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"I can't, I can't!" Spoke shouted over his shoulder, fangs tearing into the golden apple as its affects washed over him. Wounds stitching together, the sting a muted buzz. It was a pain he was used to. A pain he had to be used to. You could not go without injury on this server, that was a fact. Your skin would be marred, stained with the jagged mark of players and server alike.
Risking a glance towards the centre of the island, the core of the wither cannon currently raining down, he let out a frustrated sigh. Narrowly dodged falling into a crater that led to the void. Hand curling around the few enderpearls left in his inventory, tossing one towards the stairs.
"There is no stopping this. There is no stopping Null, there is no stopping—" He paused, briefly, taking in a stuttering breath. His steps faltering, foot catching on a step as he quickly righted himself. It was only for a moment. A moment that he took to think, to consider what he was doing. Who, exactly, he was fighting. A moment in which the realisation struck, one he had been ignoring, that things would never go back to normal. "—there's no fixing what has happened."
But in that moment, Minute had used the chance. Had moved, not to the skies with a mace in hand, nor toward his back with a sword grasped, but with a pearl landing before him. Wisps of purple dissipating as he finally stood in front of the other. Not in the ways they had before, those moments lacked the hard stare into familiar, white eyes. Lacked the hands that landed on shoulders, firm, a refusal of escape.
Spoke tensed, grip tightening around the pearls in his hand, a simple throw of it all he needed to break free. To prolong this battle for a few moments longer. Hovered over the sword in his hotbar, ready to be summoned at a moments notice, the other defenseless from attack. That was all he needed to do to finish this, to secure the end completely, to ensure Null would succeed.
He did not move.
"What happened to the Spoke I once knew?" Minute murmured. Voice quiet, though still audible beneath the echoes of the constant explosions. Eyes searching his for an answer, an explanation. Anything to reason what he was doing, to associate it with the person he knew.
Spoke stared back, frozen. A subtle shake to his breath as the weight on his shoulders registered in his mind. As his body caught up with the sensation, a small flinch at the unfamiliar touch. One he used to welcome so freely, would give without a second thought. Something that had not been kind, not in the way this was, since long before Purgatory.
His stomach twisted, a steadily growing pit as his arms circled it. Crossed over himself in a mirror those mock hugs he had tried and failed to comfort himself with in the corner of a cell. A desperate attempt to escape the cold that seeped into his skin despite the heat of the nether. Head ducking down and gaze meeting the floor, hunched over himself, the confidence and bravado he'd carried with totem in hand dissipating.
Because this was the kindest touch he'd felt in weeks—months. The first that did not hold malice, did not thrum with violence. It was simply there.
"We were gone for months, and nobody even noticed."
"Spoke," Minute muttered, ducking down so that he was more level with the younger. A hand moving from a shoulder to chin, tilting his head up gently. A thumb moving to rub away a tear he hadn't even noticed dripping from his eye. "What happened?"
Shuddering, he let out a hoarse laugh. The first time someone had asked, someone had cared, and it was the very person he had just betrayed. "Jamato starved us, you know? We were only given rotten flesh, kept weak enough that we couldn't do anything. Not that we could anyway—we'd die if we tried to step out of line."
The laugh turned into a choked sob though as he was gently pulled towards the other. Let himself fall into his hold, legs crumpling beneath him as Minute gently lowered them both to the floor. He pressed his face against the other's suit, the fabric damp. A flinch as an explosion echoed close by, a reminder of what he'd done, of what he's doing.
He wasn't any better than Jamato, than Ash, was he?
"Even before sending me there he was isolating me, controlling everything I did," He mumbled, as if someone would finally believe him, as if someone would take his words as anything other than a lie. But he wouldn't be allowed that, would he? Jamato made sure of it. Twisted his words, his actions. "He turned them against me. Made sure I was alone. Mapicc—Mapicc."
He didn't pause in his speech, but the topic change was swift and he knew Minute had noticed. But he hadn't thought of Mapicc yet, of the glimpse of terror he'd caught on his face as he—as Spoke knocked him into the void. Didn't give himself time to dwell on how quickly he'd made the decision, because it had to be the right one. There was no other option.
"You know, no matter how much I acted out, he never killed me? That was the one thing I could rely on in there, that he would keep me alive," Spoke whispered, face turned to the ground. He did not dare shut his eyes. The memory of those who had died instead, who had taken his place, flickered before him with each blink. "I couldn't die even if I tried. I wasn't allowed. He killed my allies, my friends, instead, Minute. Each and every one of them. He nearly killed them too."
Hands paused against his back, the body he was leaning against pulling away. He tried to follow, a whine spilling from his lips because he'd just gotten the warmth back, he couldn't lose it so soon, but was stopped by a gentle touch from Minute.
He knew it was inevitable, knew that he shouldn't have trusted it so much. Jamato had turned Minute against him too, hadn't he? Or maybe it was something he said. It seemed like anything he did these days would pull those he loved away. Everyone would leave eventually.
But when he glanced up, eyes watering, Minute did not have a weapon drawn. He did not pull away as if Spoke were the very poison that infected this server. There was a small frown on his face, but he did not spit words of fury, his actions did not turn from anything but kind.
"He was wrong for that, you know?" Minute said, voice firm and confident. As if his words were final, and to Spoke? They might as well have been. Because someone finally believed him without him fighting for it. Someone knew what had happened, and they believed him. He sniffled, wiping at his eye with his sleeve. "You didn't deserve that. Nothing you could've done would have made you deserve that."
"You believe me? You really believe me?" He questioned, a disbelieving laugh falling from his mouth.
"I do. I believe you. But you have to stop, you can't go around killing all these players. They had no part in this. Promise me that, and we will find another way."
He blinked, went to respond. Mouth opening, voice hoarse, before the twist of teleportation ran through him, the action near instant. The floor below him a stark white from the end
The twist of teleportation, near instant, ran through Spoke before he could respond. The room silent as he turned to face Underscore.