MICHAEL

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Michael grunted as he toiled the earth, muscles straining as he lifted shovelful after shovelful of soil over his shoulder. He'd been at it for hours, stamina slowly depleting as the sun beat down on his worn-out physique. Huffing, he set down his glorified spade to sweep sweat-soaked hair out of his eye, pushing the pink strands back behind his ear. Sometimes he thought it was a mistake, growing his hair out long like-

"Did I say you could stop? REPEAT!" He lifted his head warily to glare at Techno, who had been doing nothing but standing on the field's edge and yelling at him. Now the piglin was marching over to him, sword glinting at his side. A completely unnecessary asset, considering he was only really there to watch over Michael as he slaved away on the potato fields.

"Can I just have a small break? It's boiling and I'm hungry, plus I've been at it for at least four hours-" He whined.

Techno shook his head, looming over Michaels with an expression that made him worthy of the Blood God title. "Michael, how do you think I won the potato war? Was it by complaining like a brat and giving up when I felt like it? NO! I kept farming 'til my back broke and I melted into a puddle of sweat. You'd do good to have that mindset as well."

Michael just shook his head, moisture dripping from his forehead and running in rivlets over his biceps. He panted heavily, the shovel an unwelcome weight in his weakening grip. He just wanted to have a shower, lay down and sleep for the next three days. Then maybe he'd have enough strength to tell Techno he didn't give a shit about the potato war and would much rather die then dig another damn hole in his good for nothing feild.

Unfortunately, that was just a useless daydream that faded as soon as Technoblade clapped a hand on his burning back with enough force to topple a building. "Now get digging, and don't stop until the sun goes down."

Techno walked away, completely unfazed by his cruel orders. Michael begrudgingly dug his shovel into the dirt once again, groaning as his limbs threatened to give out under the pressure. It was five thirty in the evening and personally he thought that he should be inside eating dinner by now. He exhaled heavily, bending over to toss another shoveful of dirt over his shoulder.

The dying sun fell heavy on his back, soothing his aching muscles but also burning them at the same time. It had already begun its slow fall from the sky, glazing everything beneath it in a golden sheen. It seemed unfair, that the sun had so much power and refused to share it. It reached everywhere and touched everything, but no one was allowed to touch it. A wreath of fire protected by a wall of diamond.

Sometimes Michael wanted to brech that wall and touch that fire, Notch be damned what happened to him. Maybe he could burn his way through the rest of his life in a blaze of glory, all the way to the end. Then he wouldn't have to hide anymore, because his enemies wouldn't be able to touch him. It was a nice thought, Michael concluded. But impossible.

He reached up to rub away the sweat under his eyepatch, hissing as his fingers brushed his exposed skull. The leather band prevented the world from seeing his side as a half-dead piglin, yet it left Michael to suffer as it constantly rubbed against his decaying skin. Getting home and taking it off was a gruesome process, peeling away dead flesh that ended up stuck on the patches' leather.

His brooding thoughts were interrupted by the tolling of a bell and his shoulders dropped in relief as he saw Phil standing on the front porch, holding the dinner bell in one hand. Finally relieved of his punishing chore, Michael was quick to drop the shovel and hurry across the potato field to where his pseudo-grandfather was waiting patiently, amused smile on his face.

"You seem tired, mate." Phil said when the boy was in earshot. "Has Techno been pushing you too hard again?"

Michaels muscles flexed, as if trying to rid themselves of their growing fatigue. "You have no idea, Phil." He sighed. "I think I'm about to collapse."

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