Chapter Text
A confetti of gold and green sparks exploded around Spoke and he gasped, feeling the wounds and bruises and cuts heal in an instant, skin smoothening with his half-broken horn reformed like nothing’s ever happened. The spark of life bursting inside of him as the fatal wound on his chest closed in, soft skin replacing the exposed bloody flesh.
He was alive.
Again.
Spoke breathed in his first, resurrected breath, relieved. Subconsciously, he reached his hand into his pocket to feel that hard shape, the smooth gold with its emerald green eyes radiating with magic underneath his fingers. But there was nothing. Spoke frowned and dug his now healed bloody hands deeper into his pocket, searching for the totem. It took him a good half a minute of searching before he realised what had happened.
No, no, no, no, no.
The totem.
The totem.
Spoke spun around in shock and found himself staring right at Mapicc. Mapicc, his former best friend, Mapicc, holding the netherite sword that was in Spoke’s chest moments ago, Mapicc, his eyes glittering with triumph, glaring straight at the Voidling in front of him.
“Spoke, I told you bro. I told you that, one day, I will pop that little totem of yours. And I will kill your entire army.” His voice drawled out, each word a drop of poison that trickled into Spoke’s veins. “Give it up bro, you lost.”
The last word rang in Spoke’s head like bells banged against his ears. No, no, no, no, no. How did he-he couldn’t have-
“Mapicc-you…” He couldn’t have lost, he couldn’t have lost. “You’re wrong.” It was barely a whisper.
“Bro Spoke,” Mapicc scoffed loudly, “Look around you bro, look at your Null. They’re all gone.”
Shaking, Spoke tore his gaze away from the blood drenched person standing in front of him and looked around the battlefield. Dead bodies with swords impaled through heads and chests littered across the burnt landscape, arrows stuck to the ground with the metal serrated points digging into the charred grass. Blood spewed over broken limbs and gouged-out ribs, gore splattered around ripped open chests, scarlet blood bright against cracked Netherite armour. Broken swords, shattered shields lay in pools of blood, the shards-sharp as knives-of broken, chipped armour lay next to their glassy-eyed, limp owners. Nearly all of Null were gone, and even the ones that aren’t dead yet are disappearing right in front of Spoke’s eyes, dropped into the cold embrace of the void.
“I should’ve seen this coming, shouldn’t I?” Underscore shrugged, only a step away from Spoke as he looked into the Voidling’s eyes for the last time. “Well, just know that Spoke, when I helped you in Purgatory, I really thought you were the right leader of Null.” His voice was mechanical and toneless like always, but, for once, there was something in his voice that Spoke couldn’t quite grasp. Was it regret? Or was it sincerity? Or was it just Spoke’s mind playing with his already-broken reality and he was imagining it?
“Maybe I was wrong.”
Spoke watched, frozen, as his Commander disappeared, uniting with the rest of Null in the endless void.
Mapicc stepped forward, bloody palms gripping the hilt of his Netherite sword as he raised it into the air.
“Your army’s dead bro.” He said, “and now it’s your turn.” He swung his sword at Spoke and the blade connects with his flesh. Spoke gasps-whimpers-feeling his ribs shatter under the force, skin ripping apart and bones splintering as he was knocked to the ground, blood spilling from where Mapicc had sliced across his chest. His head was ringing and he can feel his own warm blood pooling beneath him, can feel the shards of stone-or was it his broken armor? -prick against his back, can feel the hot fire burning his own body from the flames licking the edge of Mapicc’s sword. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much.
“Mapicc…” Spoke whispered-begged-to his former best friend, “please…don’t-don’t do this…” he knew how pathetic he must look, curled on the ground and begging for his life. But, oh man, fuck his pride, fuck everything, he just wanted to live. Ok, maybe that’s too far, he wanted to die but not like this, he couldn’t-he couldn’t die to Mapicc. Not to Mapicc.
Mapicc didn’t soften at Spoke’s pleas, his face only hardened and his gaze sharpened, eyes burning with an anger that was deeper than Spoke had ever seen.
“Why?!” Mapicc demanded, stepping on Spoke’s calf. Agony scorched through Spoke and he bit back a scream, bitter tears welling in his eyes, “Why shouldn’t I kill you?! Spoke bro, you betrayed me! You left me in the Underworld to die! And now you want me to spare you?!”
“Please…Mapicc,” Spoke pleaded, “please-we…we were friends…you were-you were my best-my best friend…”
“I don’t think I was ever a friend to you bro,” Mapicc sounded almost sad, his voice soft, soaked with all the emotions he ever felt towards the Voidling lying on the ground, “I think you were just using me for your own selfish goals.”
“Mapicc…” Spoke trembled, hot tears sliding down his blood stained cheeks.
“Goodbye Spoke.” Mapicc raised his Netherite sword again, high above his shoulders, the tip of the blade gleaming under the sun.
Spoke closed his eyes, he was going to die he was going to die he was going to-
“Mapicc!”
Spoke’s eyes shot open at the voice. He looked up to find Minute standing in front of him, holding Mapicc’s wrist.
“Mapicc,” Minute repeated, “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing bro?!” Mapicc wrenched his wrist out of Minute’s grip, “I’m killing Spoke! I’m gonna end this, once and for all.” He raised his sword again but Minute stepped in front of him, shielding Spoke from Mapicc.
“Stop, Mapicc, stop.” Minute said, “Killing Spoke isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Yes it is!” Mapicc yelled, “he’s the problem to all of this bro. We killed his army, I killed his army. And now he can go and join them.” Mapicc tried to push past Minute but Minute blocked him with an arm.
“Look,” Minute said, glancing between Spoke and Mapicc, “I-I don’t know what happened between you two, and I’m sorry it did. But Mapicc, killing Spoke isn’t going to solve any problems. We already killed his army, he lost. There’s no need to kill him.”
Mapicc stayed silent, shooting daggers at Spoke with his eyes before he finally dropped his sword onto the ground with a clatter.
“Fine,” he huffed indignantly, “whatever bro. Some people are just so fucking lucky.” He gave Spoke one last glare before picking up his sword and walking away.
Spoke, breathless, stared up at MinuteTech, standing before him with an expression Spoke didn’t recognise.
“Be grateful you’re alive, Spoke.” Minute said, after a long silence.
“W-what? Are-are you gonna kill me? You stopped Mapicc killing me because-what-? You want to kill me yourself?” Spoke gave a harsh chuckle, “go on then, kill me, I-I have nothing left anymore, just kill me.” He closed his eyes again, ready to accept defeat. He had lost.
Again.
Minute didn’t say anything, only biting his lower lip thoughtfully as he turned away to stare at something distant.
“I’m not gonna kill you.” He spoke softly, turning his gaze back to Spoke. Spoke saw something in his eyes that matched the expression on his face-oh- Spoke recognised that expression on his face now. It was pity. He was pitying him. Round eyes sympathetic as he stared at the defeated Voidling on the ground.
Spoke felt anger bubble inside him slowly. How dare Minute stare at him like that?! How dare he think Spoke needed his pity, like he was some kind of thing needing Minute’s rescue?! Sure, Minute had saved Spoke from Mapicc, but at the end of the day, he still betrayed him. He still wasn’t there for him when he needed him, and now he thinks he can come and act as if he’s a glorious saver coming to save Spoke’s life? Spoke clenched his fists, he wanted nothing to do with him. Absolutely nothing.
Spoke tried to stand up but pain burned through him and he sat back down with a hiss, pressing a hand onto the wide gash across his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, dark sticky blood coating his fingers. Minute hesitated for a second before bending down, hands reaching towards Spoke.
Spoke flinched back, white eyes glaring at Minute.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said. Minute doesn’t deserve to be near him. Minute doesn’t deserve to pretend like he cares.
Minute drew back, standing back up and still staring at Spoke with that pitying expression that made Spoke want to reach up and stab his sword straight through Minute’s skull and listen to his bones crush and watch the blood spill and-
“Let’s go then, Spoke.”
Minute’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, he looked up to find Minute still staring at him, without a sword impaled through his skull.
“Go where?” Spoke echoed, genuinely confused.
Minute was already walking away, easily stepping over the dead bodies and walking around the pools of blood.
“I mean, you can stay here, in the battlefield,” he turned, “but you don’t have anywhere else to go now that your army’s dead.”
“Yeah, but where are you taking me?!” Spoke managed to limp up, clutching at his bleeding chest.
“To Northern Council,” Minute replied, “I mean, where did you think everyone else went after we-” he hesitated, “-won.”
Won. The word lingered in Spoke’s head. They won and he lost. Even the thought of it seemed to bring a suffocating pain to his chest.
To the Northern Council…that’s where everyone else was, wasn’t it? Spoke’s stomach lurched with dread; he didn’t want to see anyone. He can almost imagine their faces, gloating about their victory, celebrating his loss. Celebrating his downfall. He tried to make himself angry, tried to make himself focus on the fact that his so called ‘friends’ had turned against him and was now cheering for his loss. But all he felt was emptiness, emptiness and a sorrow so thick that he couldn’t see through it. All he can think of was how he had lost. Of how he had failed.
Spoke felt a lump rise in his throat and he blinked back tears. He had one chance to prove himself, to prove himself worthy as the Leader of Null and he had failed. He had let down Underscore and now he’s dead. The only person that ever cared about him was now dead. He knew Underscore was only his Commander but…he was everything to him. Null was everything to him. Null was all that he had left.
But he had failed, and now they’re dead.
He failed, he failed, he failed.
Rays of sunshine peeks through the red velvet curtains of Northern Council’s meeting room. The sunlight shining onto Spoke’s face as he stands in the middle, surrounded by people that were all standing at least a few meters away from him. All familiar faces, faces that he had once called allies or friends. Parrot, with his bodyguard Theo and his other friend, Reina, Spoke vaguely recalled. Wemmbu and Egg, standing close to each other, with Egg looking to the distance and Wemmbu glaring at Spoke with slitted eyes, Flame standing beside whatever his friend is called, and even Jamato is there too, standing a little farther away from everyone. Apparently, he showed up here after the war, waiting for Spoke. And then as Spoke surveys the room, he sees them. Mapicc, Jumper and Minute, standing close to each other with Mapicc glaring at Spoke, Jumper looking away and Minute giving Spoke those annoying pitying looks.
He had been taken to Northern Council by Minute and Parrot had ‘cleaned him up’. A few drops of regen and instant healing potion alongside a bowl of hot stew was enough to restore him back to full health. For a second Spoke was almost grateful, as Parrot gently wiped away the blood on him with a towel, treating his injuries with careful fingers, he almost thought that maybe things would be alright. But then he saw Parrot’s face, how serious he looked, how he couldn’t meet Spoke’s gaze and how he cautious he was. Even his words felt carefully chosen, every sentence and every word hiding something that Spoke didn’t know about. He thought about how Parrot made sure that he had no weapons or armour on him. Spoke held back a snort, like he can do anything in this state. But when he was brought into the meeting room, with everyone else gathered around, everything clicked. Of course, of course. How stupid he was to think that Parrot actually cares about him. It was only a polite gesture, a mere courtesy for what awaits him.
Now he stands in the middle of a crowd, listening as they discusses his punishment. Punishment, not an apology, not even a word asking how he feels or an acknowledgement for what they did to him. A punishment. For what??!! The more Spoke thinks about it, the angrier he got. The injustice of it making him clench his fists, nails digging into his palms.
“Spoke,” It’s the first time that he’s been directly addressed in their conversation and Spoke looks up to find Parrot looking at him, his face serious.
“What?!” Spoke snaps, tail twitching irritably.
“We…” Parrot’s gaze flicked across the entire room, “we…we’re not going to kill you.” He says, gently, like he is trying to give Spoke a piece of reassuring news, but Spoke doesn’t find anything in this situation reassuring.
Behind him he hears Wemmbu mutter something under his breath.
“But…” Parrot is very, very hesitant, taking a billion years with each word being said, “we-um-we’re putting it up to a vote.” He swallows, “you can either stay here and we’ll forgive you…or be in exile, far from Spawn.”
“Why are you even telling him?” Wemmbu says, cutting across their conversation, “it’s not like he gets to choose.” He acted like Spoke isn’t here at all.
“I know.” Parrot says, “but I just thought he can get to know his options.”
Spoke gave a small snort, like knowing what’s coming is going to help him.
“I thought you’re the king, Parrot.” Spoke says, “Why don’t you just make the decision yourself and just get it over with.”
All the eyes turns to Parrot, pinned on the Avian, more specifically, that crown that is now perched on Parrot’s head, shiny and polished. Beside him, Theo shifts a little closer to him.
“It-it’s just more fair this way.” Parrot explains.
Right, fair. As if anything in this situation is fair.
Spoke feels something wet stain his fingertips and he looks down to find his nails digging into his palms so deep that blood is starting to seep through the broken skin. Spoke unclenches his fists in surprise; he didn’t even realise he was.
“-people that vote Spoke in exile, stand to his left. People that vote to forgive him, stand to his right.” Parrot is calling instructions ahead of him, acting like he isn’t here again.
Spoke watches as everyone shuffles into place, either taking a place to stand to the left side of him, or the right. A sudden sense of déjà vu hits him and he distantly recalls something like this happening once. Oh, he remembers suddenly, it was back during LAW, when the final battle had been over, they stood at Northern Council and voted for the LAW leader, Lettuce. Funny, isn’t it? That one day he would be the one getting voted, not the one voting. That one day his fate would come to this.
As time went, eventually, like last time, there’s only one person remaining, Flame’s friend-Spoke didn’t bother to remember his name-giving uncertain looks to both sides, standing in the middle with his eyes clouded with doubt. Spoke takes the time to get a good look on who’s standing on which side. On his left he sees Theo, Wemmbu, Flame, Jamato and Mapicc. On his right he sees Parrot, Reina-that’s her name he thinks-, Egg, Jumper and Minute.
It’s a tie right now. Whatever this last person decides would be his final fate.
Spoke doesn’t particularly care which option he gets, right now both of them seems like an unfair punishment and he just wants to get it over with so he can stop seeing these people. He narrows his eyes at everyone, more specifically, three people.
Mapicc, Jumper, and Minute.
Mapicc is standing on the left side while Jumper and Minute are standing on the right. Spoke trembles with uncontrollable rage. How dare Mapicc vote him to exile?! He betrayed him! And even tried killing him on the battlefield! And now he stands here, voting for his fate. He should be ashamed of himself, at least Jumper has some sense of guilt and couldn’t meet Spoke’s gaze. Mapicc, meanwhile, is glaring at him, glaring at him. Like Spoke is in the wrong, like Mapicc is doing the right thing here.
Heck, even Jamato is there. Spoke had temporarily forgot about his old enemy but now as he looks, he sees him, standing on his left too, no surprise there.
Another wave of rage washes over Spoke as he glares at Jamato. Why does he get to decide what happens to Spoke?! Why is he even here??!! Spoke’s tail lashed, Jamato shouldn’t have any rights in deciding his fate, how can he? When he’d done far more damage and destruction than Spoke can ever do, when he was the one that had led Spoke here in the first place. Why does he get to stand in that crowd, pretending he’s innocent?!
“Well I mean-” Spoke looks up to find Flame’s friend giving him an apologetic look, “I-I uh…I don’t really know anything about you, so…I think I’ll just go with whatever Flame decides.” He takes two strides and ends up on Spoke’s left, right next to Flame.
It doesn’t really surprise him, that the majority of people has chosen to vote him out. He’s surprised that there are people that voted to forgive him, probably just a trick to make him think they still cared. A sudden, sharp feeling of emptiness carves out Spoke’s heart; he misses Null. He misses having people that cared for him and he misses having power. He misses being able to control his own future, but instead he stands here, waiting for his fate to be decided by a bunch of people that betrayed him, over and over.
He looks up again to find that Parrot is also giving him pitying looks, green eyes sad as he looks into Spoke’s pupilless white ones. I’m sorry, his eyes whispers, but Spoke doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to.
“Well…that means we’re exiling him, right?” Jumper speaks softly, Spoke turns to her but she refuses to meet his gaze.
Parrot heaves out a sigh.
“Yeah.” He says, “Jamato, you have the pearl cannon ready?”
“Of course,” Jamato nods. He crosses his arms like he’d been expecting all of this. Like he knew what Spoke would end up as even before this all happened.
Great, Spoke’s bitter thoughts were visible on his face as Parrot gently steers him out with a wing, his footsteps echoing inside the long stone halls, cold and empty like Spoke’s shrivelled insides.
Just great.
The pearl cannon was built not too far away from Northern Council, through the misty fog and the slight sprinkle of snow, Spoke can make out a blurred outline of the machine perched on top of a hill.
Only a few people came to send him off, the rest probably doesn’t want to bother with him. As Mapicc, Jamato, Parrot, Theo, Minute and Jumper climb up the hill beside him, he secretly wonders if they are just here to keep an eye on him. Because why would anyone care about SpokeIsHere? Why would anyone care what happens to him when they had proved time and time again, they don’t? Spoke allowed his bitter thoughts to wander freely as he climbs up the steep hill, his mind racing so aggressively that his footsteps weren’t keeping up. The hard reality of what is going to happen to him engraving itself into his head.
He is going to be exiled. Null is dead and he is going to be send somewhere faraway where no one would find him and he would live all alone and there would be no one that cares for him and every night would be so long and-
“There, that’s the pearl cannon.” Surprisingly, Jamato is the first one to speak. He adjusts his white crown on his head and turns to Spoke; Spoke didn’t even realise that they made it to the top, the pearl cannon is only a few meters away, on a platform made of cobblestone that is starting to chip off on the edges. Jamato hands him a singular pearl, round and smooth like an egg. “Go on.” He prompts, tilting his head slightly.
Spoke hesitates before walking towards the platform, he can hear the shakiness in his footsteps as walks through a thin layer of frosty snow on the ground and he can feel the textures of the smooth pearl underneath his sweaty fingers. Jamato follows behind him but it hardly matters.
“Try to perfectly line the pearl up or you would be a few thousand blocks out from destination.” Jamato offers, standing beside him as he looks up to the complex machine, fingers trembling.
Spoke ignores him, he isn’t going to listen to whatever Jamato has to say, he throws the pearl into the cannon and watches as the round orb sets into place.
“You know, Spoke.” Jamato says breezily, “I’m surprised you’re still alive, but if exiling you is the best option, I’m not objecting against it.”
Before Spoke can reply, Jamato sets off the pearl cannon and with a deafening bang that made Spoke cover up his ears, the scene vanishes in front of his eyes and in a flash, he’s gone.