty, nor is it easy. But there is something so amazing about how intertwined they are— how fatefully together they are, the fight is less a fight and more like a waltz, if anything.
It is then, after there are no more blades swinging in his direction and nothing hitting him, after he opens his eyes and is brought back to reality, that he realises.
Saparata is dead— No, Fluixon killed him.
He killed Saparata. And there is nothing left, but his items on the floor, and blood. So much blood. Blood coats Fluixon’s skin, like sin in his hands. It’s over, you killed him, a pounding voice screams into his head; probably his own. And then he notices the player head— Saparata’s player head. There is a strange look in it’s empty eyes, it is void itself. Broken armor lays about, blood streaking every inch of it. This is not real, Fluxion denies. But there is only one truth: he just killed Saparata, and now he’s responsible for yet another death, and although it is of his own volition— this does not feel— this does not feel right.
When Fluixon has a goal, he achieves it. This one is no different.
So why does it feel so different?
And it’s not the fact that Saps—and as much as hates to mutter his nickname; is– well, was a friend, because Fluixon has friends, like Thomas and Gotoga; and it is different when it comes to them. He wanted this, he wanted him dead, he—
But this one is Fluixon’s fault. There’s nothing beautiful about his bloodlust; hands stained maw red with greed; he will be doomed to eternal hell. Maybe this is his punishment.
He wanted peace, he wanted Island 2 to be united—
But Fluixon has changed, he is no longer human. He barely recognises himself; the person he was before has been replaced, it appears. He looks at the reflection in the mirror—and realises: the person standing before him doesn’t belong to him. This isn’t right. But fate has been sealed.
The moment he started killing leaders was when his fate was decided for himself— that he was a cold blooded murderer— and even after escaping all this time— he can’t get away with this. Not this time.
He, however, thinks the guilt of killing a friend—even if they weren't friends anymore—is a worse fate than that, though. The thing is that Saparata is dead, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it now.
This, too, is his fault.
⿻
The thing is that Fluixon— he hates Saparata, but if they had slightly different circumstances, maybe they would’ve been friends. The fact is that they’re only enemies because Fluixon betrayed Saparata.
And Fluixon finds that maybe, just maybe, he might like Saps. The very notion of that sends him into slight rumination.
He finds that there’s even a sliver of a chance; that maybe he’s made way for this thing—this emotion, resembling the ties that bind, something that traverses across time and space, seeping from even the smallest of cracks, infecting even the purest and cleanest spaces. Nothing will stop it, even the destruction of it would only cause a resurgence. Something more intense; too much, like an overdose. Eons will pass, and it will continue to subsist.
It’s terrifying, the very concept of that. An obsession, devotion, perhaps even a desire? Fluixon doesn’t want to put a name to it. Any further down this rabbit hole could open Pandora’s box, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.
(If you had to betray one person to save a thousand, would you?)
Fluixon thinks he would do it differently, in another life. But there is nothing left to do now, other than mourn. Mourn the death of his enemy, friend, everything but a lover—Saps. And so he escapes from the arena, making sure not to be noticed by anyone, taking Saparata’s head down to the beach.
There had been a time. A time where they were friends, building a house together, a time where they were genuinely and truly, friends. So, Fluixon wonders:
Where did it all go wrong?
He finds himself caving in, guilt and cruelty so incandescent that it had destroyed everything and everyone around him and left nothing but rubble. He stares at the headstone with only a sign, blood-stained and chipped at the edges from the- Saps' blood on his hands.
Fluixon knows he's a liar. He has always been a liar and a villain, not by intention but by motive. A villainy weaned on war and violence, so separated from his original sentiment of peace that he cannot bear to approach the thought of it—
The thing is that you cannot achieve peace without violence.
The other thing is that Fluixon is always a force to be reckoned with. And this is yet another consequence.
He builds a grave for Saparata.
There is a strange comfort in the silence when there is no one around. Although he probably killed them all. Guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his empty heart—a parasite. He wishes he didn't feel this way. He wishes he didn't care— still, he does.
It's hard to find the words, though. Hard to find words for someone he so cruelly betrayed and yet—
“Sorry,” He whispers to it, and there is a slight crack in his voice— he is sad. He’s sad, because this is his fault. And Fluixon cannot pay for his sins even if he died a thousand times over, even if he suffered in a million lifetimes.
“Goodbye, friend.”
So he does the only thing he can do. He cries and cries and cries, until his body is shaking and his voice is raw and weak from all the crying—
(This is the perfect fate for someone like Fluixon. A villain that doesn’t deserve mercy. He supposes this is karma, then.)
His deepest desire was Saps, the Saps he would never get, not in this universe. And still, he has no regrets that it—whatever their relationship was—happened with him.There is no one else that it would work with. He has no regrets that he will die alongside– after him. Maybe their graves will be constructed, side by side.
⿻
The feeling has lingered for a while now.
It, of course, stays; because just like the earth spins on its axis and just like the passage of time, it is inevitable. It is inevitable like the cycle of life and death, inevitable like the experience of pain and grief and sadness and all other emotions—
It is inevitable, like his fate. He is cursed. His karma finally caught up to him.
The path to hell is paved with good intentions, Fluixon has come to learn.
here i begin missing him, it's my plight / nothing worth having has come to me easily / i've sacrificed you, all of you, completely
love you forever, don't let go of me / i'll die if i wither in your memory / never forget me even if i run away / never forget me, my love
FORGET ME NOT