#minutetech introject

Minute knows how this is going to end. He has known, ever since the beginning. Since he went on the record, sticking to what he believed in the most: peace. On that day, he’d signed his own death certificate and he knew it. What he didn’t know, however, was that his closest friend would be the executioner. Obviously, ClownPierce wouldn’t have been too keen on the idea of a peaceful end, Minute wasn’t stupid enough to believe that, but maybe he’d been naive enough to think that just maybe everything would end with his impeachment. That had hurt enough as it had been, but this? This was a new pain. Grieving, loss, hopelessness- there were many words to put to it, but none quite summarized it. 

He stole a glance over his shoulder. Yes, Minute knew he was going to die, but he wasn’t going to just let Clownpierce have it. The Clown was gaining on him, and fast. That was precisely why Wemmbu had hired him for the job: he was beyond just an efficient killer. The steady rhythm of Minute’s feet hitting the ground picked up frantically. An arrow struck his armor. Every piece was becoming worn and less reliable as he suffered each blow. His helmet had completely shattered only a few moments ago. Reaching into his inventory, he clutched his last ender pearl and threw it as far as he possibly could. A final shot at escape. 

He didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t. His body begged for him too. Breathing stung like the various cuts he’d sustained through the fight. In that even, it was less of a fight and more of a pursuit. Finally, Minute teleported. He knew better than to stop now, so he fought against the pain settling into his bones and kept up his sprint. Most of his inventory had been exhausted. No shield, no ender pearls, no food, no help. His sword would be of no use, since he couldn’t stop long enough to deflect arrows, and his health was low enough that the fall damage alone would be too risky. An unmistakable fwoop sound came from just behind him, and within another second, his chestplate crumbled with another arrow. 

Minute wasn’t one to fear death. No, he never had before. At 20 hearts, usually you’re invincible. With Clownpierce as an ally on top of that? You effectively were. But neither was the case anymore. What a fool he really had been to trust someone with such a reputation. An even greater fool he was for thinking he was safe. His eyes burn with tears. He can’t even remember the last time he cried. It hurts. It hurts worse than any physical wound he’s got. The scars over his torso, the bleeding arrow wound making it all the more difficult to move. It hurts all the worse as his foot catches a  root and he’s sent toppling to the ground. All he can do is curl himself into a ball and weep. The bells on Clown’s hood jingle slightly, as though announcing his presence. Minute chokes out a sob and tries to force himself up, but the arrow in his back isn’t quite letting him get there. Clown takes another set of steps. It feels almost like he’s savoring the moment. His foot lands on his former friend’s tail, forcing out a cry of pain. 

Clown sighs, and pushes Minute onto his back with his foot, pushing it against his shoulder. Minute can hardly breathe, between the tears and pain, and he can’t see either. He tries to shield his torso with his hands, but he knows what comes next. Clown, without saying anything, pulls out his sword and forces it through Minute’s arm first, then continues, going all the way through his stomach. His mouth fills with blood, and within a few more moments, he finally dies.