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As Spoke stepped into the nether portal, everything went black. Huh, strange. Portals don’t work like that. Spoke thought to himself. But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? He lost everything-his ally, his one and only chestplate, and his best friend, Mapicc. As Spoke let out a quiet, defeated chuckle, brushing the tear stains from his cheeks, there was a voice.
No, there is a voice.
Someone was talking to him. It sounded awfully familiar enough to make Spoke feel sick. When his senses returned, Spoke couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was JamatoP.
The one who took everything from Spoke. The one who shattered every piece of sanity he had left. His enemy. Did he go through the portal with me? No, he did not. Then why? Am I dead? Spoke thought as he pinched his own cheek to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, nor in the afterlife. A small cry slipped from his mouth. His bruised mouth. No, not bruised. What? He could’ve sworn he got punched in the face minutes ago.
Finally, the tall armored quartz figure spoke up. “Spoke, are you okay?”
Spoke flinched. It was unusual for him to speak in such a soothing way. It felt like he heard it ages ago, …technically, two years ago. Wait, two years?
“Spoke. I don’t think you’re fine. Let’s get you some potions. Did you eat something weird again?” JamatoP asked, in a worried tone.
Spoke clenched his fists. What is this? No, literally what is actually happening? This isn’t possible. It felt like he went back. Before everything. Before he messed-according to JamatoP-everything up. Is this part of the remaining exploits on the server? Spoke didn’t have time to think it through. He didn’t answer Jamato. He needed to see his real best friend. He had to find Mapicc, now. to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. To tell him he’s sorry. At least to the past version of him.
Spoke turned and rushed out of JamatoP’s familiar base. His body felt fine. No injuries at all, almost making him think this time travel might be a good thing.
Then it pierced through Spoke’s chest. A netherite sword, straight through the center of his chest. Spoke couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t pull it out. Because a familiar pale hand gripped his neck from behind, crushing his throat and leaving him unable to struggle.
“Spoke.”
“You said we’d be best friends, in a different universe.”
Everything went black again.
When Spoke regained his consciousness, JamatoP was speaking to him. About the abnormality he found. About what this chestplate is. Spoke couldn’t focus on any of it. The person standing in front of him had literally just stabbed him. Why am I not banned? How am I even alive? Spoke thought, before immediately grabbing his diamond sword from his inventory and lunging forward, aiming for the chest of his disgusting old best friend. He succeeded, almost.
Almost.
JamatoP was faster. The familiar pain bloomed in Spoke’s chest again. As he coughed up dark and reddish blood, JamatoP leaned down so he could whisper into his ear. “That was an incorrect answer, Spoke.”
Then everything went black, again.
By the time Spoke was giving up, JamatoP handed him the infamous chestplate, urging him to put it on. Spoke, not wanting to be stabbed again, did as he was told.
Then Spoke never got to meet Mapicc. Spoke never touched exploits. Spoke never had to infiltrated The Mafia. Spoke never killed IMajesticRose. Spoke was never betrayed by the thousand players he manipulated. Spoke was never hunted by the Bounty Assassin Team. Spoke never fought The Law. Spoke never had to,
“And this,”
“Is how things should have gone.”
“Right, Spoke?”
Spoke had no choice but to nod in defeat as JamatoP adjusted the chains around his hands.