A Splash Of Paint (MCYT Oneshots)

Kind (BBH-centric)

The loneliest people are the kindest.

Bad was kind. Bad was sweet. Bad didn't like swearing. Bad always helped out others. Bad always forgave people. Bad was a good man.

Bad wasn't always one.

Nobody knew of his past, and he made sure it stayed that way. Sure, people would ask from time to time, and his friends used to pester him about it, but really, all it took was a vague answer and they left it alone.

In a way, he saw himself in the PVP-ers, the hardcore players who fought to get to the top. He remembered the feeling of having to be the smartest, the fastest, the strongest, the best. He remembered what it was like to be hailed a hero, as a warrior, as someone who couldn't show weakness because nobody wanted to see anything of that sort from a hero.

It was why he told everyone he was bad at PVP. It was why he tried his best to talk his friends out of battling. He didn't want them to become like him.

Bad remembered what it was like back then. Back in the days when society was more spread out, when coding was just left to the Admins and Creators, when players could only interact with each other if they met each other, instead of being able to contact one another through screens. Back when the Nether and the End hadn't been explored yet, and so anyone who died in there would never respawn, never return.

He went by another name, back then. He couldn't remember what it was called, it had been too long, but he did remember the title villagers and innocent players gave him.

Saints of Games.

A legend. A hero worshipped enough to become a god. A horror story for mobs and the dark creatures, and a charming tale for the children and the innocent.

A monster.

Back in the days, nobody ever bothered to look past the shining mask, and so the Saint killed without remorse.

Mobs were discarded without thought. Newbies and starter players were brutally torn to pieces. Fellow competitors fought him and lost, with the Saint just walking away without giving a helping hand.

He was a hero, yes, but he wasn't a hero where it truly mattered.

The Saint continued on with his life, going on quests and adventures with the only thing mattering to him being the glory that would come from it.

Until something happened.

He was on a quest with two other heroes. Saints didn't care enough to remember their names back then. They were going to the End Dimension to search for a mysterious item: the Elytra. It was said that the Elytra could allow a player to fly without the use of Creative Flying.

After they reached the End Dimension, everything was a blur. No matter how hard he tried now, he couldn't remember what had happened. But three went into the End, and only one returned, bloody wings on his back, a halo around his head, and glowing white eyes.

When all three heroes never returned from their quest, the world proclaimed them dead. And it was true, in a way. The other two died physically. But Saint died in spirit.

How was he to face the world with the realisation of what he had been doing? How had he been able to walk around in public, when he was nothing but a monster?

He hid away for several decades. He donned a new mask. Put his past away and locked it up, discarding of any traces of it that people might be able to find. He renamed himself as 'BadBoyHalo', and made his new identity.

When he finally mad it back to society, it had changed. And Bad adapted. He introduced himself to the world as BadBoyHalo. He made friends. He built up a reputation for himself. Kind, sweet, and respectful. Would never hurt a fly. Innocent, even.

The Saint was a minecraft legend. The Saint was a brutal hero. The Saint swore like a sailor and treated people like they were worth less than the dirt he walked on.

Bad was a minecraft player. Bad was a sweet friend. Bad didn't swear and treated everyone nicely, even when he'd only known them for a few minutes.

Bad would never become the Saints of Games again. Not now, and not ever.

And if he had to downgrade himself and lie? It was just a small price to pay to repent for his sins.