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Zam didn’t know what to do.
Why did he do that? Why did he say that? Lord, he’s such a paranoid bastard. Derapchu isn’t going to betray him! Well.. he probably isn’t, anyway. Now Derap was gone, leaving Zam sitting on the floor of his base. He was right to tell Zam not to fight Flame alone. It’d spell his death.
…He flinched as he recalled their conversation in the Nether. “That’s just suicide!” “Essentially.”
Would it really be that bad? Would it be that horrible for Zam to get banned? He twirled his sword absentmindedly on his prismarine flooring.
It would be unbelievably easy. He could get someone to kill him, drown himself, suffocate, or burn in lava. There were an infinite number of ways he could die. He only needed 14 of them. Or the same one 14 times. He wasn’t that picky.
Zam wasn’t a fool. He knew when he started provoking Flame that there was no way he would come out of it alive. That’s why he did it, after all.
He thought back on Derap’s words. What had happened to him, those 3 months that he was gone? How did he become the self-destructive person that he is now?
Oh, it didn’t matter. His skin felt clammy and uncomfortable. He was tired of being cooped up in his own base. He grabbed some random blocks out of his chest and set out to a random area not too far from spawn, but not one that would be found before he could even die.
He started building his tower, his liberty. He probably didn’t need to go up to build height, but the sun felt nice on his face. The wind felt good, too.
PrinceZam fell from a high place.