𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 || gameknight999

{ two }

NAME || Too Late To Lose The Weight You Used To Need To Throw Around

WARNINGS || Mention of death, brief suicidal ideation, self-hatred and negative talk, mentions of previous torture

CHARACTERS || Erebus, mentions of Malacoda and Gameknight

SET IN || Confronting the Dragon

ADDITIONAL NOTES/INSPIRATION || This is a bit more of a poetic oneshot, inspired by Pink Floyd's Dogs, off the addicting goddamn Animals album that I haven't listened to in ages. Just wanted to write out his thought process after killing Malacoda. I listened to Dogs twice in a row while writing this, and wrote the final sentence at the very end. It was an experience.

He had done it. 

He was free.

Staring down into the void, he could see for only a second longer those crimson eyes, those haunting eyes full of anger, hatred, and for the first time, fear. Then they were gone.

He could be himself. Erebus, the King of the Endermen, nothing less. But was this a good thing?

Everything he had worked towards was for this moment. What seemed like ages of being patient, looking over his shoulder for the constant looming danger of failing, forced to conform to Malacoda's wishes, they had all led up to this. 

It was such a freeing feeling, standing on the edge, staring into the void and finally seeing nothing there. He could jump in right now and follow Malacoda, and still be content. This was enough.

Gameknight999 had it so easy, didn't he?

He would never have to know the nagging worry of his troops turning on him. He would never have to live in fear of making the slightest mistake, knowing that if he did, he would never be trusted again. He would never understand the pressure of trying to live up to the expectations of someone who should have meant nothing to him, sacrificing his body and mind and happiness and still coming up short, again, and again, and again...

Because he was a hero. He was loved.

Erebus had never known love. Gameknight999 had been raised in nothing but.

Maybe that was why he had it so easy. Despite the battles he faced, both physical and emotional, he always came up the victor. 

Because of love, his friends fought alongside him.

They loved him, and he loved them.

It was far too late for Erebus to learn what love was. It was far too late for any of his troops to want to fight with him. 

They feared him, and he feared them.

Erebus hated himself.

Malacoda was gone, and Erebus was still afraid. Still pathetically afraid.

He was afraid of being compared to him. He was nothing like the King of the Nether.

But of course they would compare him. Erebus and Malacoda, the two awful monsters in charge or making the world of Minecraft a living hell. They were one and the same entity, comrades, rulers, friends. 

No one saw the truth. No one even bothered to notice the way Erebus had flinched at the mere mention of Malacoda's name. No one saw the way Malacoda wore at Erebus's nerves, shutting down every comment or suggestion he may have had before he even had a chance to speak, even if it was helpful. They were deaf to Erebus's cries whenever Malacoda would hurt him, deaf to the way his voice shook when talking about him. The wounds and scars on Erebus's body were invisible to anyone that wasn't him.

All they saw was Malacoda's doormat, and theirs in turn. 

Gameknight never had to experience that.

Because he was a hero. Because he was a good person.

Because he knew how to love, and he knew how to be loved in turn.

Through no fault of his own, Erebus knew nothing about love.

Neither did Malacoda. All he knew how to do was hold his title above anyone and break anyone that dared to question it for a second. 

That title only weighed him down like a stone as he had fallen into the void. 

Being a King was an unshakable title, one that only put a target on Erebus's back.

He knew what it was like to be a King. He also knew what it was like to follow a King. Neither was preferable for him. 

It was all the same as a King. He had to act swiftly and brutally to all those who defied him, come up with infallible plans in no time at all, lie in such a way that he was able to believe himself. And of course, if he didn't present himself on a way that was appealing to everyone he commanded, he was a failure.

But if he wasn't a King, he was just expendable. He meant nothing to anyone, least of all the one telling him what to do. There was no other option but to put his mind and body through hell countless times, always coming up short no matter what he went through. In this position, he really was a failure.

He had killed Malacoda, however. The King of the Nether was gone, now, forever. 

Erebus was free now, free for the rest of his life.

But he still didn't know how to love. And Gameknight did.

Malacoda had died alone. Now, Erebus would do the same.