Archive of Our Own

What is a betrayal, that is devoid of love?

Is every action bittersweet, entangled with choked admiration? Greedily taking all it needs, before it deattaches, like a leech?

Is there a thought shaking the fingers when they hold the hilt of the sword, that all of this will turn out better for the other?

Or is it just an act of revenge? Twisting the blade as many times as neccesary to make sure it hurts, sinking deeper between the ribs so that the pain is greater than anything else?

Is it just meant to be boring, no triumph speech, no silent confessions, just ripping the blade out of an already wounded body?

Zam wonders if any of them meant anything.

If all his betrayals were just petty, then he shouldn't be regretting them.

He didn't hate them, any of the past teammates that he pushed away. How could he even hate them? There is nothing to hate, but so much to thank.

No, he hates their actions. Sin is the puppeteer and the people are its puppets, imagine if it never took ahold of his teams. He hates pacing around, clinging onto something left of them.

Does it really matter if it's confessed in hushed whispers? If he apologises between every word, feeling sorry that he got caught?

And Zam knows, Zam knows they were all aware.

They all were aware of the little changes. The changes they would pick up on because they had devoted their soul and time to observe his every move.

It felt wrong being mistrusted and monitored, but it was kind of endearing.

To see Zam sit just a little further, say less and mean the words he says even lesser. That his eyes flick from one point to another, alarmed and paranoid, but carrying bags under them.

They shouldn't lie.

Vitalasy heard the change of tone, Subz saw him jerk his hand away when he got too close, Mapicc noticed the absence whenever he was around, Ro saw his hands shake everytime they smoothed over the walls of their base to try and memorise it. Everyone he had ever loved could say the same.

Everyone he ever loved had a sword plunged though their back, coaxed into an unfamiliar idea of affection when Zam offered to end it all with a loose hug.

They shouldn't lie, because they do when they say they never saw it coming.

Zam, he laughs to himself, is a danger sign.

Now, not in the usual way. Swords still feel uneasy in his hands, axes just don't fit right in his palms. And really, if he could, he'd point the arrow loaded into a bow at himself instead of an enemy.

He's a danger sign because every teammate he has meets a tragic fate. It's the Prince Zam special!

And right now, his cute pink pillow feels more like a hill, raggedy edges cutting scars into the back of his head. Tracing shapes into the wooden sides, blanket disregarded somewhere.

It's uncomfortable, to lie in plates of armour, layers of clothes, and it's even worse to lie out in the open when they all are listening to you.

But hey, a knight's gotta suffer through it, right?

It's what he knows how to do, and had learnt to treat it accordingly, licking his wounds with a poision-scented tongue.

It's been a bit since he actually visited his house. Not home, he reminds himself with a faint frown.

Zam always just passes by it, usually when he runs for his life as they come for his neck. Sometimes gaze falls on the roof, looking down from up in the sky, soaring through the heavens as if that would make him grow real wings.

And it's been even longer since he slept here.

Actually, it's been long since he properly slept.

Bones ridden with exhaustion, he usually collapses. Preferably inside of his base, the load of clothes he was complaining about softening his fall and saving him from a hefty injury.

And it's gone in an instant. The moment his eyes close, they open. It's like a real life time travelling tactic, except it's way less impressive.

Really, when he awakes in cold sweat, or disoriented, he only grows more and more tired. You're supposed to feel less tired when you sleep, right?

Not in Zam's case, it seems. They do not grace his minds, dreams. Sleep avoids him like the plague, knowing it would meet a likely fate if it stayed a bit longer beside him.

With a sigh, Zam runs his hand through golden strands of hair.

He could preach as much as he wanted, about trust. Taunt Derapchu about his paranoia, lace every word with venom when the situation is beyond salvageable.

Maybe Derap was right all along, his voice echoed the hundreds that were never brave enough to say it to his face.

His life has gone to shit ever since he met Zam.

Almost like deontic act, is Zam's betrayal. Had gotten used to his name sounding akin to a traitor's, the mere mention of such presence is enough to alarm anyone.

But at the same time, at the same time, Derap could never understand. He could never understand that inside this prince flows the blood of thousands, sloshing in veins that originally had carried the life of disloyalty.

And he'd grin while he tells Zam that his only goal is to stay by a back-stabber's side.

Hah, and look him now.

He went behind Zam's back, and did the same thing that the blond would do everytime. If Zam had the strenght, he'd smile and say he's proud of Derap, for carrying on the unjust legacy of his teammate. This time, he is the betrayer.

Zaun was a diarchy, ruled by two that weren't ever meant to be by each other's side. The Universe ruled it in the way, whether they liked it or not.

But Zam was foolish enough to hold onto a false idea, grip a rose until the thorns could no longer prick. It's possible that that's the reason as why it doesn't hurt as bad, hm.

They got along, sure. But Derapchu had never seen laughter fade from the prince's eyes and find its way on bleeding lips.

He never saw ribcages break as many times as Zam had, intoxicating the way each and every rib cracks under the pressure of something as simple as boots. Drinking up the fear emanating from the loudly beating heart.

Thumping rapidly, you can practically feel them tremble under your touch when an axe is slicing their stomach. Hot blood tainting your plams forever, spurting and pouring all in your favor.

And they shake, and struggle in your grip. Holding them down with ease, wavering breathing from lungs you're about to puncture.

A gorgeous sight. Grotesque, but beautiful.

Opening like a flower, imitating art that couldn't ever be painted by brushes unless they had been dipped in the bloodstream. And their skin is gentle petals, softly cradling it in your clasp. Swiping hair from their eye, just so that they witness you.

Zam shakes his head.

Whatever, it isn't relevant anymore. He's not like that, and he hasn't been like that in a long time.

Really, maybe he shouldn't have forgiven Derap when the exploits first came up, he shouldn't have.

But he had hope, he had hope that those exploits were in better hands than ever. Which is stupid, because a hand that has exploits is already a horrible hand on its own.

He had left teams because of those!

He had sunk his nails deep within their bond and tore it apart with his own ten fingers, let it shrivel once the threads of fate tangle.

But really, Zam bites his bottom lip. Sooner or later, sharp teeth will draw blood.

Was it worth it? Was any of it worth it, if at the end of the day, Zam gets to rewrite history on the wrong side? If he were only to watch from the sidelines, wouldn't stand a chance against the weight of the sky, or the ideals of everyone.

All they asked of him was to be truthful, to liberate a feeble tounge from speaking lies. At every turn, lips morph to come up with an excuse, before he could even realise what they're trying to say.

All they asked of him was to be truthful, to liberate a feeble tounge from speaking lies. And Zam went behind their backs, all of their's. He plucks a daisy from his own hair, fiddling with it ever so slightly.

Mapicc rested his head on his shoulder, and closed his eyes when a familiar heartbeat graced his ears. Vitalasy always stared at him like he could treasure the stars in ways no explorer could catch, or if he was those stars all along.

Pangi, Pangi, he had only wanted to help, a weak whine and then he was over Zam swatting him away when he reached to help. He had to pick between two options, and Zam would choose someone over him each time.

Poafa, oh, Poafa, time and time did his words sting as he retold the same story to the man who caused his downfall all those years ago, while giving it his all to trust said man with his life.

He didn't— he didn't mean to!

He didn't mean to tear out their hearts in pieces, and stomp on the shards until they're beyond repair. That's something enemies do, not allies!

Well, I guess, there isn't much difference for Prince Zam, is there?

It sucks, because he should have every right to complain and turn his back on the world. Helping everyone had only famously backfired, and yet he continues to do so.

It's funny, haha, from an outsider perspective, one could even say he potted up on Derap just for a box!

But then they'd be wrong, and Zam knows how much it hurts to be wrong. There is no worse feeling within these vast fields than being wrong.

So he must be right! He has to be right, otherwise the lives that had faded under his fingertips mean nothing. Not by his fingertips, no, just under.

Is it even rational to still be bitter about Jumper? After all, she served his medicine right back to him, in a way no other betrayal could.

And fuck, is that how all of the things he did felt to those he left behind?

Did Mapicc ever stare at his old spot on the bed, or pick up the perfume he only got to use once? Did he feel Zam's blood taint the duped weapons he held?

Had he ever mourned the presence of a prince, who wanted nothing more than to see him know the same pain he brought?

There were nights spent pacing.

Pacing around rooms that he shouldn't even call his own, they are apart of a base that only exists so they can say they have a base at all.

And there were days when he walked out, beside his teammates and all he ever wanted to was scream. All he ever wanted to hear his own voice break off into a sob, to let them hear cries that he kept for himself.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to yell, and scratch his skin until his nails break or until they dig up hidden flesh. And he hated that soft touches were comforting, because they are from hands that forced his own.

Mapicc bumped him with his shoulder, and Ro ruffled his hair every day with a different hand. And when they tried to sleep, legs tangled, uncomfortably complaining about the lack of space on the bed. One bed, the same bed that had been soaked in their blood time and time again, ignoring the iron scent that had engraved deep in the sheets they don't know how to wash.

And it's not the smell that Zam hated, it's why it was drenched in gore, color forever offtinted, and reminding of days when all they did was die and come back.

It had made him feel poweful, rushing through his brain with glee. A dangerous smile, it was a kind of high they could not get pushed off.

And that was the problem. That no one was willingly to climb up all the way, just to see them fall. The problem is that their names strikes fear, in a way that eyes avoid their own, and they won't even look their way.

Mapicc and Roshambo both think that is something good, that they can not be kicked from their godhood—

It was probably hypocritical. Now that Zam thinks about it, years later.

Everything he ever did was hypocritical, really. Who even is surprised anymore?

Mapicc looks at him the same.

Mapicc looks at him the same, and it claws his insides out more than when the demon stares like he wants the prince dead on the spot.

A look of hatred is easier to bear. Easier to accept, easier to store away and to rationalise.

A look of hatred wouldn't make the blonde so light-headed. A punch in the face would be tranquil. The fiend could even bear his sharp teeth, letting the prey know it is on its tail.

It's so difficult not to laugh. Not to laugh when Mapicc does too, because there is no other sign of their victory that could make him calm.

Not their victory. Right.

Only Mapicc and Ro's now.

And he is right outside the window, walking around like he— like he owns his castle!

As if this castle is his sanctuary, a resting place for the damned. As if he had any right to tilt his head when Zam's eyes widen, as if he had any right to show up time and time again!

Who does he think he is? Why does he feel that a moment of kindness is enough for Zam to forgive the torment?! The countless swords plunged through lungs?

The audacity he has to— Mapic comes closer.

And Mapicc comes closer, reaches through the gaps in the wooden window. And Mapicc reaches through the gaps in the wooden window, and his fist finds its place in Zam's clothes.

His fist finds its place, twisting fabric when he pulls Zam closer, and oh God, Mapicc is here, and Mapicc pulls Zam closer.

But he doesn't do anything.

Doesn't do anything, to Zam, or anything, or, oh fuck, throat closing up before he could even catch his breath.

How long before there is a gash gaping, wounds stretched, making a path through ribs to find a still-beating heart?

Will snow cover him up, will snowflakes land on eyelids, sprawled out on the ground with nothing to cling onto but the blood leaking from his body?

Is it too late to cry, when all his late teammate does is observe?

That burning gazes only scan him whole, judging every piece, noticing every change?

Every difference, Mapicc sees. Being held so close would be sweet in any other instance, but not when a window is between them, and Mapicc is here to kill him.

"Huh." Is all the fiend says, eyebrows raising for a second before they set back to their natural state.

"What?" Trying his best to force the words out. Difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to be.

Instead of answers, he lets go off the handful of clothes, fist opening up and letting Zam stumble backwards.

Hands held up to his own throat, choking on air that won't come to him, gasping like a fish on dryland.

"I really was right." He clicks his tongue, just loud enough to shake the prince from his pain-ridden trance. "You most definitely have seen better days."

Well, thanks to you I won't ever see brighter days, but sure. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He can't be out here reminding Zam about all he lacks, when he is the one that keeps driving an annoying blade through his throat.

And he used to stay each time. To watch him choke lifeblood that once mattered. But even that doesn't entertain him anymore.

How many gallons of his blood will it take to satisfy him? To leave him alone, to wither away in this lonely castle? To let those barricaded gates stay barricaded?

Are there enough stars to burn, is there enough time to even fight back?

When Mapicc starts moving, and within seconds he will be in the door? Netherite sword in hand, holding the hilt that Zam once did—

He finds his own embrace a little comforting, hugging himself ever so slightly when laying on the side.

It really is weird to think about it now, the days where nothing was keeping his heart from leaping at each sound, fear engraved deep within all that he had ever known.

It really is weird to think about Mapicc in that light, even. The night terrors are overwritten with breathy laughter, the scars are sewn together with honeyed words and empty promises.

Does it really matter if Mapicc had the knife, if Zam was the one twisting it?

Every word could be read as a lie, if you wait long enough. He is capable of betraying even beyond the grave, isn't that insane?

That he can hear the hurt in the man's voice when the prince blesses the enemy? That those shulkers were burnt, that those hearts landed among flowers that wilt now?

Did his rushing sentences alarm Pangi? Did he really have to blow the base the smithereens?

After all, Zam was weak.

Fingers trembling, loosing the grip on his sword.

Steps echo in the quiet room, stalling downstairs.

There is no helping the breathing that quickens.

The sun burst into the room, a sweven. Blinding him, vision filled with colours and swaying shapes. There must be a time to open his eyes, and it might be now.

Shoulders tense.

Await a blow that never seems to grace his chest.

There is no sudden death message, there is no axe splitting him in half, there is no slithering between his ribs just to break every one.

Jaw clenched, witnessing the morning blues of the virtuous sky.

An uctus, a familiar melody is what those footsteps represent when they're finally upstairs, an unprompted waltz.

The name forms on his tongue like no else. "Mapicc."

"Yo!" It is really difficult not to miss his presence, the way he stares from far away, very ominously. "What is up, man? Why are you just,, up here?"

And anyone would laugh, when Zam says there's something off in his voice. Sounding a bit more... nervous than usual. He swears he's not crazy.

"Oh, you know." Zam responds, pushing his palms deep into the sheets to help sit up. "The usual."

It is impossible not to notice the way Mapicc's tails swish hesitantly, the three unable to find a rymth to move in. The sleeves of his red hoodie are rolled up, a little more than usual.

"Really? That's all?"

"Mhm."

The hum is all it takes for Mapicc's eyebrow to raise, looking at the blonde with a puzzled look.

Then, he finds his spot on the far edge of the bed, wood creaking slightly. "Dude, take off your armour. It's going to dig into your skin, the longer you lie there."

And all Zam sees is Mapicc tilting his head, one leg propped up on the furniture, the other dangling off the side.

Hesitating, just for a moment, he reaches for the strap of his armour, a click! slashing through the quiet. He's trying to convince him to do the same.

Mapicc glances around for a moment, looking a place to place his spaulders, before deciding to place it besides himself.

Figure obscures the eesome rays of the sun. Blocking the only source of light, trickling through a window meant as an escape route.

It is tender, the way it tries poking out at the sides. Hugging the demon from each side, peeking out when he happens to shift.

Can't quite make out every detail of his face, expression contrasted by the otherwise barely lit room, eclipsing the day. Easier to notice the lousy outside when there is not much else to hear.

Blinking, blinking twice, thrice, Mapicc is still here. Sitting on this bed with a dumbfounded look.

Zam shuffles a bit closer, and lets the fiend help unbuckle the armour, head clouded by exhaustion. He could fall asleep right here right now, which is ironic, considering he just complained about not being able to.

Everything feels ten times lighter now, left vulnerable for the atmosphere around them.

The red is harsh against all the pink surrounding them, but it's almost comforting.

Almost comforting to know that it dares battle the surroundings, and can grin while saying it'll win.

Zam rests his forehead on the fiend's shoulder, and breathes.

The air around them feels merciful, no longer suffocating. Laying his head on a man who, at one point, wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

And he laughs, what else is there to do?

Calmly let his soul take a break, putting down all that weigh it. "You're here."

"I am." Uncertainty, he hears it in Mapicc's tone. "You sound surprised?"

Ragged black hair tickles the knight's skin, and the soothing, odd texture of the red garment. Arms sit in his lap, unmoving. "No. It's just...."

And for the first time, this house serves what it is supposed to.

Safety. There is a dagger to his back.

There is a dagger to his back, sharp and ready to cut through his cloak.

There is a dagger to his back, and all ten fingers lay flat. It slowly sneaks upwards.

The dagger is in his hair. Curls wrapping around a finger, or two. A lump in his throat.

It is not sharp.

It is not even a dagger.

Mapicc combs through blonde hair leisurely. Quietly, Zam listens his heartbeat, the slowest it had ever been,

The hug is awkward.

Zam's head slipping down to the collarbone, one of Mapicc's hands entangled and the other lingering somewhere around his back but unable to find a perfect place.

And he gets it. They were never meant to hold vulnerability this close to their heart.

Never meant to cradle such fragile bodies, only meant to drop them to the ground, searing them open with one quick slice or two. Fists curling when they hold weapons, fist curling to send a punch wherever it needs to.

They weren't meant for this.

Peace, I mean.

Nothing is peaceful about this, nothing is supposed to be. Wings only grow to chase, and talons don't decorate but puncture. Beaks aren't to negotiate, prick until there's flesh to have.

A sigh slipping from deep within a troubled soul, muffled in his friend's shoulder.

"There's still blood in your hair." Mapicc informs, rubbing strands together.

And he cries, because what else is there to do?

Hiccups bubbling from a worn out throat, squeezing orange eyes and pressing his head further. Staining Mapicc's clothing with stubborn tears, just another unwanted blemish.

"Dude, what are you—?" Nervous chuckle, the fiend questions. Digits slipping out of the tangled hair for a seconds, settling on slouched shoulders instead. "Are you crying?"

It isn't forceful, the way he pushes Zam away, to try and get a good look.

And Mapicc does what he does best, observe. And judge, judge because goodness, there is just so much to judge. There is nothing else he can do but judge, and the prince is very aware of that.

And Zam closes his eyes again, had only opened for second, he doesn't want to see what expression is stuck on the brunett's face.

He is aware of how he must look like right now, painful appearance disfeatured by ugly ass blubbers, sniveling shamefully.

"Oh, fuck, you actually are crying. Damn, um, okay, Zam—"

Silent acussations, are what they are. Becoming aquainted with the ache shaking every muscle. The ache tightening inside, the numbing one that still somehow hurts.

Because there is nothing, nothing left. Achieved nothing, lived to tell nothing. Breathe the air greedily, while giving nothing back. Ruining everything for everyone, while fixing nothing. Nothing, nothing, there is nothing, nothing, nothing ever, not one thing.

Because limbs tire from all the days spent trying to repair it all, trying to patch something with gold when all he has is regrets to cling onto.

Trying to repair it all, trying to repair Spawn.

Because they're at Spawn, inside of a house, and they're at Spawn, and God— they're at Spawn and there is blood in his hair, there is blood in his hair, there is blood on his hands, there are bloody fingerprints he leaves on everything.

The only warmth in a world so cold is the tears running down his cheeks. Like it's a matter of victory, a competition, which one of them will humiliate Prince Zam further.

Did he even get anything done?! Ever? Ever? Forever is long enough, but what is a day? What— why— why does any of it matter, when Mapicc pulls him closer again.

Unable to get air into his lungs, Mapicc pulls him closer again. And there is nothing between them anymore, and there is no window to look through and sigh, because Mapicc pulls him closer again—

And there is no one around to call, there is no one that could help the— the. The.

The hug that Mapicc cradles him in.

It is just as awkward as the last one.

And everything is so loud, but at same the time he can't hear anything, head forced under water, and he can't breathe, he can't breath, hecan'tbr eathe, he can't breathe— he can't breathe, he can'f bresthe, he can't— he can't let the water fill his lungs so greedily.

They are speaking to him, but he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to because that is only one more sound, and it is already too much— and the birds are chirping and people are talking, and the breeze ruffles the trees— and— and are there footsteps? Are they coming, when the floorboards creak?!

And his head hits something hard. And maybe it is the floor, or the wall, or something that will split his skull in two. Something that will let him release a guttural scream, let him scratch his own throat, let him bleed, and bleed and— fuck.

They are speaking to him, "Zam—" but he doesn't want to hear it "Zam, you—". Doesn't want to because that is only one more sound, and it is already too much— "Zam, look at me."

And so he does.

"There you go." Red eyes meet his own, vision blurred by tears. Mapicc is holding him up, hands on Zam's shoulders. "You scared the shit out of me for a second, man. You could've at least warned me or something, geez."

The blonde sniffles, sounds breaking at the end of every syllable. "Mape— Mapicc. What are we supposed to do?"

Mapicc just blinks at him, slightly tilting his head. "Nothing? What do you think we're supposed to do?"

His hand slowly slides from his shoulder, retreating it as it settles in his own lap instead. "The season's over, Zam. You don't have to do anything."

Really? Is it that simple? Mapicc is still blocking the light, or maybe there's just hair in his eyes. Or maybe both. "But— but, there's probably something! Right? Is this, is this really how it ends?"

"I—" He hesitates, Mapicc hesitates. Oh, God. Why is he hesitating?! "I do have something to show you, Zam."

Oh?

Shuffling towards the edge, the brunett stands up from his spot on the bed, boots echoing on the hardwood planks.

All the light rushes back into the room, greedily taking up all the space, taking something that is not quite theirs. Foolishly, it embraces everything in calm hues, an antapology after a long day.

And maybe this light rushing in isn't even that greedy, it just wants somewhere to reside, somewhere to be. A purpose to fuffil, Prince Zam knows all about those.

He follows the demon next, wiping his eyes with the back of his glove. It's soft, silk and tained, it's perfect tissue material.

"I'm scared, Mapicc." He laughs, but there may be truth in it somewhere, sniffling. "What are you going to show me? Are you just going to take me to an arrow cannon and like, shoot me and stuff?"

"Bro, why would I do that? You think I have time to set up another arrow cannon? Those are Minute's thing anyway." Mapicc says, looking back at Zam, who is trailing after him on the most squeaky stairs in existence.

Wow, he had forgotten about the ache in his calves. The stones residing in his legs, traversimg in his own pink house, grown quite unfamiliar.

"I don't know!" Exclaiming, before bowing his head slightly as the demon holds the door for him. How many times has he shut this exact door in his face? "Maybe you still secretly resent me, and you really just want me perma banned! That's a possibility!"

"Well that's stupid." Mapicc concludes. "And it's stupid of you to think that too, bro. We had our beef, you remember our duels, right? But now it's like, over."

Is that really all it takes? A couple of duels and it's over? Then they just forget about it, and move on? And they don't even tend to the wounds correctly, they just let them bleed freely? They won't bandage them tightly, but let infections eat them up?

Can speaking not do the trick? Must they really fight, to prove something?

The Nether Roof is so cold. So cold, even with so much armour on, adorned with enchants that burn skin, it is freezing.

Outside, it's kind of pleasant. Like brush strokes, are clouds that disperse on a pretty afternoon sky, smudged and blurred colours merging.

It's been a while since he could really watch the sun glimmer over them all, tower with power that knows it can lose. Stripped away, and formed between battle-ridden fingers, morphed into something horrid.

But right now, it doesn't have to worry about any of that. Stretching its wings, is this angel on the horizon, blessing them from all the way up there.

"I guess..." He shrugs, attention taken by the mesmerising oranges as they slip into a more familiar blue. It's so pretty. "It's just so weird, I don't know. Everything just feels so unfinished, I don't know!"

"What? You think I should still be fighting you?" Their stroll is quite slow, slower than what he is used to. Especially considering they are at Spawn. Usually, he'd be running by now. "What do you mean?"

"No, it's not that," a sigh replaced with a chuckle. Is that Minute building something in the distance, or are his eyes playing tricks on him? "It's nothing like that, I don't know. This didn't feel like... a finale, y'know what I mean?"

The demon hums. No, it most definitely is Minute. Handing blocks over to Hannah, who is doing something of her own. Huh.

"Yeahh, I get what you mean." Turning around, walking backwards, facing Zam as he speaks. "I see the vision now."

"Careful," I wonder what they could be constructing. "I don't want you tripping and then dying. That'd be very unfortunate."

"Bro, do you really think I'll die if I trip? Really, really? I honestly am offended." Putting his hand over his chest as emphasis, looking away as he side-eyes the prince.

"For the record, I didn't say that. You're like, putting words into my mouth." Man, it's great being without armour again. He snickers slightly.

"What do you meannnn, you literally said that! Word to word, be careful or you'll trip and die, you literally said those exact words!" Mapicc accuses. That is not how he said it, therefore it isn't true.

"Well, that's just not true." He voices it aswell, loosening the green cloak, draped over his back. "I did not say any of that. I think you're just lying, Mapicc."

"I— dude. Whatever." He sees the demon's mouth flicker into a smile briefly, knows that he isn't actually mad. "You're gaslighting me, Prince Zam. That's what you're doing."

"Whaaat?" Dragging the syllables out, gesturing vaguely. "I would never do that! Ever. I don't even know what gaslighting is."

The gentle breeze shudders the trees around them, but the air is generally pleasant, warmth tickling skin gently. Mapicc might actually trip, if he keeps it up.

"Ohhh! Why didn't you just say that!" It's difficult not to grin, when Mapicc does. It's reassuring, and weirdly comedic, a smile with the sharpest canines should not be calming. But it is! "I forgive you for that, then."

"Thanks!" The cloak, previously hugging his figure, now wrapped around his waist. Sliding on the ground briefly.

And there is a smile on slit lips. And there is laughter bubbling out of a chest that had been slashed often.

They passed by more people than he had accounted for, did not expect to see everyone gathered around in groups.

Chattering, building.

Do they not feel the strain in their muscles? Do they not feel the anguish within each material, within each wall they build instead of deconstruct?

Is there no buzz in their fingertips, burning with desire to destroy all that they spent so long putting together? Sorrowful, longing exhales, as they stare at their masterpiece?

The path was littered with empty banter, snickering at the worst jokes one could think of along the way. It is so easy to fall back into it, walking familiar trails with Mapicc.

Hands that had torn flesh, those hands have had a weapon that cut his throat clean. They know war, they know how to break bone, snapping every sinew in sight.

Hands that lay on his shoulder, horror-turned reassurance. Enfolded with flames burning skin, matches lit.

"Mapicc, genuinely where are you taking me?" Zam questions, for the tenth time, after not getting an answer the last nine times.

One of the demon's horns are chipped, a piece of it broken off. They both know it'll regenerate with time, time heals all wounds, right?

Heart climbs into his throat, then rushes through his entire body. And each vein pulsates, blood swimming at rapid pace.

Is it really a sin? Can he call it blasphemy, the way his head is kicked against the stone, and left bleeding out, face down in the snow?

Is it the puppeteer, or just the acomplice? When pure white is tainted with visceral ichor, ever-lasting and permanent? That each visit is a conviction, when a familiar enemy stands under the arches?

It'll grow back, sure. But in the mean time, it causes a massive headache, a dull pain behind his eyes. Zam wishes he could do anything about it, but he most definitely is not the person to ask about demon anatomy. Until then, Mapicc will just suffer.

"I told you bro," The brunett doesn't even look at him, just keeps on heading on. He doesn't need to, for Zam to hear the giddiness in his voice. "It's a surprise."

"Me personally, I think we should've just used elytras. This feels unnecessary." He whines, walking just a little bit behind the man.

"Shut up."

"My bad, I didn't know you had beef with elytras." Catching up, Zam laughs. His legs are actually killing him, why must Mapicc do this to him?

And what about Ro admitting care? What about the promises to stich him up each time he unravels? What about the pleads that turned into orders, when Zam had offered his head on a silver platter?

Where is he now? Where is he, so that Mapicc can beg him not to take a scab's last life? Where is he, to sing a lullaby when the night can only strike?

Where is he to make him laugh until he can't breathe, where is he to rid of these hearts that he doesn't truly need? Where is he to stand between two hounds that want to bite down until there is no deeper wound?

"Wait, Zam close your eyes real quick," Stopping in his tracks, hand landing on his forehead, like he was thinking.

"I swear, if you lead me to a trap, I will never go with you anywhere." It's not true, Zam is laughing, it's not true. He hopes it's not true.

"Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up," there is no sword attached to the hip. "No, Zam, I am not taking you to a trap. That'd be really dumb, if we're being honest with ourselves. If I wanted to kill you, I would've already."

"Fair point, actually. Okayy, I'll close my eyes." Not before chuckling, digits slip to obscure vision.

What he feels is warmth wrapping around the wrist, dragging forward just a bit too forcefully.

Alarms firing up in his brain, are you stupid? is what once voice says, in the absence of sight. He might be stupid, injured animal following blindly.

There is no going against instinct, which is yelling at him to fucking open his eyes already, but all to feel the sunlight tickling in an unknown manner. It is the softest hug, tender and cautious. And said instinct is kicking and screaming in his brain, but he bites his lip to keep it quiet.

Precise, gauze swathing arms littered with new bruises. Through gritted teeth is hissing, interrupting the cheerful humming from the man sitting in front of him. Instead of being upset, Mapicc apologises under his breath.

"You're good— it doesn't— doesn't even hurt." Stumbling over words, there is no hiding the torture.

"Don't lie, you're like withering away from the pain, or something." It is easy to read him, even easier to patch him up, if he had to guess by Mapicc's willingness to do this.

"Okay, fuck—!" The blonde whines, when the makeshift bandage is slipped around his forearm. It is a stretch to call it a bandage, it's more just like cloth they had lying around. "It hurts so bad, Mape. Why didn't I think to brew potions beforehand, this fucking sucks."

They wouldn't be in this predicament right now, if he hadn't forgotten to fuckin'— to stack up on potions, shit fuck, holy shit, why does it hurt so badly—?!

The fiend wouldn't need to waste his time with bandaging him up, because they'd usually have some sort of healing that would stop the bleeding right away. But noo, that would be way too convenient, in a universe that despises Prince Zam!

At least the pain is subsided, when Zam tries his absolute best at focusing on the melody Mapicc is humming along to. Well, until the demon speaks up again. "Why didn't you just go the other way, man?"

"Minute was at Spawn, completely alone. Come on, Mapicc! You know I couldn't give that opportunity up!" He should've, really should've. Because the voidling absolutely demolished his ass. Who knew having like two gaps, and only speed II on you wouldn't be ideal in a situaion like this?

It is a tedious task, he knows. Which means it's a miracle Mapicc hadn't complained once during all this. Usually they either die, or regenerate, there is never really need to actually reach into the first aid kit.

"I know," He admits with a groan, checking for more potential wounds.

He probably doesn't need Zam bleeding to death in front of him. He had already stained this entire bed, and the floor. Collapsing in the entrance of your base, turns out, makes people drag you inside agonisingly, and leaves a huge mess.

"But you could've called me, at least, I don't know! The two of us can barely handle Minute at times, throwing yourself at him is just basically suicide." Fuuuckk, why does Mapicc have to be so rational sometimes?! Zam hates that he can think logically, this sucks.

"I mean, I guess...." Trailing off, for once it doesn't hurt to be watched. Scarlet eyes don't dissect him, they are actively trying to find ways to put him back together. "I'm sorry."

Shaken from his fixation, Mapicc whips his head up at the simplest apology. "What did you say?"

"I said," It is even more humiliating to repeat it, but Mapicc is doing way too much for him, and lowkey he's starting to feel bad. "I'm sorry. For, you know,, having to do this. It was really dumb of me to do that, and you shouldn't have to sit here and fuckin', what's it called, take care of my stupid injuries."

Mapicc squints for a second, before sighing, placing the rest of the cloth somewhere behind him.

"It was really fucking stupid, you're right." Zam's posture slumps. "But, let me do this one thing for you, man. Bro, you're like— you're always up late grinding gear for us, and doing all these things. I think it's fine if I help you out for a chance. But don't fucking do that again."

The blonde nods at the appreciation, a smile stretching on a scarred face. "Knowing myself, I probably will. But finee, I guess, I won't run at Minute Tech with nothing in my inventory."

Tomorrow, these injuries will kill him. But not today, thanks to his teammate. Goodness, he'll have to repay this later.

Leaning against his shin are soft little things, fragile and thin. And the air is clear, whiff of a pleasant scent.

Mapicc stumbles over his words, mumbling something about opening his eyes again, and oh.

Wherever sight lands are flowers, rocking slightly, creating a perfect picture under melting day time. A grove overgrown, snowy petals blending together.

In certain circles are colorful ones, go along the graceful cavort the daisies hug them in. A dance, they swoon when the breeze flies among the rows.

A flowing river is what these patterns memorise. Coursing, relishing in the waning light. The night will cast a looming shadow over them, but until then, their purity elegantly glistens.

Until the hungry dawn takes them, they bob their head to the rhythm of the sky. They'll hold on until the morning seeps with the upcoming sun.

"I um, ran out of oxeye daisies half way trough, just ignore those very obvious patches, please." Sheepishly admitting, Mapicc rubs the back of his head nervously.

Saying that Zam's jaw dropped is an understatement. Mouth agape, he aimlessly stares at the rebuilt orchard. "I— holy shit, Mapicc! Did— did you do this?!"

"Yeah, man." It is beautiful. Calling it perfect would even be an insult, it is something way better than that. "It took me a while, but it turned out okay. I hope it's uh, at least a little close to how your field looked."

"I— I genuinely have no clue what to say. It didn't just turn out okay, it's actually—" Stammering, it's impossible to react any other way. "It's way better than it was. It's so much better."

In reality, he doesn't mind the mismatched flowers. They don't stick out as much as you'd expect, having a similar but unique colours. In the past, he would've been upset at even just one missing petal, or I don't know, having his entire flower field turned purple!

It was a little funny in retrospect, but nothing could stop the vomit scraping his throat with the thought that,,, Wemmbu had stripped something away from him again, leaving Bacon as culprit.

"Now it just feels like you're lying," Each time he blinks, he sees it in a newer view, ethereal like a dream.

"I'm not lying!" Defending the statement, it is only natural he twirls a few amid florets, even if his clothes don't swirl in the air like they used to. "This is— wow, I. This is insane, Mapicc. Thank you, thank you so much."

It makes Mapicc stop fiddling with his sleeves, swipe a strand of his sable hair slightly. He opens his lips, but no words come out for a while. Voice had gone quiet, spoken softly. "I'm sorry for blowing this all up. I know like how much it meant to you. It was lowkey a shitty thing to do. And I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, Mapicc...." There may be tears swelling in his eyes, but they're the kind ones, that are graceful and careful.

Tackling the demon in a hug, the both of them losing balance, finding liberty in falling down.

They land among flowers, it is easy to ignore the pain of colliding with the ground. Zam rolls to the side, lying flat out next to his friend.

Chest falls and rises, uncoordinated, with each giggle. The grass is soft, holds them like a cradle, encountering solace in this field.

Did Mapicc really feel this guilty about blowing up his field? That he rebuilt it, and even added his own touches, in its entirety?

He had frolicked many times before here, it was a favourite activity to stare at the plants till they smile back, holding the rays of the sun in their petals.

It calms the mind, to trace a comet in the bleakest midnights. Serene when dips into dusk, hollow thoughts and even hollower grasps.

Mapicc eases up with time, and a familiar laugh replaces the frown on his lips. It's contagious, it really is.

"Apperantly Derap revived everyone." Is what discontinues the silence, gesturing vaguely with his arms in the air, while on his back.

"Oh, really?" Zam turns his head to the side. Man, laying like this does not help his exhaustion, barely able to keep his eyes open "Huh, that's cool."

Those revive beacons were really fortune to be in his hold instead. To tell the honest truth, Zam did not expect him to stick by his statement of no one dead at the end.

Those statements usually were futile, and brought more pain than a new life.

They were so close to victory. They were so close to victory, that the taste of it buzzed on his tongue. It was exciting, freeing to even think about it.

Derapchu had said it before, when they stood in Zaun. It made him dizzy, to hear Derap say something so absurd, say something that reminded him how he failed.

And yet. And yet, Spoke had to stand with his arms outstretched. And his grin had to reach from one ear to another. Reach niravana, the end is the most tranquil he could ever be.

Zam found it ridiculous, when the plan was told. It felt like something that couldn't ever be replicated, something that couldn't even be done in the first place.

"Why are you trying to save a world that people are actively trying to leave?" Spoke's claws dug into flesh, and there was no escaping from the clasp. If Zam were gullible enough, he would assume the voidling was trying to stay.

Why am I trying to keep people alive, who don't want to be alive in the first place. Is what Mane said. Choking on his own words, when an arrow came face-to-face.

And Woogie's fur was knotted with gore, it was soft between shaking digits. He hated everything that breathing this air meant, he hated standing on the edge, he hated being here.

And Flame... Zam swallows, hard.

"So, where is everyone, then?" Could I say anything? Could pry? Could I ask, could I wish they never left?

At some point, without even noticing, Mapicc sat up. He shrugs, elbows bolstered on knees. "Dunno, probably somewhere."

"Mhm." Is the only response he can give. Shoulders slumping, when he sits up as well.

The crown on his head is heavy enough, it is difficult to keep it up. Yawning, the prince messages his template.

Is this really all?

Did Spoke just give up?

There is no possible way, that Spoke lost unintentionally. He knows the right time for his blood to coat a sword, he knows when to tear himself apart, so that others can take a peak.

There is simply no way, that he hadn't planned this all. That his plans were anything other than how it went, flipping through the scrip that only he knows of.

Everyone moves under his fingertips, everything happens at his will.

He wouldn't just knock his own pieces down, let alone give up the entire board.

And Zam poured his heart out for him, in a nice gauntlet for him to drink. And in exchange, Spoke heard all his sorrows, and used it to form a finale suitable for tired limbs.

Did he offer his neck, all so that Zam can rest his happily?

Did he give this for him, did pleas reach the deity, did he make sure to never suffer a fate worse than death? Does he bear the burden that Zam couldn't carry anymore? Was he the one to give clear air to breathe, so that Zam can come up from underwater?

"You're right, man."

"Huh, what?" Shaken from his deep thinking, Zam focuses on Mapicc again, who hasn't left his side in the slightest.

"You said something about how this doesn't feel like a finale." There are no trees to provide shade, they are subjected to the waining sunlight, out in the open. "Usually Spoke would be causing havoc 'n' shit, but well, he's dead now. Minute killed him."

Laced in the declarations is something sad hidden. Zam rests his palm on Mapicc's back. Spoke was his teammate, just as much as Minute, after all.

A sigh, and Mapicc is over it. The chuckle doesn't cover it. "Whatever, man, Spoke deserved it. What can I say, he was pretty evil."

"Yeah," It is a simple answer. "Yeah."

"Yeah." And they fall into silence.

They are supposed to talk it out, they're supposed to speak up. They're supposed to yell, and ask why did you do it?!, but none of that is happening.

He is tempted to ask the man, about what really went on that day. That he had given his life for a trap that didn't work, and he ended up with a broken nose and an even more estranged soul.

That when his fist collided with his face, did he mean that?

But Zam won't, he won't ask that.

"I'm glad Minute got the kill. He deserved it the most, I think." The brunett admits, placing his chin on his arms. "I don't know if I, y'know.

"I do, I know." Mapicc had his dilemma, Zam remembers it well. Dwelling over the side he should choose, tail wrapping around himself.

A while ago, he could call Spoke someone to rely on, and then it happened again, and now... yeah. He understands the stubborn shards of memory, Mapicc believed this time was different. He always does.

"Um. Well,," Tugging blonde hair behind his ears, the night is creeping closer and closer. Suddenly, the field doesn't feel as comforting. Akin to a maze, or an arena. "It isn't exactly what I meant."

Mapicc tilts his head at that, dark brown locks appearing like black under the impending moonlight.

Oh, God. How does he phrase this, without feeling weird about? Would Mapicc understand, would Mapicc get it?

"It's just that I'm also usually dead by now."

Hitched breath, entangling a confession. Ineffably gone, own steps carrying onto a battle field, or into the nothingness below.

By this time, body would dwindle, decay with no deathbed or grave deep enough not to be found. There wouldn't be anyone left to grieve, there wouldn't be anyone who would want to grieve this prince.

And if a prayer was enough to breathe viability into a player, no man would interlock their fingers. They wouldn't even spare a stare, even if their core could forgive a betrayer. If they could even forgive Zam, for being.

"Listen— like, it's. I don't expect you to understand— just— just, forget it—"

Could a sword graze his throat now? Could his feet carry him into the void?

"Do you want to?" Mapicc's posture straightens. "We can just do it, together."

"Mapicc, are you serious?" Baffled, he whips his head to face the man, eyes-widened and confused. "You can't say that."

"Why not, Zam?" Shrugging, they are overshadowed by the eve. He says it as if it's that simple, as if what he's saying isn't insane in the slightest. "It can be like old times, remember?"

"Yes, Mapicc, I remember— but, you shouldn't kill yourself just because I'm being fuckin'— I don't know!" Hurrying sentences. He knew he shouldn't have brought it up in the first place, fuuuckkkk.

Is he being serious? It'd be so stupid for them to just die now, it wouldn't be heroic, honorable, it wouldn't even be mundane. It would be none of those things, it would just be stupid.

It'd be really stupid to spill more blood on these poor flowers, who thirst for water rather than bloodshed. It'd be a real shame to ruin it, the day it was rebuilt.

It would be poetic, in a way. To relax in a bed of daisies, for eternal slumber to find grace in their gaping ribcages. But no! It— there is a reason they are alive right now, and that is the reenact peace!

It's just so strange and unusual, and nothing good, that he is aware of a forsaken organ thumping, sealed off by useless ribs. Why would anyone want live, further than the world?

"It." Mouth feels dry, worse to admit. "It just feels like a necessity, rather than a want, really."

At one point, he caught a glance of Derapchu.

Mapicc agreed to a final stroll across Spawn, cherishing these buildings that had caused so many headaches one last time.

No one they passed by knew the reason for their visit. They cheered, they smiled at them. Enemies are your closest allies, at the end of the day.

No one they passed by knew the reason for their visit, they didn't know where the two of them were heading. They didn't know that these are the last things they will hear from Zam, for a long time.

He isn't even sure if it will do anything. The landscape is intact, it is being rebuilt as we speak. So if no destruction occurred, no barren lands, what will be there to retangle?

Could the universe work its magic still, could fate rewrite itself, for a glorious day? Whatever, these are thoughts that others will wander on.

It was way too easy to talk to everyone, freeing him from heavy weight. They don't know Zam is heading to his resting place, his last resort.

Resting place, right. He saw Derapchu, maybe. It was a bit difficult to tell from a distance, but that blue is distinct.

A slice of him begged to say anything, but something kept his tongue binded. Was it guilt? Was it regret? Could Zam even talk with his former teammate, before he starts yelling?

There was nothing quite like that day. Woogie had screamed at him, he just couldn't understand, and that was okay. Later, it was Zam who held his hand before finality.

Spawn is beautiful.

Really, it is. It is so pretty, and is getting prettier by the minute. Groups of people are gathered, just to decorate it.

He could ask what they will do, once spawn can not be modified further. When they too, feel the end.

But he won't.

He doesn't want to know, if they will blow it up, if that is what brings closure. He lets them do whatever they need, to go as long as they have to.

Spawn is like a museum. A collection, a display, an art gallery. No matter the descriptor, it's reallyyy bittersweet to be here right now.

Maybe it's Mapicc, that's throwing him off. Usually, if one wanted to ban themselves, they would do it alone, in the loneliest corner, without anyone around. It is a state, that no one wants to be seen in, not when they have a reputation to up hold.

But, Mapicc is here, with Zam, and they are almost there. There, at his grave.

Many thoughts lead back to Zaun, the Flower Knight, is what mocked that enclosure.

Couldn't breathe, locked away from the outside, from all the trouble and chaos and love, but he didn't deserve to breathe.

And if only as many flowers could bloom from the tears he shed, then his carcas would make a pretty garden.

But that is not where he wants to be. That is not something he wants to think of fondly. Zaun, Zaun wasn't anything happy, now that be thinks about it.

Zaun was exile. Zaun was pettiness. Zaun was regret. Zaun was the truth. Zaun was secrets. Zaun is best left in the past.

And the demon pried, asked where must he dig this grave.

But truth to be told, it's already dug out.

Down to bedrock. And further.

It is a sad little room, Flame's base.

Well, it's less than a base, more like a stash. Where he gave Zam everything.

Slid the blindfold off, putting intrinsic scars on display. For the very first time, he had seen the immortal's hands shake, entire body tremble.

He was nothing more than an opponent, wasn't meant to be more. But the way he stumps on the nearest wall, the way he looked through his soul, it was— it was too much.

Flame found his end, in giving everything away. He could have as many stolen shulkers are he wanted, as many chests as he could with gear.

In the end, there was nothing to strip him of.

Only the title, that FlameFrags, the Immortal Demon, couldn't lose.

He let it fall from his grasp. Slip from gloved fingers. And it was painful to watch him realise Zam's choice was final. It was painful to make his death so austere.

Blond hair wet now, they had to get down here someway. It is annoying, and is another heaviness on his back, but can deal with it.

There is no reason to wring out their clothes. They will get wet anyway, when they take the final dive.

It is a sad little room, Flame's base.

Strangely, it feels like it was built for its intended purpose. Right next to this void hole, a void hole that had consumed him previously.

It was searching comfort in your own failure. There is something soothing about this continuous ache.

Nerves are getting to him, and the damp clothes only stick to skin. And it is really suffocating, in a room with no air.

And. Fuck.

He never really had to worry about these deathbans, they were welcomed.

It was surrendering without surrendering.

Something Zam knows all about.

This is the easy route.

Something Spoke knows all about.

Do you think he's watching?

Something Mapicc knows all about.

Will it be any worse, for you to see me die without your blade? Would you want to be the one to do it?

Something Flame did, if were to twist his words enough.

"Being immortal sucks."

The only light is in the center, and it is calling. Seeping into the darkness below, greedily consuming what's left of a day.

It is calling, pearly gates, even if there are no wings to stretch. Flightless angel, is the abyss, when they stare.

And the abyss stares back. He is seen, and heard, by the nullity that it herds.

"Hah, do you remember?" Mapicc speaks lightly, a feather sailing on a slow river.

How could I not? When everything all leads back to it? How could I even face anyone, how could I even face you? How can you just stand here, how can you say any of this?

With a fond smile, there is nothing to hide. "Yeahhh. Except there is no JumperWho to betray us at the end."

It stung. And it hurt. And you wouldn't say it, but you didn't have to. The haunted gaze was enough, to justify the hunt.

And it hurts Bacon too. Maybe even Pentar. Did you know that when I gave him those hearts, he sounded so much like how he used to? That he tried doing, what we failed?

"Who knows?" Shifting from one leg to another.

"I'm betraying, I'm betraying— I'm—" Zam swats at him, startling him slightly, it all ends in a chuckle, and with Mapicc chuckling too.

We laugh now. But I can remember the sleepless nights. The three of us stuck on one bed, with Bacon's awfully loud snoring. I know you couldn't sleep, I couldn't either. I know Bacon was only pretending.

"When uh," Zam begins, it's funny. "Do you want to know something? When Flame died, all he asked of me was to kill you. He really wanted me to win."

"Damn," astounded, Mapicc stops his chuckle. "You guys really wanted my ass dead."

"Yep! So did Woogie, and maybe even Mane." It is easy to muse about it now, it is easy to not let his heart sink deeper without him. "We really wanted your ass dead."

And yet, you stand beside me now. You are willingly to watch me jump into the void. You're willing to go after me, aren't you?

And yet, you stand beside me now. Do you think Flame knows how I failed him? Do you think he'll be mad, when we see him again?

Will he forgive me for killing him?

"And you couldn't even kill me once." He prides himself, elbowing the prince.

It's their final moments, why not do what they know how to? And maybe they'll never talk anything over, maybe they'll never apologise. "Oh, shut uppp, shuutt upp."

"But I'm not Flame. I'm ManePear! I'm my own guy!"

Dread overtakes the mind, it is the natural response to witnessing something greater than yourself.

All roads lead to this, the bigger picture, everything falls into place. Puzzle pieces, fallen apart chess board, an unapologetic tango, collide to create certitude conclusions.

He'll die a killer. A sinner. Fallen back to old ways.

He'll die as someone who failed. An example. Those who wanted to see his name be tainted by blood, well, they won.

He'll die as the person they wouldn't remember correctly. Not a martyr. Wemmbu's words replay in his mind, I bet he would be enjoying this.

He takes a step. Gulping, it scratches his throat. It is daunting to stare past the water, and into vacancy.

He takes a step. He's never been this afraid of awaiting demise.

Something brushes against the back of his palm, gently.

Digits slot between Mapicc's, his hand is warm. It always is. A squeeze, and it spells out everything he needs.

With Mapicc's hand in his, it might even be scarier.

He will be yanking his friend down with himself, reduce their bodies to nothing but passing whispers.

All he needs to do is one last step, and he will feel the water prick close to needles, a nigthmare he can only escape below.

He feels light-headed. There is only one last step, before he can let go of this shell, and be nothing. And worry about nothing, and become nothing, and let nothing grant him sympathy.

There is another squeeze. A tear rolls down his cheek.

"You don't have to do this." Mapicc reminds. He doesn't let go, he would be willing to go along.

Let go, Mapicc. Let me go, let me go on my own. Let go of my hand, and go rejoin the others. Let go of me, I can't bear the thought of taking you with me.

"You— you don't understand." If there's a sob separating each syllable, that is only for them to know. In this sad little room, in the room that he will be last seen in. "I don't have to, but— but I need to. 'Cause if I don't— I—"

The fiend hums. Red eyes take him apart, but he might just let them.

Mapicc doesn't let go, he holds on even tighter.

What are you doing? Don't you know, don't you know following me like a dog is suicide? Don't you know I'll take your trust for granted, and I'll only bring hatred instead of peace?

Of course you know, you were there. So, why must you not let me go?

The abyss, it is hungry. Flame wasn't enough to sustain it for long. It wants something worse, something like Zam.

He knows Mapicc hears it plead too, plead for a taste. If it had teeth, torrid and bloodied, it would rip them to shreds and further.

This sad little room, is its plate.

This sad little room, is where Zam dies. And he won't have a final speech, like Woogie. A book that explains his last lament.

A Flower Knight's lament is of no purity, and is only created of white lies and agony.

"Are you ready?" There is no rush in Mapicc's words. There is no underlying motive that Zam should be paranoid about.

A glance at the void, and then at his companion.

An exhale, long and painful.

"I don't think I am."

Mapicc tugs him away from the voidhole, or at least the entrance of it. And further into this soothing little room.

He isn't upset, about the change of heart. "That's okay. We can sit here, as long as you need."

With a nod, his back hits deepslate. Sliding down to the ground, where he meets the comfortable floor.

Thank you.

And in reality, there is no inner voice trickling up from the void, he can't hear it. When Mapicc still holds his hand, and Mapicc is sitting by him, and Mapicc's head is on his shoulder for a change. It must be uncomfortable, straining his neck.

And when the silence is no longer suffocating, is when Zam is brave enough to speak again. "Mapicc?"

"What's up?" Lifting his head, tired blinks.

Even if Flame died here, even if Woogie's body despawned in his arms, even if he couldn't see Mane, Zam is still here. And maybe they are too, elsewhere, somewhere kinder.

"Let's go up to the others."

On his feet in seconds, he lets Zam cling onto his arm and pull himself up. Sure, something along those lines, is what Mapicc responded with.

He doesn't even look down when they go up the water.

And this time, he survived.