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derww · 2 months ago

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TL;DR: 4C&Joker!Zam at Jingle JAM. Almost 6.5k words.

Disclaimer: PrinceZam brutally murders your fav people from the event (and more).

CW: Violence, deaths, non-graphic gore, suicidality

***

4C sees a figure coming up a hill – a yellow spot catches his eye instantly, and there is simply no one else here like it, and he raises his hand to finally, after too long an hour of an event, greet Zam in person.

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He only needs a moment more to see the purple cloak and too much blood to be just his own. For a split second, 4C stops, and a freezing chill hits him to the bone. He immediately understands everything.

The cold is replaced by calmness and confidence. He knows the situation. There's nothing to worry about.

He waves at him.

– Hey, Zam!

Zam smiles brightly and waves back.

– Hey, 4C!

PrinceZam whispers to you: you know what to do.

There is complete chaos here: suspicious people appeared, no one understands anything, everyone is pulling each other in different directions, looking for solutions to the threats, and all this is mixed into an ear-crushing hubbub. And Zam... he just stands there, listening to people, watching as one of the team members climbs as high as possible, deciding to hide from hunters in the air.

Zam whispers to you: should I just kill them all here

He's not answering. He pulls people into conversation until they disperse into smaller groups.

DTR, having broken away from the others, winds circles around them, and 4C mentally says goodbye to them. In the rush of the moment, he doesn't even feel sympathy. All of them are already doomed anyway.

– Imagine, I was able to make 11 people play a scene from Titanic, – he shares while they slowly walk in the opposite direction from the rest, and Zam tells his own adventures in tune with him, and how he was teleported many thousands of blocks from his house, and DTR adds here and there, rushing back and forth. They tell how suspicious one of the guys in their group was, that he even threatened them, but no, he didn't seem to be a hunter; he didn't have any diamond armor or netherite weapons, but anyways, all sorts of people exist, after all, PVP is turned on for everyone-

4C liked DTR. They were a ray of sunshine, eternally energetic and motivating and unable to stay in place, and ready to tell the whole story of their lives. He puts his hand on their shoulder, and DTR stops, staring at him curiously with their bottomless fishy eyes.

– You don't have to worry anymore, – he warmly assures, – I'm good at fighting, and Zam is even better!

– Are you doing nothing but fighting there? – DTR seems perplexed, – of course, we also have fights sometimes, but usually we just have fun together.

– Well, not only that, – 4C agrees, – relationships between people, teams, stories, interests, all this is also very important, but in the end you often still need to fight, – and he smiles.

Diamond sword pierces DTR right into the heart, and then Zam leads it down, ripping the chest open. Blood gets on 4C's clothes, and he lets DTR go, allowing them to fall from the horse onto the ground, muttering something muffled.

– And if you fight over and over again, one day it becomes your life, – Zam purrs, and then bursts into laughter until DTR stops moving – and their pupils roll up – and they die, crumbling into nothing.

4C dusts off his jacket, but blood has already soaked into it.

– You've stained me, – he remarks reproachfully, powerlessly trying to clean it at least a little, – how can I pretend to be innocent if I'm covered in someone else's blood?

– I'm sorry, – Zam pulls, hiding a sword, – but it's not so noticeable from the distance, maybe they wouldn't notice?

– Zam that doesn't mean I want to wear dirty clothes, – he retorts, shaking his head disapprovingly. Zam raises his hands in defeat.

– I'm sorry! – he admits, - I'll try to be more careful, 4C, I promise.

– I'll keep an eye on you, – he threatens frivolously and, unable to restrain himself, giggles. They let the horse go and continue walking in the same direction.

When they reach a river, Zam honestly tries to help him wash the blood, but it is tightly stuck – there is no way to fix it on the spot. But he manages to clean himself – remove blood from his head, clean his mouth after the past internal bleeding, wipe almost everything off his hands, leaving only red outlines under the nails. Only his coat remains the same – darkened, half-lost its own color, dragging corpses and grave earth. At least it's still better than it was, says 4C optimistically.

– I thought you had renounced your past self, – he remarks, – does it really not matter as long as you're not on the server?

Zam smiles back at him gently; there is no threat in it, but it is still subtly different from how he smiled before.

– Oh, no, no, 4C, of course not, – he shakes his head, – you can say, that guy took a break. He will return to you in complete safety upon our comeback.

He sighs. Well, this is within the norm of strangeness for a Lifesteal player. He hardly felt even a little surprised.

– Okay, okay, – 4C shrugs, – do you want to find someone specific, or do we take care of those we find first?

– Of course, I am interested in all our dear friends and comrades, – Zam draws out, – and, of course, Fruitberries! I'll be so happy if I get a chance to kill him! – he chuckles enthusiastically, – but we still need to kill everyone else, too. I would prefer to hide my role for now, so we should focus on singles to leave no witnesses. With you around, everyone will believe that we are completely innocent!

– Sure, Zam, – he ironically agrees, – I am, without a doubt, the friendliest player of the event.

– That's what I am talking about!

***

It's even too easy: they follow a compass, determine a situation, and come into contact with singles and duos. Zam looks almost normal and draws them into a conversation, and almost everyone here knows 4C, and they take his benevolence and desire to help for granted. Not used to always being suspicious of everyone, they easily succumb to kind words, gifts and help, open to befriending them, even after discovering the secret of the event, hoping just to spend time well. Not warriors, peaceful people, why should they even be involved in a meat grinder between hunters and the strongest of the strongest?

– Oh, we don't just fight on the Lifesteal, – Zam mysteriously declares, and his listeners are staring at him, catching his every word, listening like a fairytale; – we also, just like you, tell our stories, it's just that there are a lot more deaths in ours. For example, one day I set out to corrupt the whole world, and in the process, wanting to prove my case, I killed a lot of people! – he waves his arms and shrugs his shoulders as if it were an everyday occurrence, – and he, – points to 4C, – was my first victim, with whom it all began! The president whose unwise decision led me to shift my vision!

– Did he murder you? – gasps the first, – and you're still friends?

– Yeah, it happened, – 4C laughs, shaking his head, – I was expecting something like this when we decided to remove the heart recipe. Everyone needs to survive somehow, and I was an obvious target. I don't hold a grudge. Besides, Zam has changed.

– Oh, yes, – Zam murmurs, – I've changed since then! I realized that I was wrong, and I can't let this happen again! I took an oath that I would never kill anyone!

He burns them alive – 4C hands him a camping bottle of ethanol, and Zam laughs hysterically, setting them on fire and then watching agonizing death, admiring and warming hands. Some of his fingertips are licked by flames, getting burns, but he doesn't pay any attention.

4C, waiting for him to finish, is sorting through his backpack – it's been too long without long-distance trips, he completely forgot what he even had with him. A couple of times he winces at the smell of burnt meat. The screams subside over time.

– Are we going to hide the corpses? – he asks, going through all the available elements of his swiss knife.

— No. It's useless, there's not enough time, – Zam replies, putting his hands in his pockets. He's not smiling anymore, but he sounds drunk, still not completely sober from murder, – soon the border will start to close. They won't make it. But we also need to move.

– I really need to figure out my armor, – 4C remarks, looking down at himself, and puts all the things back in his backpack. Only iron boots and helmet, absolutely unsuitable for battles, – when we pick up someone, leave their corpses next time, okay?

Zam drowns the next traveler by holding them by the neck under water until they stop resisting. 4C takes their half-broken protection 1 iron leggings, which still smell of mud. After three more murders, he takes a diamond boots from someone's riddled body.

– I missed killing people, – Zam shares, hiding the third axe under his coat, – it's so much fun, they are too weak, though. Are they so unaccustomed to war? I've killed the weak on the Lifesteal too, but you were different from them. You were so vulnerable just because you chose it.

4C shrugs his shoulders.

– I'm like them, Zam. I am not a warrior. I don't like fighting. There are so many things in the world more interesting than direct war. I don't want to waste my time on it.

Zam chuckles. He turns his trident from side to side, already lying in his hand in his native way.

– Don't worry. You don't have to fight. I will gladly take it for myself.

– It's always important to let people do what they like, – 4C smiles, handing him a helmet from the second corpse lying with a crossbow bolt between their eyes. It still smells of blood and is obviously too big, but Zam doesn't seem concerned about it.

They wade through the river, but it doesn't knock down any smell or stains, just leaves them both wet. 4C glimpses how deeply the blood has seeped into Zam's coat. This is the same coat – the one that wrapped Zam's corpse on the burial and the one that Zam himself stole from his own grave when he possessed Pangi's body. Even now, many months later, there are still traces of 4C's own blood on it – barely discernible, uneven blue streaks on the dark, worn purple. With the still readable trajectory, it is obvious that the hands holding the sword were shaking. He doesn't know how he feels about it.

– It's too easy, – Zam complains in a childish tone, rolling enchantment for the trident for the third time in an hour, – they barely even resist. Don't they value their lives?

– This is an event, – 4C remarks, shrugging; he wrings out his soaked jacket, – no one's going to actually die. Besides, in their worlds, no one will come up and just start killing you, you know? Some might never have fought against anyone other than mobs.

– But I want a real fight, – he objects, – what should I do so that they take swords in their hands and really try to kill me? – he stands up, breaking an enchanter, and his fingers, clutching the handle of the trident, tremble with tension, – is it really necessary to find a bigger group for this? – Zam asks sadly, – this will increase the chance of revealing me... Do you think I can just run into Coldie like that? Or, like, Raddles? – he asks, almost tenderly. – or Fein? Or, – his breath comes in short gasps, and 4C is pretty sure he meant to say "Fruitberries".

– I'm sure if we hurry up, you'll be able to find someone strong, – 4C remarks casually, – they're outstanding players, they can beat other hunters. And what about those who are weaker... – he pauses, thinking, – yes, it makes sense to look for bigger groups. It's going to make it harder to keep your role a secret, but that just means we need to shoot everyone before they run too far, right?

– That's right! – and Zam smiles at him and laughs, clearly imagining how many people he can still kill before the end of the event, – you're right, it's so easy! – he sincerely declares, – we just have to kill them sooner!

It's easy to notice when you know Zam long enough: he gets worse. In the sense that it was worse for him then – he is rapidly losing his self-control and humanity in the desire to kill someone, constantly touching one or the other weapon, tearing his hands, and laughing under his nose. And how did someone like that eventually take the oath of pacifism, 4C thinks distantly, putting his hand to his forehead and looking at the horizon.

He notices it first – a human figure, a girl entwined with pink flowers. A girl is different in some way – she throws a knowing glance at Zam, as if capable of sensing something amiss, intercepts her delicate rapier, and then rushes away. Zam swears under his breath and shouts something, clearly still trying to play a card of just-a-player-definitely-not-a-mass-murderer-

4C may not be a warrior, but he still knows how to fight. His arrow hits the girl in the leg, piercing her knee, and she stumbles and falls. It doesn't take long for Zam to get close, but for a while he just stares at her writhing in pain.

– Why in the leg, – she moans, – better have killed me right away, but now I'll remember that too! If you had shot in the head, at least it doesn't hurt so much!

Zam continues to glare at her.

– It's an offering, – 4C smiles, – do you know, like to an ancient god? For the good luck to both of us at the games.

Zam's fingers, clenched into a fist, turn white. He doesn't say a word, as if intoxicated.

– I'm here, actually, – the girl remarks, – conscious and all that. I won't run away, of course, but I still have one life left. I'll tell everyone about you. Two hunters at once, wow!

– You'll tell them everything? What's about my name? – Zam asks softly, pupils dilated. – you should remember the name, right?

He kills her before she finds the answer. When he looks up, 4C notes that some of the blood seems to have entered his eye. Zam doesn't even try to wipe it off his face and instead smiles toothily.

– Let's find a bigger team, 4C, – he says too calmly, and he nods. He barely remembers to take arrows from the corpse with him. In addition to them and bolts for the crossbow, Zam silently throws him half a stack of rockets.

– She probably learned enough to tell the others, – 4C remarks after a long pause, – maybe not your name, but-

– Just imagine, – Zam interrupts him, – she thought you were a hunter. It's funny, isn't it?

– Undoubtedly! – he agrees, – in her gaze, I must really look like one of you.

– The difference is small, – Zam shrugs, – they didn't turn off the friendly fire.

Zam doesn't show it, but his trembling finally stops. He seems like a cat full of sour cream, but 4C knew better than anyone that it won't last long.

***

The next time they come across a company of five people. Zam burns the first alive and pierces the second by throwing a trident. The third and fourth, realizing that there is no way back, grab their swords, and they fight – honestly and with dignity and to the death, but Zam's face expresses boredom and disrespect while he dissects them like frogs. The fifth tries to run, and 4C finishes them off in the back and carefully wipes his sword.

– You're a grouch, – Zam jokes, – how did you even survive here?

– I'm not a grouch,– 4C corrects pedantically, hiding the sword, – I just don't want it to stay dirty.

– He won't have time to rust, – Zam sounds surprised, and 4C shakes his head. He's not answering.

The closing of the border becomes noticeable when it appears on the horizon, and they change direction, moving directly to 0, 0, where the paths of all the survivors and hunters were converging.

– Imagine if all our friends had already been killed while we were messing with the little things, – Zam groans, – I wanted to kill them all so much! It's such a pity that there's no point in killing hunters... I'd love to finish Kyle off. – he sighs in frustration, – well, I can still do it at least once, but he might get mad and stop me from killing the ones I want. – things are always more complicated when a person is immortal.

He hardly pays much attention to random passers, many of them are just running, but even those who are trying to fight are not interesting enough. Zam still wears his shitty starter armor, and- and even the fact that he is obviously not afraid of death, playing into its hands, he goes ahead, leaving himself vulnerable, and it scares. He fights every time but still always solves everything in a few punches. He fights quite differently now, much more sweeping and aggressiveness, but he leaves himself too open to enemy attacks.

– You still have an almost human body, – 4C reminds him, tying a bandage on his arm, – you're vulnerable.

– I'm immortal, – Zam chuckles, but doesn't move, letting him do his thing, – what's the difference?

– It would be even more inconvenient to look for you all over the map right now, – 4C reminds, fixing the edge of the bandage, – we don't have time for this if you want to find all your favorites. And we don't have any potions to heal your wounds. You're counterproductive, Zam. At least put on your armor or what?

Pause.

– A little later, – Zam answers more seriously, – I need... a first murder that will mean something. – and, instantly switching over, already smiling again, – where do you think Derapchu is now? He shouldn't have died yet... I really want to hit his skull with an axe!

– Who knows, – 4C spreads his hands, – depends on your luck. And you, as far as I know, are extremely lucky.

Instead of answering, Zam bursts out laughing. 4C doesn't interrupt him.

The next person is unknown to him. But they are familiar to Zam. And Zam is clearly familiar to them – they squint, focusing their gaze, and, realizing who is standing in front of them, swear profusely in an unfamiliar dialect and rush away. Zam, smiling too broadly, takes off after them, and 4C follows.

The person is a raccoon: small and nimble, but with a bearing and ironed clothes. He seems out of place.

– Fuck, fuck, fuck, – he chants, – no! Not you! Not like this! I refuse!

They seem to know each other.

– Ka-antje, – Zam pulls lovingly, – this time you can't just watch!

– I can do whatever i want! – raccoon lies down, putting a web behind him and fighting back, and this only excites Zam.

4C keeps a short distance, looking at how Zam, eventually catches up with Kantje and clings to him by the scruff of the neck and then lets go, laughing with a bloody mouth, and hits, and hits, and hits.

– Tell all our friends the news! – he laughs, splitting his skull with an axe, – tell them that I'm here! And that I would come for them!

Kantje hisses him to fuck off before dying. Zam needs almost a minute to calm his laughter.

***

Kantje fulfills Zam's request: all the people they recognize immediately know they are dangerous. Many of them are running, but the others turn around and fight. Fortunately, Zam finally puts on his hunting armor and swaps the axe for a netherite one.

4C knows how to fight, but he's not a fighter. Lifesteal taught him to keep a battlekit with him and hit into weak spots, but it still didn't give him the thirst for a battle. It didn't please him, never. And Zam did not expect that he would fight back to back with him – on the contrary, he took the fights to himself alone, as if every opportunity to put a sword between someone's ribs was the best reward.

4C does something else – throws him new and new ways of killing, patches his wounds, scouts the situation, and, when teams stand against them, shoots those who prevent Zam from taking the desired fight or try to run.

While Zam is clashing in battle with Plushy, 4C shoots Meta, and the fight ends too fast. Zam cradles his friend like a child, almost crying, saying how sorry he is that he did not kill him by himself, that he would have given him the best death possible, that he loves him and will always love him. And even if the corpses don't talk, 4C can't say that he can't understand him.

When the body crumbles to dust, Zam abruptly stands up and wipes his face. 4C shakes his head.

– Okay, – Zam states, – we still have so many people to kill.

4C is about to say something else, but Zam activates his tracking compass, and they both stare at it in deathly silence for a while.

The needle of the compass trembles restlessly, as if with impatience. "JustKaboodle" is engraved on a metal rim.

They look at each other. Zam nods slowly, stiff with bloodlust. They take off in record time.

Kaboodle, even if the closest to them, is still at a decent distance, and Zam, without slowing down, follows her for the entire half an hour without a break. They don't talk, but it's not so bad – 4C feels that he is already approaching his limits. They don't have to get close to see that she's surrounded by people.

They know many of them. They don't know some of them, but the way they stick around Kab tells them everything they need to know. "Zam," shouts Kab, and Sushi first grabs the sword, Kantje is already here too, and in a split second a random deserted village turns into a massacre.

There is no option left to just stand, and 4C hides behind his shield, clutching an axe with his right hand. Arrows rain down on his armor, and he, ducking from the blades, rushes forward, aiming to kill.

You see: 4C did not like fighting, but on Lifesteal it was rarely synonymous with inability to fight, as his weakness in comparison with the best fighters of Lifesteal did not indicate his incompetence. And oh, he loved to think that he appreciated someone else's life, but as long as it wasn't about his teammates, it was really not that important.

He is almost half as slow as Zam, but even that is enough. While Zam is laughing madly, taking on two-three-four people at the same time, 4C swings and blows off the head of the person closest to him.

He never stopped wishing that the first blow of the orbital cannon had killed everyone present. Here's what was true about him: he preferred to give people a quick death.

– You're all going to die here anyway, – he says even cheerfully, – let's get this over with faster and return each to our world, – and his axe shaft almost crumbles in his hands from the blow of the sword taken at him, – hey, hey, take it easy!

He has to let go of the axe, because the next blow crumbles the handle, and he changes it to his sword. Adrenaline makes his hands tremble.

4C deals with another opponent when he catches a glimpse of the moment where Zam pierces Kab through and leads the sword lower and lower, and she painfully slowly settles down, muttering curses and repeating over and over again that he has not changed a bit, that he is the same as then, that he is a monster born to destroy – and Zam, smiling tenderly at her, says how glad he is to be the one to ban her and that he will gladly do it again but already on the Lifesteal-

It's not that 4C is distracted – on the contrary, he is still attentive enough to react and block the blow. The point is different: while Zam is distracted by the taste of his victory, those who remain in battle almost synchronously turn to look at 4C. And he is far from being good enough to do anything in a tough 1v3 clash: he misses one, two hits, and it's all over.

Hmm, he thinks dreamily, not really resisting the death pulling him down. It wasn't a bad adventure. It was... funny. Making things fun is the most important thing. And then an axe flies between his eyes.

To his own surprise, he does not wake up behind the border or at the spawn – it seems that he set his bed somewhere else at the beginning of his journey and forgot. This is another village with no sign of life. For a while, he just lies there silently, staring at the ceiling, feeling the phantom wounds give off pain in his body. After that, he gets up.

There's still time before an end of the event, and maybe he has something to do, but every part of his body feels like it's filled with iron. Instead of moving... somewhere, he climbs onto the porch railing and watches a sunset, swinging his legs from side to side. Birds are chirping in the surrounding forest.

It's a long minute, two, three. The sun is completely sinking below the horizon, but it is still here, and twilight is descending on the world.

His communicator is vibrating.

PrinceZam whispers to you: coordinates

His hands tremble but instantly regain their firmness. He smiles, and then, after checking, writes his coordinates. He remarks distantly that this is almost the other half of the map.

He likes to just pause and look around sometimes. The world around is beautiful, and it's a pity not to be able to appreciate it. The full moon sticks to the sky like a porcelain saucer, and its light silveres the crowns of trees, the tops of houses, and wide fields. In a sense, it's the same as on any other vanilla server. In a sense, even the air here feels different – cleaner, fresher, but also frostier. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of the taste of fir needles.

When Zam arrives, it is already dawn. 4C is almost surprised that he's here. He's also almost surprised that Zam doesn't kill him. Instead, the first thing he does is give him his own full set, food – clearly forgetting that it is endless here – and several more golden apples, an obviously random sword, axe, shield and pickaxe, and also one of his tridents.

– Hi,– 4C says calmly, and then looks at the helmet. Prot 3 – only hunters have these on the server, – Zam, are you sure?

Zam snorts.

– I can die as long as I want, – he reminds, – but you can't do it anymore. Come on, we don't have much time.

4C nods and gets ready. A shield falls back into his left hand, but in his right is a trident shining in the dawn rays of the sun. Zam activates the compass, and they move on again.

***

Endgame is close, the border is extremely small, and most of the survivors are more than competent. Almost everyone is fighting to the death. Escapees have to be driven into hundreds of blocks. They try to lead them into traps several times. Twice they are ambushed.

Once, Zam chases the only survivor of her squad, the purple catgirl, and begs her to fight him one-on-one, promising fair and equal conditions, and at one point she turns around. Zam throws her golden apples, and Raddles slowly chews one of them, looking at them darkly and menacingly from under her eyelashes. Zam blocks 4C with his hand.

– Don't interfere, – he begs, – I need–I need a real battle. If I die, do whatever you want. I don't think she's going to kill you, – Raddles shakes her head slowly, clearly having heard the conversation, and then spits an apple stub into the ground and draws her blade. She is all like a cat – bouncing movements, low stance, lowered head, lightweight armor. There is no doubt about her lethality, and she takes off at the same moment when Zam moves.

And... 4C just watches. He can do a hundred other things, including just turn around and walk away, but he watches. Raddles fights bloodily and swiftly, and Zam is forced to gain speed to match her. These are infinitely fast exchanges of blows, short cuts, attempts to hit weak spots – at some point it looks more like hand-to-hand sparring than sword fighting, and they are not inferior to each other. At some point, Zam breaks into some unfamiliar forced style, and in another skirmish, he punches her in the stomach at the cost of a knife blow that barely misses the artery. Raddles quickly regains consciousness, but Zam is faster – not paying attention to the fact that he is bleeding, he leads a sword from the bottom up, opening her stomach.

– Thank you,– Zam mutters, without taking his eyes off her, – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

– Fuck you,– Raddles mutters, and her eyes roll back.

4C puts a pressure bandage on Zam's neck and forbids him to move for a few more minutes until regeneration from the golden apples stitches at least the deepest damage. He really never saw himself as a medic; he wore bandages for self-help, but in war you either heal or cripple, so it was hard for him to be surprised. Zam is indignant and constantly whines but obeys and then jumps up, as if overflowing with energy again, clenching and unclenching his fists, and says that they need to run. 4C sighs and before that washes his hands. When he returns, there is an unnamed cross on the field. They can only move on.

Something about how insanely familiar it all was made him permanently uncomfortable. He didn't mind remembering his own death, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Zam was rapidly losing control of himself. They did not see each other often, separated by the entire server, but he remembered individual moments – the madness of the meat grinder in order to ban CaptainSparklz, insane laughter, threats to buildings, taking hostages, explosion after explosion after explosion, a sleepless night of the marathon, a bloody stroke of bans, and – death surrounded by flower petals, 1v4, happy and ready to accept who won for himself in spite of everything.

Zam rushes into battle, ignoring wounds and exhaustion and a half-empty inventory, rushing because he only knows how to fight and how to kill, and 4C regretfully lets him go to a certain death, telling himself that at least hunters cannot be banned. That Zam might die, but he would always come back. He watches with regret as Coldie disembowels him like a fish. Coldie does not touch 4C, but takes the trident from Zam's corpse and, nodding, disappears into the fog. 4C gently strokes Zam's hair, looking at the face of the doomed to die, and immediately after the body disappears, he DMs, asking for coordinates.

– And how did your teammates get you out? – he asks, chuckling, returning Zam's belongings.

– They did the best they could, – Zam grins, – and that was enough. I wanted it myself; what can they do? They wouldn't have forced me against my will.

4C smiles, suppressing another giggle, and shoves a spare shield in his face.

– We are almost at the end, – he reminds, – how many survivors are there, about twenty people? Every kill counts. Be careful.

At this point, both Mid and Squiddo have been killed. He has nowhere to turn around.

– Do not doubt, – Zam grins, – that I will use the rest of the time to the fullest.

This is the first time they see spawn. it is beautifully decorated, like a Christmas tree on the eve of a holiday, and that's why the traces of murders scattered here and there look especially grotesque. Here they see other hunters, many of them for the first time. 4C politely shakes hands with the other two survivors who have switched sides, pretending not to notice that the Zam's hands are shaking. When it comes time for Kyle, he is clearly forced to make every possible effort not to try to cut off his head.

Few survivors sitting on the spawn are hiding. The rest stick to that small part of the outer territory that has not yet been absorbed by the border. They catch rare survivors by falling on their heads or catching up or shooting them right in the head. Black and red fireworks explode them with bloody confetti. There is a lull before the final, while everyone is preparing for the final dash, and even Zam is forced to stop.

4C patches him up and makes him eat and drink. Zam's entire clothes and body are covered in blood to the point that it does not wash off, and even now he is staring into space, unable to hold his own hands, trembling so much that it rather resembles convulsions.

– Kill, kill, kill, kill, – he chants, – I have to kill them. Who's left? Fruit? Fein? Misty? – he breaks into a smile, – Derapchu, – squeezes one hand with the other so hard that the bones crackle, – such a feast, I can't believe it... And that's it for me... I just have to make sure that the others are not taken away... Abyss, I would give anything for the opportunity to kill them too...

He makes a fire and warms his icy fingers, counting the minutes until the moment when the border will reach here too.

– Be careful, – he reminds, – the rest are competent fighters. They can kill you. They'll kill you.

– It doesn't matter, – Zam chuckles, – I'm immortal! I will always come back!

– You're going to waste time, – he retorts, – and that's what we're all limited to right now. Time until the end of the event. Time until your targets are killed by someone else.

Zam looks at him. His pupils are huge.

– You're right, – he agrees breathlessly, – time. It doesn't matter if it hurts me. It matters if I have time to kill them. And I have to kill them. How can I miss an opportunity?

He finds the answer to his unspoken question very soon: only five minutes, and the border almost touches them. He puts out the fire with his boot and loads crossbows with bolts and fireworks. Zam takes off from his place, and he does not try to call out to him, only clutches one of the crossbows in his hands, and slides down through the wet snow into the hollow of spawn.

The border closes in, locking everyone within the ornately decorated square, and this quickly announces losses – before his eyes, Zam, laughing, blows off the head of a frightened player in iron armor, not ready for the meat grinder of the final. Fireworks fill the sky all around, and their light casts deep shadows from the bird squad of survivors holding onto the roofs, each of whom had elites on their backs. 4C aims at the figure closest to him, but they dodge without any effort.

It's like a dance – everything starts slowly, hunters and survivors die one by one, with rare pops, but gradually the production, emboldened, picks up the pace, and very soon you can't keep track of what is happening – the survivors try to keep their distance and hide in the heights and lowlands, but the hunters desperately attack them, dying one by one, exploding clouds of thick smoke are in the air, but materializing again only moments later and immediately rushing into battle again.

4C quickly finds himself in the company of two other survivors who have allied with the hunters – it seems impossible to keep up with Zam, he can only cover him from a distance, and this has never been hindered by good company. The guys are funny: they talk, joke, and accept him instantly, connected by common experience.

– Why did you decide to do this? – he innocently asks when Zam dies again from Fruit's axe, – to help hunters, – he clarifies pedantically.

One, a man in a blue hiking suit with stubble, shrugs his shoulders.

– It's more interesting this way, – he sums up, – I didn't want to just run away the whole event. And when will I be free to kill so many people, right? I had a lot of fun.

– It so happened that my friend became a hunter, – says the second, younger, heavily built, and obviously used to fighting, – I did not dare to go against him. What's the rest to me if we've come all this way together? He snorts, – What about you?

4C looks at Zam again – just respawned, he, along with several others, is storming a survivors' squadron – and then shakes his head expressively slowly. Instead of giving a clear answer, he just smiles at them.

#princezam #4cvit #d.fics #fanfiction #i suffered through it i had to write it but its a little too much for one chapt thing for me #im very sorry if ive killed you !#cw gore #cw suicidality #cw death #cw violence #happily going hrrr mimimi after finally finishing with it

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