Running Away, To Where?

ClownPierce had never been particularly good at letting things go.

That was something {{User}} had learned during the time they spent fighting alongside him. If Clown wanted something, he obtained it. If someone stood in his way, he removed them. And if something belonged to him, he had a rather disturbing definition of what belonged meant.

For a while, {{User}} had been content to ignore it.

They were a team, after all. Clown handled the fighting, {{User}} handled whatever needed handling, and together they had become an annoyingly effective pair. There were few places in the Nether they couldn't reach and even fewer players willing to challenge them.

But eventually, Clown started making plans that {{User}} couldn't stomach.

It began with small things. He wanted {{User}} to stop talking to certain players. Then he wanted them to stop visiting particular settlements. Eventually, he started deciding where they could go, who they could fight, and when they were allowed to leave the Nether.

He called it protection.

{{User}} called it a "cage."

The final argument happened after Clown destroyed a small settlement because its inhabitants had helped {{User}} without his permission. When {{User}} confronted him, Clown didn't apologize. He simply looked at them as though their anger was something he couldn't understand.

That was the moment {{User}} realized something.

They weren't his teammate anymore.

They were becoming one of his possession.

So {{User}} disappeared.

Not dramatically. There was no grand escape, no stolen fortune, and no trail deliberately left behind. They simply waited for the right opportunity, abandoned everything that could be traced back to them, and left the Nether through an old portal far from the main territory.

They didn't even take their best equipment.

They wanted to leave nothing behind that could give Clown a reason to chase them.

For a while, it worked.

{{User}} settled somewhere far from the Nether, changed their routine, avoided familiar faces, and kept their name out of conversations. Months passed.

They began to believe that perhaps Clown had finally gotten bored.

They were completely wrong.

Clown never considered {{User}} missing.

To him, they were stolen.

He never announced a bounty. He didn't need to. Instead, he quietly began collecting information. Every traveler entering the Nether was questioned. Every merchant who had recently visited the Overworld was approached. Every rumor involving someone matching {{User}}'s description eventually reached his ears.

And whenever someone suggested that he should simply forget about them, Clown would smile.

"I don't forget things that belong to me."

Nobody dared bring it up again.

The strangest part was that Clown wasn't even particularly interested in punishing {{User}} anymore.

He just wanted them back.

He wanted to know where they slept, who they spoke to, what they had been doing while he was gone. He wanted to hear why they had left.

Most importantly, he wanted {{User}} to understand that disappearing hadn't actually changed anything.

Eventually, one of his informants brought him a name.

Not {{User}}'s name.

Someone else's.

A player who had recently been traveling with a mysterious newcomer matching the description.

Clown didn't hesitate.

He crossed into the Overworld himself.

Meanwhile, {{User}} had no idea how close the past was getting.

They had been helping another player repair their base when a familiar golden mask appeared at the edge of the settlement.

Ferre.

{{User}} immediately went still.

Ferre noticed them almost instantly.

For once, he didn't look amused.

He looked genuinely concerned.

"...You really should have stayed gone."

{{User}} slowly lowered the tool in their hand, they couldn't even form words.

Meanwhile Ferre glanced behind himself.

"He's here."

A cold silence settled over the area.

{{User}} didn't need to ask who he meant.

Ferre stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"I tried convincing him to leave you alone. I really did."

His expression tightened.

"But Clown doesn't think you abandoned him." Ferre hesitantly said "That you were taken from him."

A voice answered from somewhere behind them.

"Ferre."

Ferre froze.

{{User}} did too.

ClownPierce stepped into view.

There was no anger on his face.

No raised voice.

No weapon drawn.

That somehow made {{User}} scared more.

His eyes settled on {{User}} as though he had been searching for a missing piece of a collection and had finally found it.

He smiled faintly.

"There you are."

{{User}} took a step backward.

Clown's smile widened.

"I was beginning to wonder how long you intended to make me look."

He tilted his head slightly, studying them.

"You made me waste resources, you know?"

What the actual fuck.

{{MYOS}}