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Saps sighed, flexing his wings. The netherite crown weighed heavy upon his head, the redstone trimmings intertwining with the metal. But it was worth it to see the looks on his peoples’ faces. He gingerly placed the filigree on a nearby stand, letting his hair fall in soft wisps behind his back.
Eyes watched him from the dark. A quiet creak of the floorboards confirmed his suspicions. The shot of a crossbow split the night before the perpetrator could blink. The bolt split the wood beside the doorway, square between the planks. The raven stood beside it, absentmindedly stroking the metal as he entered the room.
“Are you satisfied? Did it feel good to watch the new players fall at your hands?
The ghost had returned. He wasn’t Flux, but he was similar. This Flux was cold hearted, paranoid. The same trims Saps wore now adorned his armour, arctic blue glinting softly in the evening light. Strangely enough, it was his favourite colour.
“Back so soon?” Saps' voice was tired.
“Oh, you know me. Can’t say no to a friend, can I?” The raven always seemed to take some kind of grim irony from that statement.
He’d always appear wherever Saps went. A shadow, an empty place in the crowd. When Saps saw him for the first time, he was aimless, his gaze distant and cloudy. He appeared to be trapped in time, seeing someone that was no longer there.
Eventually, the nostalgia had faded from his eyes. The gentle person the ghost once knew was gone, replaced by a relentless king. A man unafraid to hurt, unafraid of the consequences of war. The justification of a massacre to save those who remained.
A dark mirror tinted by red.
Sometimes, Saps wondered if he were more than just a crazed hallucination or a lonely ghost.
Flux chuckled. “It feels strange to watch people die from a single blow, doesn’t it? To watch their life drain away in the span of a second.”
The raven ducked into Saparata’s vision.
“Does it make you feel powerful? Righteous?”
Saps’ hand wandered to the hilt of his blade. To kill like that… had become something of a habit. Killing unskilled armoured players was something of a chore. His own soldiers could deal with that. Players without armour, without the burden of survival… Gave him a sense of sick satisfaction. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he enjoyed it. Even just a little.
He couldn’t tell if it eased the pain. The dull ache that would never leave. The empty rooms that could never be filled.
Flux smirked. “Let’s not be coy, Saparata. You knew what you had to do. You were stronger than Parrot ever was.”
The pair stepped onto the balcony, sunset painting the sky the colour of grapefruit sorbet. One night, Saps had foolishly wished it tasted that way too. Players in diamond and netherite milled around below, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Stalls littered the streets, the old players reveling in their victory. Cards were set among tables, piles of riches waiting to be bet. Many were eager to prove their status as an old player, avoiding the purge that would occur hours later.
An aura of aggression clouded the air. People were still grieving, still looking for someone to blame. Parrot would be that person. An exile. The source of the pain and suffering to which the server was subject. It was his fault afterall. The old players would have a chance under Saparata. A chance to see the world, to live. And if not, the new players were dealt with regardless.
Flux placed his hands on the railing, surveying the city. After a minute he sighed, turning to face the king.
“We are the same, you and I. Those around us were too blind to see their flaws, their blind trust. Cooperation was never truly possible. No matter what they tried, bloodshed was inevitable. It was always us or them.” Flux’s eyes were blazing.
“You saw that too. You saw that Parrot was willing to let the old players die for the sake of armourless players who never had to fight for anything. You took action.”
Flux took his hand. “I did the same. I saw a threat and I neutralised it, despite the result.”
“Except you managed to succeed. Parrot has been exiled, the new players killed. Your people are safe. You did all I couldn’t do in my world.”
Flux picked at his cuticles, faking boredom. Saps knew better than to let his guard down.
“I wonder… Is that because you were the one who stopped me there? Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
The raven smiled innocently at the new king.
“I guess you don’t have anyone like that here. Not anymore.”
Saps stiffened. His sword was by Flux’s throat in an instant. The King’s voice low. “You better watch yourself.”
The ghost smirked. “We really are the same.”
He easily slipped from Saps’ grasp, perching on the railing. His gaze was trained on the new king, searching his face like a puzzle with missing pieces.
“You’re nothing like Saps. There’s no kindness left in you. Maybe at one point there was. Maybe at some point you cared about someone.”
He tipped his head towards the city. “You’re a worse person than I ever was. I killed, I conspired, I betrayed the person who loved me the most and eventually I was stopped.”
Flux flicked his head back to meet Saps’ eyes. “But you’ll never stop. Even when Parrot and all the new players are dead. You don’t care about the old players anymore. You only care if someone else is suffering at your hand.”
“What would Fluixon think of you now?”
“Get out of my sight.” Saps growled, sword trained on his heart. He hated the fact his hand was shaking.
“As you wish, your majesty.” Flux gave him a mock bow. He turned back towards the kingdom.
“Good luck, King Saparata.”
Flux’s eyes met his own for the last time, then… He was gone. Saps looked below, but there was no one to be found. The raven had dissolved into the dusk. A single black feather remained, seemingly fading in and out of reality. Almost like it wasn’t there in the first place.
Saps grasped the quill in his hand, closing his fist over the plumage. He let the remains fall, left to drift with the wind.
There was still work to do. He wouldn’t stop until every last new player was dead.
Saps spread his wings, leaping from the balcony. The red flecks of his plumage were illuminated in the moonlight, an angel of death let free. Only the old players deserved to live. And live they would.
A ghost couldn’t hurt him now.