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i. before
“Well?” Spoke says, his infuriating smile still plastered on his face even after (somehow) convincing Mapicc to agree to all of this, something that’ll change everyone’s lives forever. “Let’s get going.”
He says it more as an order rather than a question. It chafes against Mapicc’s hard-earned ego. I am no pet of yours. “Maybe if you say please.”
Spoke fake-ponders for a second, hand resting on his chin, thumb and pointer finger outstretched. “Hmm… no.”
“You’re such a little bitch.” Mapicc snipes. But that is Spoke’s modus operandi; pushing and pulling at strings and lying his way through any problems that’d arise from it. Mapicc fucking hates him for it, sometimes, despite knowing ninety percent of it is because of this godsforsaken place.
“You’re the one who told me something. I just said no; now you’re getting pissy over it.”
“Because saying please is basic human courtesy, dumbass.” He rolls his eyes.
But Spoke only smiles like he knows something Mapicc doesn’t; like he’s a fool for not realising it.
He snaps, “Spit it out.”
“It’s nothing,” he giggles, eyes scrunching upwards. “I just think it’s funny that you said hu…hmm, nevermind.”
Mapicc sighs, exasperated. “Were you gonna say ‘because I said human’? Is this because we’re technically not human at all? Like, ‘haha Mapicc’s a tiefling demon thing and I’m some weird hybrid freak of nature! Haha!’. That’s so stupid. You’re stupid, Spoke.”
Spoke just laughs harder. He’s in hysterics, now, bending over and clutching at his stomach, cackling wildly. “Oh, man! You’re so funny, did you know that Mapicc? Really really funny.” He wipes a shining tear from his eye. “Yeah, it’s because you said ‘human’! Like we’re not human at all, right, why would you say that!”
Mapicc feels a headache coming on, and he hasn’t even betrayed Ro (his partner in crime, his other half, would he hate him for this—?) yet.
(Hours later, when Mapicc’s washed his hands of Ro’s blood, and he’s left contemplating everything he’s done to go this far, Spoke will tell him everything about the hole in the sky. He will show him the powers he’s claimed as his own; divine ichor strengthening him into becoming more than the creature he was before.
Spoke will still have that same smile and say to him offhandedly, and that’s where you come in, my shining sword, and Mapicc realises what Spoke was laughing about all along.)
ii. during
Seeing Mapicc in action was like watching a dance; a rather deadly one. You can’t help but feel giddy as you remember that this is who agreed to join you.
He’s swinging at Ro. And he keeps chasing at him, stabbing at him, teeth bared in a snarl; relentless when faced with prey. Unfaithful, you think, as he bites at the hand that fed, feeds, and will feed. Months and months of companionship thrown to the wind when there’s an interesting new toy offered to him someplace else.
Blood splatters on the wall: one of Mapicc’s swings has connected.
You start humming, unbothered (you are a god, after all).
This feral, volatile thing. Now he is one of yours. Not quite a disciple (unfaithful, you told yourself earlier, and you must never forget) but you still see his sins and repentance for the boy who let himself be chained next to him in the only way he knows how.
(With every slice, with every wound inflicted, Mapicc tells Ro: thank you, and goodbye, and this is me slicing through the leash you pulled me on and a million other words and feelings Spoke doesn’t care to recognise. Even if he tried to, the both of them had always come as a pair: only they’d know what cogs made the other tick.)
Suddenly, it’s silent, save for Mapicc’s harsh breathing and the sudden thump on the ground.
Blood drips down his blade. This is the sound of him trading an old friend for another.
Mapicc turns towards you. “What now, Spoke?”
These—the body slumped on the ground, the blood spreading to your feet, the triumph singing inside of you—are the fruits of your labour. But you see Mapicc, standing in the eye of the storm, and you cannot help but wonder.
When does the dog become pet become weapon? When does its defanged domestication tear away in the face of its baser instincts, when does its facsimile fall away?
“…Spoke?”
You wonder. But perhaps the better question is, what comes first: the weapon or the dog? You know the pet will always come last.
“Spoke, what the fuck’s gotten into you—“
Well. It doesn’t matter. A dog is a dog and a pet is a pet and a weapon is a weapon. They all have their uses anyways; you have always been very resourceful.
Your hand reaches out to the arm of the breathing sword in front of you and pull.
iii. interlude
Mapicc, a dog in everything but blood. He, who bares his teeth at those he deems threats; he, who dedicates his loyalty to the first hand who feeds. He, man's greatest companion, latching onto Ro and never letting go until the very end.
To a desperate boy with no other attachments, a dog can be as good as any other person. Even better, perhaps. As long as you give and give, the dog will always return tenfold. There is a trust there—a belief that no matter what, they will always protect each other. There is no need for the boy to worry about the dog using his own words and beliefs against him when all the dog knows is how to dig his teeth into something and feed.
Then, months later, the dog begins to grow tired. Restless. The dog and the boy have done so much together but the dog feels something changing, the adventures turning dull. Canines have a one-track mind after all: that's what makes them unrelenting hunters, unparalleled focus locating their prey with pinpoint accuracy. And maybe the dog finds another hand that feeds, that promises, that pets him and tells him if it comes with him, he will offer it the world and more.
The other hand swears this but all he sees is the dog's serrated fangs and piercing claws. He sees the crimson staining its fur and its bloodhound-nose. He doesn't see the human that began blossoming underneath it; he doesn't care for humans, that one, for he lost himself in divinity until Spoke and god became one and the same. He looks at this fierce dog and only sees an even fiercer weapon.
But the dog and its one track mind listens. He shoves the human who'd built a home in his ribcage down, down, digging its teeth into his throat, until it silences him; until its heart is just muscle and not the boy who'd made it more than a piece of flesh.
The dog and the god will meet the boy, who will stare at him with wide eyes (Mapicc, is all he will say as the dog plunges its weapon that it treats as an extension of itself into Ro’s chest. It knows the boy understands, somewhat: he has always known that a dog will stay a dog no matter how human he had treated it). The human inside the dog and the blooms he brought with him will wither away, crying, whimpering, screaming.
(The dog never cries. the tears never fall, as they do in people. Now it knows it truly never will; netherite has no place for tears or tear ducts or emotions.)
And the weapon will turn its head towards the god. The god smiles, knowing, triumphant, and grabs the weapon by the arm and pulls it forward.
iv. after
“Aren’t you going to tell me to clean up?”
Mapicc still has Ro’s blood dripping all over him. He’s been swiping at his face to stop the blood from seeping into his eyes, but he can feel it crusted in his eyelashes every time he blinks.
Spoke hasn’t let go of his arm ever since he grabbed it way back in that obsidian room.
“Maybe if you killed him cleanly, I wouldn’t need to tell you anything.” Mapicc opens his mouth to shoot something scathing back but Spoke cuts in before he can. “But it’s not like I expect anything like that from you, or anyone here!”
Mapicc huffs. “Well, at least you’re self-aware. You know you’ve had your ‘accidents’ too.”
Spoke giggles. They both know what Mapicc’s referring to, arrows tinged with potions and the entire server’s blood seeping into the ground—hard to forget that, really.
They stay silent after that, both of them still exhausted from the events previous. They continue to trek through the unbearable heat of the nether roof.
“I wouldn’t ever, you know.” says Spoke.
“What?”
“Tell you to clean up.” he clarifies. The white glow of his eyes shines through the fog. “What use is a sword as a threat when it’s got no blood and gore on it, right?”