#trampolinist

Part summary: Tundras are cold, and apparently Netherite armor doesn’t do much against that.

Warnings: swearing, and that’s mostly it. Blood and injuries.

A/N - Y’all went nuts over the last chapter! Thank you so much for the support! It means so much to me that you love my writing. It fuels me to write more. It’s crack to me— /hj

My updates are going to be irregular. Like, really irregular. School is coming to a close and I don’t always have access to steady internet, plus I enjoy hangin’ out with my friends.

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DM me or send in an ask to be added and I’ll do so! It’s always open!

Enjoy!

——

Your feet complain at you at the mere thought of walking all the way through the plains in the direction that the compass is pointing. The way through the Nether is dangerous, you know that for a fact, crossing through several Soul Sand Valleys, over a fortress, and an especially thick Warped Forest (at least according to info on the corkboard by the central portal). And if that wasn’t bad enough, you don’t have any obsidian on you and don’t know where to get any, making the option of an additional portal far out of the question.

A sigh passes your lips, resigned to trudge through the plains and fight whatever you may come across.

Hopefully it’s only a few thousand blocks.

So you take the first step.

And another.

And another.

You lose track of how many you take, the time passing by like an especially boring Bedwars game, tick tick tocking seconds.

The temperature drops sharply a good time later, the compass beginning to vibrate with its proximity to the lodestone. You look up, almost surprised to see a cabin in the middle of the tundra, but you’re relieved nonetheless.

You duck behind a tree when you see a figure step out from the cabin, wearing red, the sun glinting off of their crown in gold and blue. They seem to scan the tree line, but there’s no way that they heard you…

...right?

Right?

A second figure, one you have certainly never seen before, emerges from the cabin, putting one hand on the first figure’s shoulder, saying something you can’t make out from your position. They appear to huff and say something back.

The second figure makes their way towards your hiding spot; as they (he, you can see the facial features now) get closer, the compass hums in your tight grip on it, vibrating almost violently.

“Come out now and we won’t hurt you.”

You stay silent. Particles gather at your fingertips, ready to rip open the fabric of the world in order to escape with your life (well, one of your lives, anyway) and sanity.

Your issue?

He needs to stay back.

He pulls his sword out of midair, materializing Netherite gripped white-knuckled.

“So be it.”

There goes your chance of escaping via portal. You suppose knocking him out with the energy is your best shot at scurrying off intact.

The second he reaches your hiding spot, you jump up, sending the energy flying down your blade and into his chest. The winged man stumbles backwards, cursing in an unfamiliar (takes you a while to interpret) language, lost to the sands of the void.

You’re reckless, that much is for certain, but you’re certainly not stupid. Now that you’ve been spotted, the other person is sure to be there in, at most, a minute. Knowing when to run is not cowardice.

You should have known to account for outside forces.

The second figure appears seemingly out of nowhere, sticking his foot out to trip you up in your haste to find a new hiding place. It works, unfortunately, sending you sprawling, cursing in at least four different languages.

“You’re fast,” he grumbles, confiscating your sword and eyeing it with an experienced gaze.

“Yeah, and you’re an ass,” you retort, hand subtly reaching to the second blade stashed on your thigh.

He doesn’t expect the swing of the dagger so suddenly, violently slashing his palm open. He doesn’t expect, through his howls of pain, for you to grab your sword and give him a pitying gaze.

He doesn’t expect your sparks, normally used to rip open and kill, maim others and shred reality, to flicker towards his hand and seal the bloody slash shut with nothing more than a faint scar to remember it by.

You don’t expect what you do either.

“Portal, L’Manburg, tomorrow at midnight. I’ll explain there.”

With that, you dip out of there, tired and needing a new sword.

Great.

Michael Sundin (deceased)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 1 March 1961  

RIP: 23 July 1989

Ethnicity: White

Occupation: Presenter, actor, dancer, prof trampolinist