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Step.
Step.
Step.
His footsteps echoed throughout the maze, reverberating off its towering stone walls. He walked mindlessly like a zombie through the twisting maze. He was probably going in circles, but he didn't care.
Mapicc was gone.
Jumper was gone.
Planet was gone.
Everyone was gone.
He'd been so careless, so stupid. Why, just why, Spoke?
All those lies, all that deceit, and for what? Mapicc left him anyways. He should've known from the beginning that his efforts were in vain. Who would want to stay around a monster like him?
After an undetermined amount of wandering, Spoke arrived back at the white gate. The exit.
This was his chance to leave. To leave it all behind, to start his life afresh.
He took a timid step towards the gate. Freedom was just a few steps away, so what was he hesitating for?
He stepped back.
He didn't deserve freedom. He was a degenerate, a good for nothing waste of space.
No one loved him anymore. Anyone who did had every reason not to now. Maybe staying in the maze was for the best.
The entire server will be better off without me out there ruining their lives, Spoke thought hopelessly, pivoting back to re-enter the maze. Right as he was about to turn the corner, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.
A stick.
Spoke stumbled towards it, picking it up and turning it over in his hands like it was a gold ingot. To anyone else, it would've been just an ordinary stick. But to him...
In any case, no one liked him anymore. This stick could be his new friend! He'd name him Henry, after no one in particular.
Then, he had an even brighter idea. He'd write a story into the wall, so when he came back that way he and Henry could reminisce about the good old days! Spoke giggled bitterly, pressing the stick into the wall. The words he wanted to shape the maze with were already in his mind. It was just the actual carving that was taking a while.
When he'd finally finished, he stepped back, beaming with pride.
Day 1: I am a horrible person.
Spoke's grin only widened, to the point it looked strained. Which it wasn't! Don't get him wrong, he was just fine!
Tucking Henry safely into his pocket, Spoke turned the corner and ventured back into his new home.
It had been five days since he'd left the main server, making the choice to isolate himself within the very place that had taken everything from him. He'd used Henry to carve an inscription in the walls every day, not only to keep track of the passing days, but to warn others of the monster that roamed inside.
There wasn't much to do in his open air prison besides sit and think. Think of all he could have had, the life he could have led, the wasted potential that could have brought him joy and greatness.
To think about them.
Spoke remembered Jumper. Or at least he thought he did. He remembered that kind smile, those bright, energetic eyes, those vibrant pink glasses that rested on her forehead. He remembered her soft, gentle hands tending to his wounds after fights, still feeling the ghost of them dabbing potions onto his scars. "You idiot," she'd scold him, although he knew it was all out of concern for him.
She'd been captured by Null. Spoke knew she wouldn't have gone down without a fight, especially not with that determinedly stubborn spark she carried. She'd be fine. She'd be fine without him.
Then, Planet. It pained him to think about innocent old Planet, who had gotten dragged into this whole mess purely because Spoke hadn't known how to stay away.
Every flash of green in the walls of the stone maze brought Spoke back to his days infiltrating The Mafia, with Planet's stupid little turtle shell helmet. He scoffed. Wherever Planet was, whether he was roaming in some random flower field or locked up in some Null cell, he'd be much better off far, far away.
And then...Mapicc.
Sure, it hurt to think about Jumper and Planet. But if they were pain, then what was Mapicc in comparison?
Any time his old friend crossed his mind, his body would just...shut down. It didn't cry out, nor did it try to fight. It just turned off completely. It, just like him, had given up long ago.
Thinking of the good times, the life he used to have with Mapicc, made rivers of pain stream from his eyes. Tears would trickle down his face, splattering onto the stone and dirt. Maybe they'd land on a plant or something. At least he'd be useful then.
Every time he'd stop walking, the silence would take over. He never knew silence could be that loud.
"Jumper...Who!"
"Catch me if you can!"
"Yes yes yes yes!"
The ghosts of their voices rang through the maze, as if to taunt Spoke. Covering his ears didn't exactly work either. It would only make the silence even louder.
When the silence got too loud, he'd turn to Henry.
He'd clutch the stick in his clenched fist, bringing it down hard against the wall. He'd drag it across the stone with raw, ferocious force, so much that his arms would scream in protest and his hands would shake for hours afterwards. It was alright, though. At least that way, he'd know something was actually real.
Day 22. I can hear them. They call to me.
He just wanted it to end. He just wanted his suffering to be over.
He knew he could leave at any time. He never did. Because he knew nothing would be waiting for him out there. Nothing nice anyway.
It was around day 42 when he started seeing it.
Or him, rather. Spoke wasn't exactly sure what he should call the thing.
He'd woken up one day, much to his dismay, and heard it calling to him.
"Spoke?"
He initially brushed it off as a figment of his imagination, except this sounded...realer...than the voices of his friends. It was hard to put into words why it felt so different from those ghost voices he'd hear, but they just felt...well, different.
His curiosity getting the better of him, Spoke got to his feet. They were shaky and numb, after all he'd spent quite a bit of his time just sitting and staring, but he was determined to find whatever had interrupted his damnation, so he pushed forward.
Wobbly step after wobbly step, he made his way to the source of the noise. He was almost there, he could feel it! Spoke peered around a wall and...
His tail dropped to the floor.
"W̸̞̗̏̍͘͘͜h̸̛͍̲̓̒̓͠a̵̛̗̦͔̪̅̔t̴̢̘̞͈̪͑̅͆̀̋.̸̰̠̝̠͊̉̃͌͐̀͠.̷͚̤̲̥͉̃.̸̡̠̐M-Mapic̶̛̻̘͇̘̹̜̾͛̌̒̆̾͝c̴̨̠̣̪̘̲͖̾̽͝ ?" Spoke murmured incredulously.
"Spoke!" it greeted him cheerfully, as if the past five months had not just happened. "This maze looks really cool! You wanna check it out with me?"
"Why are ý̴̝̒̋̌̈́͒͂-̶̼͔̣̏̓y̷̳̲̑͑o̴͖̟͇͌͂̀͑̈́̑͘͜͝u̶̬͚̽...what å̸̳̑̌̊re yo-ou...?"
"Come on, slowpoke!" it teased. "We haven't got all day!"
For the first time since he'd entered the maze, Spoke felt energy surge through him. His heart soared high like a bird.
Mapicc was here.
He wasn't angry anymore.
They could be together again!
With his newfound energy he leapt to his feet, sprinting after Mapicc, twisting around walls and frolicking around in a harmless game of tag.
As he ran through the maze, the worry that plagued Spoke began to melt away. Sure, Mapicc was being rather vague with him, but it was all in the name of fun, right? Right? He felt the last of his unease being brushed away. Mapicc had forgiven him. Everything would be alright, and they could stay in the maze together forever and-
As Spoke drew closer to his friend, he knew the time to strike was at hand. He threw himself at Mapicc, and...
What?
The place where Mapicc had stood just moments earlier...was empty. There were no footprints, no loose stones, no traces that Mapicc had ever been there.
Spoke scratched his head. His best friend was just here. Where had he gone?
He retraced his steps back to the wall he had been curled up against earlier, his dull, tired eyes scanning the area as he walked. No signs. Nothing.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
None of it had ever been real, had it?
Of course, of course! That explained everything!
Mapicc had appeared in front of him because he wasn't real.
Mapicc had played tag with him because he wasn't real.
Mapicc had forgiven him because he. Wasn't. Real.
How was he to know if anything was real? Was he real? Was the maze real?
Spoke sank to the floor, drawing his legs close to his chest. He hugged them tight, rocking back and forth in an effort to soothe himself. It did nothing.
"Oh Map̴̰̮̖͔̭̋í̵̧̱͉̤́̊̔͜c̸̢̧͙̗̯̗̈͑͒́̉-c, Má̴̧̝͇̦̣̤̐̍̓̕͘͝p̴̙̜̰̖̝̅̆̋͝ì̴̡̤̮̂cc, M̶̡̢͚̪̖̰̬̼͓̽̀̐̊̔͋̀̚͠͝͝ä̸̧̨̳̩̣̼͍͚̤̥́̆̏̔̉͘p̴͇̜͌i̵̪͉̳̥͆̈͑̔̚c̸͙͖͝c̵͚̰̬̘͈͍̻͈̩͈͇̦̎͆́͑̐̾̎͑̕͠͝, " Spoke sobbed into his arms. "Why did I think you'd ever forgive m̸̜͎̈́͒ë̷̗͈̙͍̜̳͕͉͍̞̭́-m̸̜͎̈́͒ë̷̗͈̙͍̜̳͕͉͍̞̭́-m-m̸̜͎̈́͒ë̷̗͈̙͍̜̳͕͉͍̞̭́?"
As the sky began to turn a rich orange, Spoke dug Henry from out of his pocket.
Day 42. He's not real. He's not real.
The sun rose again on day 148. Great. Absolutely fantastic.
Spoke woke up from his disturbed sleep, stretching as he got to his feet. He stumbled a little as he rose, but he eventually found his footing. Once he'd stabilised himself, he began to walk.
He could barely even call it a walk. It was more like a slow, repeated dragging of his feet against the stone, just adding to the monotony of life. Life without...
Above him, dark grey clouds began to roll in. They loomed eerily overhead, casting the entire maze in shadow.
A few minutes later, rain began to fall.
Little drips at first, like the clouds were testing how far they could push Spoke. Then, large amounts of fat, wet droplets fell from the sky and began to soak Spoke's clothes and skin.
He didn't even know he had moved until he blinked. One moment, he was standing out in the rain, feeling the heavy precipitation strike him like arrows. The next, he was sitting under a stone slab, propped up at an angle against the wall. It provided shelter, mediocre as it was.
Drip.
Spoke's eye twitched.
Drip.
His tail lashed.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"You like the rain, Spoke?"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Let's jump into the puddles, bro!"
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"F̸̧̗̬̰̖͕̣̱͎̰̯̱̠͌̇̉̇̄̈́̃͗̀͑͗̄́̈́͜͝ù̵̢͍̲́̔̊̆̑̽͂̓̽̈̑̐̒͋͠ ̷̞̆̕ck̶̮͇̊!̷̛̫͉̼̖̺͎̍̈́̆͜͝͝ " he succumbed to his madness, crawling out of the shelter and into the rain. "Fuck, fuck, Ḟ̷̢̛̙̹͇͓̭̼̳̘̭̗̘͔̥̖͔̝̭̤̥͎̄͆̅͆̓͐͘͜͜͜U̴̯̭̻͊̓̀̾̿̇̑͘C̶̞͙͍̓̾͗̽̋͆̌̊̋͑̂͗͝Ḱ̵̛̦̒̕!̵̧̛̣͕͍͌͂̿͂͛̔̓͐̽̍̑̓͌̒͗́̃̏̾͘͘̕͠͝ "
In a fit of rage, his hand flew to his head. He struck himself ferociously with his fist, tears beginning to well in his eyes. They mixed with the rain falling from above, the water rolling down his face.
His hand gravitated towards his bandana. Fuck it, what was the point?
With a strength he didn't know he possessed anymore, he tore the colourful fabric from his forehead. It ripped in two as he tugged at it, stretching it to its absolute limits.
This thing...this is you.
You deserve this.
Rip it apart.
And with that, the fabric split. It wasn't a clean tear by any means, but it was what that part of him deserved. What he deserved.
Spoke extracted his stick from his pocket, smiling down at it with a crazed look in his eyes. "H-ȟ̶͚̩͖̲̺͍̮̹̫̮̥̤͉͔̊̀̈́̓͊̇̔̾̐͌̍̍͒͆͜ǎ̸͙̚ͅ! Goodbye Henr̷͉̣̹̘͇͈̀̀͂̆̋͐̿̉̋̏͂̇̄͛̊̇̈́͘̚ͅy̷̨͍͉͚̫͇̰̬͙͉̹̙͍͖̥̖͂̈̏̀̽̆̿̊͗̕̕͝͠ -ry."
For the last time, Spoke scraped the stick against the wall. Once he'd finished inscribing, he took the pieces of fabric in his hand and placed them on a small patch of dirt on the ground. He raised his other hand high above his head, bringing it down with full force upon what was left of the bandana.
Henry stuck out of the ground, skewering the rainbow fabric. "G̴̡̭͖̓̾͐̊ǫ̷̤̟͓̼̓̑̏̀̏ǫ̷̳̗̞̈͆̾̕d̸̥͎͐b̸̭̻̝͕̉y̶̯̜̿̓̓̓͝ë̶͔̳̺̖́, friend," Spoke whispered. He didn't deserve the damned stick anyways. Better for it to remain standing in the soil, holding off his presence from the world.
Day 148. Goodbye, Spoke.
It had been many, many days since he'd parted with that old part of himself. His heart felt heavy, like it was weighed down with a stack of bricks, but he knew it was for the best. That Spoke was gone now. He had to be empty. He had to be hopeless. He had to be NULL.
He was sitting in a corner again, staring into nothingness, when he heard it.
Footsteps.
The first thing his mind jumped to was a hallucination.
Whether it be auditory or visual, Spoke knew he couldn't trust his mind to not stab him in the back anymore. It was more likely than not for those footsteps to be another figment of his imagination.
But...no. The footsteps of the hallucinations were steady, clean. These steps were shaky and uneven, to the point that even Spoke was starting to believe they were real.
With his guard firmly up, Spoke ventured through the accursed walls he had grown to know so well, eventually finding the source of the noise.
A player.
In fact, she looked vaguely familiar. Spoke racked his brain for memories of the last time he had seen her. He knew who she was, yet his mind refused to remember. It had been eroded away from months of isolation, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to remember.
Wait.
Player, food.
Player, gear.
Player, free.
...
No gear.
No free.
Food.
Spoke sprung out from behind the wall, tackling the intruder to the ground. She shrieked in fear, dropping her disappointingly empty bundle.
"Please don't hu-Spoke?" she murmured incredulously from her spot on the ground. "No way, no way! Spoke, it's me! Emma!"
"Em-m̴̛̜̙̠̈́̔̂̌̄̉̀á̸̬̈́̔̚̚? Coo-cookie?" For the first time since it had started, which Spoke didn't exactly remember when, his glitching voice caught his attention.
Was that what he sounded like now?
Like a machine? Like a monster?
"Yeah! Oh my Mojang, man! I haven't seen anyone in weeks!" she babbled on.
Try months, Emma, Spoke thought wryly.
Player. Food.
Drawing a deep breath, Spoke said calmly, "Emma. I'm going to need you to give me everything you have in your bundle. Right now."
Emma blinked, confused. "Hey, I don't exactly have much, but if you need it that badly we can share!" she offered, lifting her bag up to Spoke.
"Emma. I need. Your bundle," he insisted.
"But why?" she cried. "I need some too! We can just share!"
Wordlessly, Spoke drew a sharpened stick out of his pocket. He pointed it directly at Emma, so close it almost touched her eye. "Bundle," he demanded. "Now."
Whimpering, Emma handed him the bundle. "H-here you go," she stammered, watching Spoke with fear glinting in her eyes.
Once the bundle was rested in his hands, he snapped out of it.
"I̵̗͍͔̤͑̈̐̄̆̾͂͘̕͠-̵̧̧̛̣̮̟͚̤̫̼͙͈̫̥͚̈́͆̓̀͛̍̒̆̿͗͠I'm sorry-ŗ̴̨̛͇̤̜͎̠͇̜̳̥̠̈̉ẏ̷̨̬̻̮͕͙̹̜̳̺̩͕͑͋̕͜ͅ!" he wailed, clutching the bundle to his chest. With one final remorseful look, Spoke scrambled off into the maze. Emma didn't bother to pursue him, still rather shaken by the whole ordeal. Staggering to her feet, she began to trace her way out of the maze, careful to not bump into Spoke again.
He'd changed since the last time she'd seen him. Sure, he'd been a little skittish, but he'd still been vibrant and energetic. Now, he carried a defeated air to him, like he had given up on life long before she had encountered him.
Eventually finding the maze, she turned back for a moment and caught a glimpse of a void black shape peeking around the wall. Poor thing, she thought.
"Good luck, Spoke. I hope the admins will favour you," she wished him under her breath, before she took off back into The Farlands.
Spoke had seen all of it play out. He'd seen the fear etched on Emma's face, heard the way fear and disgust lined her voice as she spoke to him. He felt filthy, appalling, disgusting, yet...he felt nothing at all.
He'd robbed someone innocent. Someone who was willing to share their resources and help Spoke out of his situation. He should feel rotten, dirty, horrible. And he did. He felt like the scum of the earth, like a barnacle that clung to life despite the hatred harboured against it.
But he also felt...nothing. His mind tried to conjure up emotion, to split his heart in two once again.
Little did it know, it had done that too many times. It wouldn't work anymore.
Spoke was beyond saving. He'd known that for a very long time.
And now...it was time to accept it.
1131 days.
He'd kept track of every single one of them.
The lows. The lowers. The lowest. He remembered each day with a clarity he had not possessed outside of the maze.
His arm had grown numb from hours of carving. He wanted it to stop. He wanted all of it to stop.
It would never stop.
Spoke deserved it.
Every fragment of hatred held against him. Every death he had witnessed before his very eyes.
He deserved it all.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
"Spoke?"