Chapter Text
“Get in the portal,” the soldier said gruffly. The accompanying shove made it clear this was not a suggestion – not that it could have been mistaken for one in the first place with all the swords pointed at him.
The Nether Portal glowed in the night, the eternally swirling matter equal parts hypnotising and ominous. It stood in what would otherwise be a dead end, enclosed on three sides by towering cliffs and the distant pinpricks of stars. A different person, someone who wasn’t him, could probably appreciate the metaphor in that.
Spoke didn’t hesitate to step forward, one footfall after the other, exhausted and drained and happy to follow orders from these nameless soldiers if it meant he didn’t have to think anymore. It felt so nice to just turn it all off. If he closed his eyes, he might just melt into the darkness, and wouldn’t that be lovely?
What awaited his vision were the fiery halls of the Nether, the molten hellscape broken by jagged overhangs and rock formations rising from the lava. They were relatively close to the ceiling, all things considered, the portal having deposited them on a high cliff ledge. The world swam, nausea lingering and stubborn even though he’d long grown acquaintance with the disorientation of teleporting. The heat was relentless, beating down on every inch of exposed skin, but the sensations felt distant. Like they were happening to someone else.
His armour usually dulled the oppressive torridity. Why wasn’t he wearing it, anyway? He should probably put it back on; it was dangerous to go without.
The soldiers – guards, he realised – marched along. Several more had joined, seemingly waiting for the original group at the foot of the portal. They were guiding him somewhere, tracing the cliff edge as they walked, and soon the obsidian structure and its purple hues were lost to the fog. Something shrieked in the distance, inhuman. Despite the heat, Spoke shivered. The pain and anger in that creature’s cry transcended language, and he was reminded once again of his vulnerability. He should really get that armour out of his inventory.
“Move it,” someone said roughly. From what little he knew of them, it was clear that this lot weren’t the chatty type. It was a blessing in disguise; their voice changes left their speech distorted and garbled, grating on his ears.
“Let me– let me just put my armour on,” Spoke mumbled, digging through his inventory. “It’s not safe here. I need to have it on, in case…”
Someone on his left laughed, the sound harsh as it echoed through the Nether. Spoke winced when it hit his eardrums. “You don’t have any more armour, idiot. There’s nothing in your inventory. We burned it all.”
“Leave him be,” someone else advised from the front. “It doesn’t matter whether he can reason or not. He’s not our problem anymore.”
The group chuckled at that, but Spoke simply frowned. Problem? He needed to solve a problem, a problem he needed to solve…?
What was it, again?
That sickening shriek ripped him from his thoughts, and he gladly let them fall into the deep recesses of his mind, swallowed by the lethargic sludge that was his consciousness. He twisted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. It might be a problem if it got too close, but luckily all his armour was enchanted, and he had full netherite gear. Any fight would easily sway in his favour.
Suddenly, the ground disappeared from his feet and the world was encased in darkness. The uneven netherrack which had been digging into the soles of his feet was replaced by a cool stone path, a welcome relief from the heat. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, there was very little to make out. The tunnel seemed even in width and height, giving it an unnatural, almost uncanny look as the square of light slowly disappeared behind him.
The guards at least seemed familiar with this area, intuitively knowing the way through the crossroads and switchbacks without need of a torch. At one point the wall had broken, revealing a dizzying drop into the pool of lava that flooded the Nether. From this window into the outside world he spotted a behemoth in the distance, an impossibly vast structure rising to the ceiling, taking up his entire field of view. And then it was gone, the wall reappearing, and he was left to work through the mixture of awe and mortal humility inspired by such a sight. Only the clanking of armour and enticing gleam of enchantments accompanied him.
He replayed his memory, curiosity bubbling up. The emotion felt… nice. Spoke blinked. Surely curiosity wasn’t a foreign emotion to him. He knew that. But everything felt so bland, so nice and quiet, he didn’t have to think about–
From what brief look he’d stolen, the structure seemed like a fortress, yet absolutely incomparable to anything naturally generated. No, this had certainly been built. The spiralling turrets and jagged carapace, the flowing lava waterfalls and molten hues… such a build appeared as if it were born from the very fabric of the Nether itself. The thought that people could build that – people, using their own two hands, could build that…
He hoped Mapicc wasn’t trapped there.
Why would Mapicc be trapped there?
Unable to tear himself from how odd the thought was, Spoke nearly missed it when the group stopped, stumbling into the person in front of him. They were, like everyone else, invisible, and the floating weaponry was a bit off putting. As the helmet appeared to turn in midair, Spoke could feel the glare that was being branded into his skin.
But it was what lay behind the guard that interested him more.
Another Nether portal, small purple particles phasing through the walls around it. Clearly they had reached their destination – one step in the Nether for every eight in the Overworld. Despite how alien and uninviting the realm was, however, he didn’t feel any sense of urgency or relief at the prospect of leaving.
After all, he couldn’t leave them behind. What about Mapicc, and Jumper…?
Mapicc?
Jumper?
Why… why would they be here with him…? Why was he here in the first place? Why were his pockets empty, his hunger so low, why was he here?
JamatoP?
The name floated to the forefront of his mind, pulled by some subconscious tendril. Spoke was a little embarrassed at how long it had been since he’d last thought about his former friend, but it really was such an odd thing to recall that he couldn’t help but consider it the key to deciphering this puzzle. In fact, it seemed integral, the string that tied it all together, yet the answer danced out of his reach, tantalising and teasing.
“This is your stop,” a soldier said. Was it the same person as before? Behind Spoke was the sound of smashing glass, presumably someone extending their invisibility. “Give our regards to you king, and don’t seek us out again. Next time we won’t be so lenient.”
His king– Parrot?
Ice cold clarity flooded his veins.
Parrot – Parrot, Wemmbu, Flame, Mapicc, Jumper, the search for Null, JamatoP. The rebels, and Jumper, sweet, loyal JumperWho, captured, and Mapicc, Mapicc was–
When he came to, he was lying on his back, grass tickling his face. Spoke groaned, head throbbing as he cracked open his eyes, shielding them with one hand from the glare of the sky.
The blue sky.
Which means he was no longer in the Nether. The Null soldiers must’ve knocked him out before pushing him through the portal. How long had he been out? As a matter of fact, how long had he been away from the rest of civilisation in the first place?
He pulled himself upright with some effort, checking himself over. A few bruises and a nasty concussion, but it seemed he had escaped relatively unscathed.
You didn’t escape, he reminded himself. They let you go.
He couldn’t make sense of it; why they had stripped him of everything he owned, of the last few friends he had, and then left him back in the Overworld. Null was infamous for stealing people from their homes, leaving not even a single clue. Sure, they mainly targeted the ‘villains’ of the kingdom. The griefers and the murderers, the terrorists and exploiters, all funneled into whatever sick prison Null had engineered. And Spoke – well, Spoke was just as bad as them. Perhaps even worse. Leaving him alive – broken, defeated, without allies or even friends, but alive – was the cruelest torture they could possibly design.
He lay back down, a puff of air escaping his lungs. He was exhausted. Staying here for all eternity didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Jamato was right; it was what he deserved. There was no punishment more fitting for him than to wither away on his own, to suffocate under his crimes until his bones were swallowed by the earth and atoms returned to the stars they were born from. It would be a sweet death. A quiet death. Why shouldn’t he let the mushrooms have him? He had nothing left now, just himself and the echoes of his pathetic excuses. They’d all been right. Spoke had been the one to ruin his own life, and the lives of everyone he met. All the rebels that had aided him, all the peace and livelihoods he’d cast aside for his own benefit. It had been Null who killed them, but he was the one who had forsaken them, and that was by far the heavier weight.
And it had been like that, from the very beginning, hadn’t it? He still kept that accursed armour set, for so many years, and for what? Protection? Cheap sentiment? At least it was gone. At least the damn thing was gone. That was the only positive outcome from this whole experience. Alt, broken and burning in flames.
Jamato was wrong about one thing, though. He’d never thought of himself as a hero. Sure, he’d play dressup, he’d play pretend when it suited him. But from the very beginning he’d been the villain, hadn’t he? Whatever sense of justice he claimed to be fighting for… hadn’t he always known, deep down, that it was a farce?
There was a long, bloody trail leading from that very first lava-cast base to the forest he lay in now. Spoke could almost smell it, the metallic tang of spilled blood carried by the wind. And beneath it, smoke, a sooty plume sweetened by burning wood. In fact, he could almost make it out, in the distance…
No, that was smoke, rising through the pale sky. Framed by the trees, a definite dark patch stained the otherwise pristine blue. Cruel curiosity won him over, and he pulled himself upright to stagger towards the edge of the grassy plains.
Holy shit.
Beneath the plateau he was on was a scene of absolute destruction. There was no embellishing the sight. It had evidently been a massacre; bodies lay where they had fallen, bloated and disfigured from the scavengers that had begun to pick at the flesh. The houses were more suggestions than buildings, empty husks that had been raided. A few fires still burned, and as he watched a lone support beam fell, crashing down into the rubble.
The battlefield looked fresh. It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, the wounds rendered into the soil not yet faded. And the worst part of all? This didn’t appear to be some targeted assault, some crafty strategy put together by bandits that wanted to loot and plunder. This had been pure, senseless eradication.
This had been a war.
A feeling of horror managed to dredge itself up from the stagnant pool of self-deprecation Spoke had been wallowing in. He stumbled to the side, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. Those shields, that weaponry… those were Parrot’s colours. Those had been Parrot’s people, Parrot’s army.
Just what had happened while he had been gone?
He was no stranger to battlefields, but even he could not remember such a horrible aftermath. Neither side had come back for the bodies, or attempted to rebuild. The whole area had been deserted. Sickening worry began to spread through his veins, and he rocked back and forth on his heels. Had Parrot fought down there? Was his friend’s body laying there, left to weather the elements and withstand the scavengers?
But what the hell was Spoke going to do? Go down there and turn over the bodies just so he could bury his friend? He was no hero, he knew that, everyone knew that. Someone like him didn’t deserve to give such care to another person, dead or alive.
Parrot… Parrot, on the other hand… Parrot was noble. Parrot had been just, and a good leader. Parrot deserved a proper sendoff.
It was the least Spoke could do before he disappeared.
He entertained the notion while picking his way down the steep hillside. There was an irony in following Mapicc’s suggestion, in carving out a little place in this world for him to live in. Wasn’t it safer, though, if no one knew who he was or where to find him? He couldn’t be a villain anymore, if there was no one else to write the story.
He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore, and wasn’t that the most selfish thought of them all?
So, he wouldn’t finish what he started. He’d disappear. It would be better for everyone.
And Mapicc?
He pushed the thought of his dear friend away. He loathed the words that lingered on his tongue, but he was tired, and Mapicc didn’t want Spoke to save him, anyway. It was someone else’s job now. Someone else would notice the missing players. Someone else would care. Once Parrot’s schedule cleared up, he would probably organise a whole squad to infiltrate and take down Null, and do so without anyone else dying.
If Parrot was still alive, that is.
Finally he had crossed to the border of the town. Beneath his feet were sandy paths and cobbled streets, muddy and red with pools of blood. The air was heavy with decay, and the river that ran by the village almost viscous with pollution. Spoke wrinkled his nose despite himself. Quite a few bodies would have been washed downstream by now; any settlements further along the bank would no longer be able to use that water without fear of it being poisoned. It wasn’t his place to worry about that.
He stepped gingerly over the heaps of stone. It didn’t feel right to disturb such a scene, and similarly he barely spared each body more than a few glances. So much pain and suffering had transpired; the very least he could offer these people was one final, uninterrupted rest.
And there it was, the other thing that made him feel so uncomfortable in this environment. Surrounded by so much death, how could one not be acutely aware of their own mortality? He had never felt more human than in this moment, without armour or weapons, just one body and one soul wandering through a scene already lost to time.
These people didn’t deserve to have Spoke as their final witness.
But at least – at least! – he hadn’t found Parrot yet. That was good. That was definitely good. Maybe Parrot hadn’t died here, then. Maybe he had died on some other battlefield. But that was fine. It meant he didn’t have to face his old friend one last time. He didn’t think he could bear that.
Inwardly he resolved to continue on the straight and narrow path that ran through the centre of the town. He’d follow the main road until it led him out the other end, and then he’d veer off course, walk through the woods until he was somewhere sufficiently far enough from civilisation that he’d never run the risk of hurting anyone ever again. It might be a lonely existence, but hey, he had plenty of thoughts to occupy himself with.
Spoke almost wished for that earlier numbness to return. In the Nether, the shock of what had occurred had been a pleasant drone that stopped him from feeling anything. But no, that would be taking the easy way out. He’d made those decisions. He’d live with that memory, and carry that weight.
Something moved among the wreckage, and he tensed. The world hung in silence for a few long seconds. So silent that he’d already begun to relax, dismissing the noise as some resourceful creature taking advantage of the rotting bodies and rubble, when suddenly, someone called out tentatively, “Spoke?”
Spoke flinched, slightly. It was almost imperceptible, and certainly the other person would have mistaken it for caution.
“Spoke?” the other person called again, tone more certain. “It is you! What are you doing here? I thought you were off chasing after that other group. Null, was it?”
“Theo,” Spoke breathed. Every muscle remained locked in place. His head buzzed.
“Yeah, it’s me,” the bird laughed. Spoke took a single step back as he continued with open arms. “Man, am I glad to see you. We seriously need all the help we can get right now. Hey, where’s Jumper, and the guards we lent you? Did you end up finding Mapicc? Actually, why are you alone right now?”
Spoke glanced away, avoiding the prying questions. He didn’t have any answer to give. Luckily Theo interpreted the silence as exhaustion rather than guilt, for he whistled lowly. “Okay, story for another time. Seriously bro, where have you been! We could’ve used another fighter.”
He looked up sharply, despite himself. “Another fighter?” Spoke echoed, confused. At some point Theo had started walking, presumably leading him back to his base. Spoke had no choice but to follow – running would have raised more questions, ones he couldn’t avoid this time. But Theo knew stuff, and perhaps… perhaps he could get something out of this.
No. We’re not doing that anymore.
“Oh right, I guess you wouldn’t have heard,” Theo paused, contemplating what to say next. “You know what, I’ll let Parrot explain all that to you. This whole thing is such a mess. Only something like ten of us escaped that last battle. Luckily we’ve been scouting for survivors, otherwise we could’ve missed each other entirely.”
“Parrot?” Spoke echoed. Even during his search of the town he hadn’t fully entertained the possibility that Parrot might have escaped. It stinged, the realisation that he’d subconsciously written off his friend as dead, but the feeling was drowned out by a flood of selfish relief. There was one person who had slipped out from Spoke’s chokehold. One person, at least, who could live. “Parrot is alive?”
“Yeah, Wemmbu let him go at the last second. It really is a long story, I don’t think I can explain it all… wait, give me a second.” Theo trailed off as he came to a stop, pushing up his sunglasses to better survey the ground. “We hid this place too well, I can’t even find the entrance. Oh, there we go.”
He kicked at the ground a few times, pushing aside flakes of wood until he found the spot he was looking for. Light shone upon the now exposed area, and the click of machinery could be heard whirling underground until a hidden path was revealed, a well lit staircase descending into the earth.
“After you,” Theo beckoned. It was an innocuous gesture, but Spoke couldn’t help but be reminded of how the Null players had escorted him through the Nether mere hours ago. Having another person at his back made him feel trapped, in more ways than one. Still, he swallowed his complaints and descended into the ground.
The spiraling staircase was claustrophobic, the air wet and humid from the tightly packed soil despite the intensity of the fires still raging overhead. Each stone-cut stair was steep, and he treaded carefully, one hand tracing the wall as he made certain not to slip. Every now and then the warmth of a torch would be cast onto his face; then it disappeared, and the area felt doused in ice. Theo hadn’t yet commented on his lack of armour.
For the first time, Spoke was glad not to be wearing armour. Such weaponry was an ill fit for him, and already he could feel himself being dragged back into a role he didn’t want to play.
Whoever Theo thought he was, whatever salvation he thought Spoke might offer his ragtag team of survivors… Well, he was about to be sorely disappointed. Hopefully Spoke could wrap this up quickly. Say a few words, offer his condolences, then sneak away in the middle of the night.
His head hurt.
After what felt like an eternity, although really was incomparable to the hours he had spent marching across the Nether, Spoke finally reached flat ground. It caught him slightly unawares, and he stumbled a bit into the wide corridor. It was sparsely decorated, as expected, but functional, and created a chokehold in case of enemy attack. From the corridor were several doors leading into different areas of the base, and at the far end Spoke caught sight of another stairway leading further down. It was unlikely that path would lead him back to the blue sky.
Theo breezed past him, feathers brushing Spoke’s side. “This way!” he called over his shoulder. “They’re going to be so happy to see you.”
The words made Spoke feel sick.
Each footfall felt like a drum, pounding in his head, the beat of his heart overwhelming his senses. The hallway seemed to stretch to infinity. How much longer until they reached the end? How far were they from the start? The only exit was behind him. Spoke looked over his shoulder, judging the distance. He could still– he could still run, right? How far could he make it before Theo caught him?
He exhaled shakily.
The faint sound of bickering could be heard as they approached a certain set of doors. Familiar voices. Far too familiar – he really shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t fair to them; it wasn’t fair to him. The exit was right there he couldn’t face them like this he needed to leave he needed to get out of here and regroup he needed to go why wouldn’t they just let hi–
A hand on his shoulder stilled his thoughts.
Theo pulled him in close, and the ferocity in his eyes made every restless nerve still. “Spoke,” he spat. His face was lined with tension beneath the glasses, grimy and exhausted, but he carried himself with powerful intensity. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what an opportunistic little shit you are. If I find out that you’re working for Cindercrest, that’s it. It’s over for you. You can’t cause any more trouble if you’re six feet under.”
With one final look, Theo roughly let him go. Spoke had little time nor will to protest, as the carefree exterior immediately fell back into place, and he found himself being paraded through the door like some kind of trophy. “Hey guys, the biggest bird has returned! Did you miss me? You better, ‘cause look who I found!”
The blanket of silence made the small room feel cavernous. More than a few unfamiliar faces turned his way, but it was the look in Parrot’s eyes that made him falter. The pure shock and disgusting relief no actor could fake.
Under such scrutiny, Spoke felt as if he were standing at the executioner’s block.