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Arms outstretched, fingers spread like they were clawing for a second chance of life. That was the cruel fate of Leo, a man who forged and broke tons of hearts. The albino man fell into what seemed to be a black crater of the void, legs flailing in the air as if that could save himself. His eye twitched, noticing the looming and prideful gaze of his once ally. The locks of his hair stuck to his skin from the sheer amount of fighting he had done against both Spoke and Jumper. And for once, the man felt hopeless. Leo felt hopeless, despair and sorrow.
The void consumed him almost immediately, the cold warping and twirling around his figure, snaking through his legs and pulling him down like a stubborn octopus locked to its meal. His eye twitched– not in anger, but resentment and regret. Reflection and sorry, while his fingers curled in on his palms, bawling his fist as he let the void consume him entirely.
But Leo couldn't have felt regret, could he? What shell of a monster is he to feel regret? Why feel regret now, not earlier? Was it humanity, or realization– that when he looked back at Spoke's eerie void eyes staring before him, he messed up?
But they both doubt that's the case. Leo is not a regretful man. He is a selfish man, a selfish and idiotic man.
Jumper has been blanking out, even when training with her fellow group of spies. She hadn't been focused on the training or time she spent with her spies ever since the mission: Leo went well and succeeded. In fact, as much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn't stop thinking of her old comrade. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't. Her spies, being her spies, noticed the unusual behavior and the creepy aura edging from their leader. They stared, confused and waiting for another command to be shouted. However, Jumper remained silent and unmoving even as the spies began to break formation, subtly inching closer to check up on the girl.
Only did she move when one of her spies stomped their foot, snapping her out of her deep, frenzy-like trance. Her spies had already broken up the lines they were effortlessly coupled into, now gathering infront of her face like she was some sort of relic in the museum. Her lips parted, drifting ajar before pressing together in audible recollection. “I'm sorry, everyone. I got a little distracted. Go back to formation. Stance A, please,” apologized the girl, meekly. Her spies shuffled, forming 5 different lines as they straightened up. Jumper frowned, a little disappointed she herself got distracted by a measly man.
As she continued yelling out commands, she couldn't help but feel as if the thought kept on pestering her, in the back of her mind. Gnawing at her brain. It got quiet with every shout, but it never disappeared. It lingered, just like static. Oddly enough, it didn't really bother her to the point she paused training.
During the midst of training her spies in combat strategies, did she suddenly think about the life she had taken, even if not by her own hands. Did she regret it? Did she enjoy it? She couldn't tell. Truth be told, maybe she didn't really like the idea of siding with Spoke just to kill Leo. She wanted at least a chat with Leo. But if it meant getting rid of Leo, it's enough for a woman like her. But why did she only think of it now? Why not earlier, why not later when the grief finally processed? Why now, when she was busy with her own stuff?
Nonetheless, she shook her head, and moved on with the training. With a smile pursed on her lips, she continued encouraging her spies, feeding them words of motivation and helping them process the grief through training with her. Despite Leo being the sole reason why so many of them died on the battlefield fighting enemy forces or others, the spies were still quite affected by his death. Shamelessly, they also admitted to Jumper that they saw her as a kind mother, and Leo as the stern father. The thought made her flustered, even in the slightest bit. Her spies seemed to be coping just fine by time with Jumper.
But Jumper didn't seem to be coping just as well as her spies were doing. While her spies seemed to forget about it with a few push-ups or so on, she herself cannot completely forget about it. Maybe it comes and it goes, but for most of the time, it stays.
Even as she laid in bed, with her messy hair tousled over the drapes of the pillow, the dips of the sheets and between the fuzzy strands of her gifted birthday blanket, dyed in pink– she could not get the thought out of her mind. She didn't want to say but her mind was filled with Leo, Leo and Leo. His albino white hair, his pupils that shrunk in fear when he saw Spoke or her. It was all about him, and he's been bugging her mind lately. It affected her that badly to the point she couldn't easily drift into sleep. She had only toyed with her hair as she thought of every single thing her brain could scrape up as a memory. By this point, she was twisting and tossing around in her bed a lot. Don't blame her, she feels cold with every popping thought.
Though deciding that the thought wasn't enough for the sacrifice of her beauty sleep, Jumper shrugged it off with a reluctant shy as she turned in her bed. She clutched her plushie close, breathing in the scented bundle of cotton. It was naturally scented with roses, a favorite of hers. A couple of months back, she had accidentally spilled some fine red wine on the plushie. She cried over it, managed to scrub the stain out but not the scent. It lingered and mixed with the roses which made it even better. Fortunately, it made her eased and much more relaxed than before.
Closing her eyes, the strong-willed leader slowly fell to the lull of sleep, trusting the void beneath her eyelids as she slipped through the fingers of exhaustion.
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Derapchu woke up in a cold sweat. His body jolted up, the tickly fibres of his hoody clinging to his damp skin. His brunchy brunette hair clung to his damp scalp, where heat pooled into sweat and beaded through every crevice of his skin like it wanted out of his body. He had just had a dream. A terrifying one, too. He was glad he woke up in the morning, it was better than the silent unease of the night accompanied with critters in the grass. He must've forgotten to take off his hoodie before going to sleep, and it resulted in the condition he was in now. Eventually, he calmed down with a few deep breaths.
He received the news– that Jumper and Spoke had successfully eliminated Leo, a supposed burden for all of them, more on Spoke and Jumper. But if they've got rid of the burden, then why is he still here? Leo, he means. Why is he still standing like a shadow in the corner of the room, watching and crawling into his dream like it's a one way ticket to heaven? Derapchu's dreams are anything but heaven. To him, Leo was a burden because– he doesn't entirely know. It was more so because he felt bad for his best friend, Jumper. He didn't feel a lot when Leo got killed. He felt numb, weak and quiet. He wishes he was present, so he knew he was human because oh boy, this man is currently lacking emotions.
Derapchu felt a little bothered, and he hopes that he doesn't bother Jumper with this. But, the boy can't help but feel like there's just some tingling sensation that they should revisit BAT's old base– where tragedy ensued, where he learnt the purpose of his role, where he saw that pity was an important factor to his involvement in BAT. He felt a little nauseous at the idea of returning to a place he swore he'd never take another step into, even in his life (which was a blatant lie) and he really hoped that Jumper wouldn't be bothered by him. He feels as if he is a burden on everybody’s shoulders. Asking meant a burden. Giving meant a burden. Goodness, everything was a burden to him, including himself. Everyone thinks so, too.
Of course, Derapchu doesn't blame it on his team or friends for ridiculing him. Why would he, when he's the one dragging them down? What right does Derapchu have, snapping back at them when they are shouting the truth; Derapchu, you are a useless man! And he cannot lie when he says that it hurted and pained him hearing that from his own teammates. Then again, he can't deny that the single sentence might also be the truth to his purpose in teams. Invited just to drag people down, slow them and interrupt work processes. The ridiculous insults or shouts thrown at the man happened every so often, before, during and after a mission. Not a single where he wasn't told to ‘stay quiet’. Derapchu understands. Blame it on him all you want, it's him.
Sighing, he threw off the blankets that pooled around his waist and planted his bare feet on the cold ground. He walked to his armor stand, snatching away the articles of protection and strapped it against his figure. He wanted to head to Jumper– ask if this was bothering her too. And if it did, maybe he wouldn't have to be alone to BAT'S base. He shrugged on the shiny, netherite armor. Scruffed from months of fighting and blocking, an evidence and testament to his time in the team. Diamond lines painted the crevices of the armor into patterns, this set of armor was the one Leo himself crafted for him. Whatever he means by ‘bothering her too’ just means that he hopes he wouldn't be a pain in the ass to her, even outside of BAT. That'd be a huge shame to him. Can't let go of the past?
Derapchu walked out of his base like a man who had just lost everything, when he had nothing. Dark, black circles painted the soft and frail skin beneath his eyes, bagging and creating a mark that ruined both his self-esteem and confidence. He hasn't been doing well in the self-care department lately, even though he swore to do better for himself. His condition (physically) may have seemed fine enough to start walking and venturing out and about. But if you took even a single glimpse to the inside of his soul where his emotions laid heavy, you’d think the man went through about 5 hurricanes, 10 tornadoes and 7 flash floods. Despite that, he's still persistent on making a quick riddance of the bug latched on his mind.
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Jumper and Derapchu stood beneath the roofs where they grew, silent and unspeaking– both a sign of respect to the discarded base now filled with traces of destruction, hate and betrayal, a mark left on the grounds from every second of the past, from every death in someone's arms, from every scream that hurled like the warping eye of a storm. Yet, they knew better to respect the place, keep quiet and resilient despite the vacancy and lack of anybody in the place. Other than Derapchu looking like he suffered dozens of natural disasters in one night, Jumper looked like she went through all the Scream franchise movies in one sitting, then survived through it all like a champ.
They stood at the infamous office, where documents were often scattered in anger and frustration; where both new alliances and broken friendships pooled with one single talk along the man himself, Leo. Leo was a difficult man to understand, like a dirty secret wrapped between layers of thorns. If you tried to wiggle your finger in, you'd get pricked the instant you do touch the cage. It's like he cages himself, and refuses to receive help. But he always lends out a hand. Always gives help. It's frustrating to communicate with the man, because each and every conversation would end up with a cold shoulder or a grin. Whatever the outcome was, entering Leo's office itself was a gamble at the end of a conversation.
The office was spoken of amongst spies as a place where people were sent to either doom or joy. Jumper and Derapchu, being his close friends, couldn't deny that little rumor. Anybody would be a little fearful. Especially after Nufuli's death and Jumper's so called ‘betrayal' to the oath, or so did Derapchu hear. Despite leaving in bad terms, they still had nice memories of when BAT was just the four of them.
Back to the moment, they eyed a single piece of paper, clean and untouched lying in the middle of Leo's desk– where files and books stacked neatly on each side, organized into categories. The table had been collecting dust ever since Leo had been fixated on Spoke and Jumper, not BAT. He wasn't reading books nor drinking coffee anymore, because he was stuck fighting two of what used to be his allies. The outcome of the battle was obvious: Spoke and Jumper had won. But even if Jumper had won, why couldn't she be as happy and jolly as Spoke? Why was he the only one that laughed when he died? Why didn't she laugh, and most importantly, why did she cry? All these questions; yet the answer was as difficult as asking the meaning and logic to human consciousness. Spoke had once asked her after the war: “Aren't you happy that man is gone?”
Truth be told, she wishes she was. But she isn't, and she's stuck in a state where she slowly spirals everyday, leaving her spies independent with an inactive leader.
Desperate to uncover the mystery, her sweat-slicken hand reached out to the paper on the table. Her fingers grazed the dusty paper, most likely cemented as the most recent yet the most valuable object in Leo's quiet office.
“To my friend and ally. Derapchu,”
Leo's fingers held the light, smooth surface of his pen. Yet, with every word that he wrote grew a stronger burden that heaved upon his shoulders, twisting his chest with dread, and his heart with pain. He carefully proof-read every written sentence the following few minutes, like the letter he was creating was the ultimate verdict to the case of a murderer.
“I admit, maybe despite the countless times I've snapped at you…”
“... called you useless, shouted at you,”
He paused, recalling the bitter moments in which he shouted, raising his tone at Derapchu— which was many times, either in a public setting, or a private setting. He admits that he is guilty. He's sorry.
“I knew who I was picking from the start.”
“Maybe to you, your leader looked like he didn't know what he was doing when he picked you. Maybe I didn't.”
“I didn't know what I was doing by picking you out of all my comrades to build a team where cooperation and oath was held true to our hearts.”
“But I knew who I was picking. I picked you, Derapchu.”
He paused, just for a moment, lifting his wrist in the air to avoid a splattered pool of ink to gravity. Absent-mindedly, his thoughts flickered to the moment where Derapchu was recruited. Leo didn't have a specific plan when it came to recruiting the brunette, goofy dude. He knew what he was doing with Nufuli and Jumper, but not Derapchu. Had it all could've been avoided if he didn't? The yelling, the screaming, the scolding?
“Gods, why would I ever pick anybody that wasn't you, Derapchu? Why would I, Leo, ever pick somebody that didn't have your stupid grin, or your beautiful, curly brown hair? Or your hoodie I wanted to rip off with every mistake you made?”
Even though it has been a long time since he has seen Derapchu due to his inactivity in the team ever since Parrot, Jumper and Nufuli had officially and unofficially left BAT, he could easily describe their appearance in detail, probably around 500 words. He was a man possessing good memory, but good memory always meant either tragedy or happiness. In this case, maybe the feeling of missing somebody. Or, missing everybody. Leo could deny it all he wants, but Derapchu represents a select few that he honestly respects from the deep of his heart, though he has no idea how to convey the love— to the point it becomes terror.
“If you thought I should've picked somebody else, if I should've elected Parrot instead of you from the start, then I'm sorry, my dear comrade. I kneeled before you, in my own room (not in front of you) praying to holy lords if there even was any on this fucked-up server just so you'd secure a title as one of BAT's honorary members.”
Even if he was unsure about Derapchu's part of the team– because he had wisely planned Jumper and Nufuli's role, yet he couldn't think of a single working part for Derapchu. Maybe that's why he's always so pissed at the man, and at himself. He used to think that Derapchu had no purpose in the team, but what purpose is a teammate if the leader disconnects from them? Derapchu must've felt so, so horrible, seeing how Leo's gaze tore away from him the moment BAT's missions started settling together. How Leo had inevitably shifted focus and attention to his teammates, spreading equal love and attention to the pink eyed girl and the meek, collected boy. But not him.
Maybe the pain doubled even more when Parrot joined. Because Parrot served just fine, despite being a new member. Then why couldn't have Derapchu done the same? Is that what Derapchu thought every meeting, where he sat the furthest from the leader? Where he sat quietly, with the knowledge that his presence was optional, not mandatory? Leo knows that he has made a grave mistake– not by recruiting Derapchu, but by making Derapchu crawl to him, when Derapchu should be standing with his head held high. What leader is he?
Sighing, he shuffled in his seat, heart-beat going frantic as he moved on to the second part of the letter.
“And to you, my lover. My dear Jumper.”
“Words cannot describe how much I resent myself for leaving you to fight, fend and cry for yourself with no shoulder to lean on so much to the point you find bravery and courage to stab me.”
He recalls. The meeting with Spoke and Jumper after such conflict, they had teamed up with Jumper ultimately betraying him. He still recalls the blade of her netherite sword that drove to his forearm while he blocked most of Spoke's attacks. He managed to pull back away, twist his torso just a little so his arm wouldn't be dismembered, and that left a quaint, eccentric scar, a line paler or darker than his skin tone. The cut, physically, took a day to heal with the help of regeneration potions.
Yet the man himself couldn't even heal. Not in a million years he thinks that cut will ever heal. Each time he showers, or bathes, surrounded by warm mist, he turns to the scar, and thinks– “am I really that bad?”
Since when did the loyalists become rebels?
To be hurt by your very partner, the one you looked at with admiration and love? What he thought of Jumper was not the same as she thought of him, at least in his eyes. They shared something, but less than something. Yet, Leo finds himself referring to the stubborn girl with oddly sweet pet names he never found his ice-cold tongue to be speaking of.
Darling, sweetheart, honey– it felt nice. But now, it just felt like a dagger piercing through his heart with each spoken syllable.
Since when did sweet turn to bitter?
“Have I made a crucial mistake, my love? Did I cross the line, your boundary, even if I swore on my life I'd never?”
“My darling, I don't reckon that you'd forgive me. I don't think you'd ever forgive me. Who are you to forgive this foolish, stupid clown of a man? For every inch of my masculinity, ego and pride, I've sacrificed so much.”
The nickname, again. Leo huffed, his face scrunching in slight distate– not at the word, but the rush of emotions that flooded him as he wrote the word.
“Including you, Jumper.”
“We weren't nothing. We weren't something. But we had something, you and I both knew it. I fell for you, over and over with each passing second in this world of anarchy.”
And what he wrote was true. He doubted that Jumper would find this, and it would probably seem foolish for him if she did read this. Most probably, she won't share his strong and deep feelings. Yet, he can't help but weep with a small portion of his liking to a measured last letter, even if poetry would never be enough to describe his feelings for her. He pours his all to his letter, like a jar, but it's only a few words before the jar fills with his tears.
“My biggest mistake was falling. But if it was for you, Jumper? I'd wish for that moment to never end. Oh my gods, Jumper, you've made this fucking man love so hard to the point he wishes he'd stay immortal, in this universe where he'd fall every day without failure.”
As he wrote, he could feel his vision grow blurry, an indicator of a rare vulnerability he himself thought he would never dream of committing. Although, for her, willing or unwilling— he'd do it, every second of the day. He'd shed tears at his birthday party, shed tears at his enemies funeral, shed tears for her, if she demanded him to. But Jumper never did. Jumper never demands Leo, because for Leo, she is possibly the sweetest, most kind-hearted girl you would ever meet across the server. Even if she was a realistic person, her morals were set straight, and her
dedication for the truth was admirable almost.
So admirable, it brings him to tears. That's the fact. Jumper doesn't tell him to cry, but just by writing a letter, just by imagining her face, just by reflecting to hold hands or hugging after an overwhelming mission, Leo finds himself tangled up in the salt of his emotions.
“I'm so selfish. I know. I wish I embraced you the moment before you flew off that cliff, I wish I told you, ‘I did the same thing too’ instead of watching you, knowing damn well that I should've chased you. Im so fucking sorry.”
“I know. This sounds like I'm dragging this out. But once again, I love you, I'm sorry, Jumper.”
He sighed, wishing to write the letter in brevity, but what point is brevity when it's him and her?
Leo still remembers clearly, the day he got his ego best of him, the day he strayed from his oath and projected it to a pink-eyed girl. And of course, the day where it all faltered. Like sand, without a pillar, BAT begins to fall. Inevitably. Leo thought: even without this courageous soldier, BAT will survive. The group of friends will survive— but BAT, also seems to be a close knitted group, Birds of A Feather, they say. Unfortunately for him, the day Jumper flew away was the day he died. The day Nufuli died, was also the day he died. Leo wasn't given any time to recover, of course, because when was this workaholic man ever thinking about anything but work? Not himself, not his friends and certainly not his team. Even when prioritized teammates, he was the rift that cracked the group. He was the thunder that parted the sky. He was the leader who lied.
“I'm not sure if you both will ever have a chance of reading this. As I write this, I know you won't fail to kill me, Jumper. And when you do, just know that all the 7 minutes before I falter will be filled to the brim with the both of you. Jumper and Derapchu.”
Leo is no savior. He is no son of God, despite Jumper describing him, lightheartedly, joking and saying that: he might as well be her savior. A joke, but the simple sentence drove an arrow to his heart. He hadn't bothered to pull it out. He hadn't bothered, instead, he let his heart heal with the remnants of the arrow, before corruption seeped in and drove the love to become agony. Since when did love become agony?
Leo is also, certainly, not a leader. He looked like one. He gave himself a title. He built factions, groups, trained people to spy, to live or to die— somebody that yelled commands, someone with a deep voice, but had the pitch of a squirrel. He used that voice to lead, to organize, to arrange and to fix. And most importantly, to rip apart. He knows no amount of apologies coming from his sharp tongue would ever heal the amount of scars on Derapchu's confidence or dignity. He knows what he has done.
Sighing, he stood up, his other hand creasing out the wrinkles on his suit, rubbing his fingertips over the rough fabric. He hadn't bothered to smoothen the wrinkles before work. He hadn't bothered to put on the cologne Jumper praised him for, or the voice he tortured Derapchu with. For what point, when one is hunting and one is missing? His golden eyes gave a once-over to the letter, re-reading every single word with precision. Ensuring none of his sentences meant offence. His heart swells, and aches, because he knows that soon enough, he will die. He may be smart, but Spoke is too. More so when Jumper supports Spoke, allying to hunt him down.
He thought he'd see his friends blossom into great saviors of the server, accompany the future king, march with the title of the honorary organization— most importantly, stick together. Yet, he is the black-hole in the community, warping sense of reality, killing whoever was drawn to him, both literally and not-quite literally. He'd have to leave soon. He'd have to face Spoke and Jumper soon. He'll have to face what he dreads.
Clicking his pen for one last time, he etched the last sentence, the telltale sign of the last chapter for his story.
“I wish I'd said it sooner. I'm sorry.”