Withering World [MCSM Fanfiction]

WEAKENING: Chapter 4

Jesse

"And... that's another thirty cases confirmed."

"What!" I jolt from my office chair. "How? It's just been five days!"

Lukas separates the hospital slip from the rest of the citizen reports.

The leading diseases in the Beacontown hospital are no longer severe influenza or diabetes or cancer. Currently, I'm convinced that Wither Sickness, should be its own hospital ward because if cases continue to climb at the rate they are now, it will end in catastrophe.

"I don't know," Lukas says, "but at least we know it's not airborne. People aren't getting the sickness from others but from the beacon itself."

"Then we gotta do something about the beacon. Throw TNT at it or something," I respond sarcastically, sliding my hands across my stressed face.

He sits opposite me, opening up his laptop to work through a few files, the ones Radar would've done if he weren't deteriorating in his case at the hospital right now. "We'll build something to block it off for now. I'll send out a warning tonight about staying away from the beacon."

I remove my hands from my face, giving him an approved grin as my token of gratitude. "You're a gem, Lukas. I'm sorry for putting you and Petra through all this work. It mustn't be easy leaving what you guys love doing for... this."

"Hey, I now understand why Radar's such a busybody. It takes two of us to do everything he did. But you know we'd do anything for you, Jesse."

Again, I'm grateful for my friend's presence, except this time, there's something about his last statement that makes my smile slightly shyer than the last. My head cowers back, chin aimed towards my chest.

"I have the best friends ever," I mumble under my breath, although it's still loud enough for Lukas to hear, and he chuckles warmly to himself.

Currently, he's composing the announcement email about the beacon, or at least I'm assuming he is because of the aggressive typing noises from his keyboard constantly stabbing the air.

As I scroll through the list of errands on my computer, I tick off the batch Petra's doing right now while selecting the next ones to assign her. "Can you imagine if Petra was here?" I ask, voicing my thoughts out loud.

"No way. She wouldn't last ten minutes." Lukas is getting used to switching from task to task, imbued with a sudden surge of energy. "Oh, but talking about Petra, you realize that it's her birthday in a week, right?"

I feel a sparkle in my eyes. That's the day I freed up all my work on her behalf. "How could I forget?" A calendar hangs up on the wall to my left where I point, presenting a tiny, hand-drawn, butter-colored sword under the special date.

"That's adorable," Lukas says, raising a brow, "what have you got planned?"

"After her party, she wants to have a big night out with me and the Beacontown warriors. Fight monsters and loot mobs and stuff for fun."

Another addition to Beacontown since Romeo's defeat was the role sectors: town members became just as passionate to fulfill a desirable life, giving birth to little categories each citizen was sorted in. Some train to be authors, like Lukas. Others want to be engineers or griefers or builders. Then, there's the warrior batch, the ones who aspire to be like Gabriel from the Old Order or Petra in that sense. And now that she's here leading them, the Beacontown warriors have risen to protect and defend our home better than ever. Who needs a hero in residence anymore?

"You could come if you'd want," I offer, "I know Petra hasn't invited you personally yet, but I bet she'd like it having you around to celebrate."

The author takes it into consideration, standing to turn up the level of the air con. "I'll just be attending the party, thanks. If I feel it, perhaps I could sit on Beacontown's walls and shoot at them from afar instead. I'm pretty sure Petra wants only those who use swords."

"Nah." His words are most likely true. Every year, Petra is gifted a new brandished, and enchanted sword for her birthday (before she went out adventuring) but she only ever uses Miss Butter, her obsession with the weapon made clear. However, I still deny it. "Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, those walls aren't spider-proof checked and skeletons can equally shoot you down from there," I say, addressing his sarcasm.

Despite my continuous persuading and pressuring, he unfortunately declines. His lips press into a firm line while he scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry. But next time for sure. I need to show her I can use a sword."

We laugh and plan more on her morning celebration, migrating to a different desk to jot and scribble away on a notebook planner as we push aside our devices.

Between us, there's an ink pot we share. I dip my quill in it, listing all my thoughts down for the design of the bunting until I lose control of it for a split second. The untamed line of ink ruins the word I write and I scrunch my nose in annoyance.

It happens more frequently.

Then Lukas stops me.

"Jesse," he says, signaling at the ink pot.

It sloshes and swirls. I stare at it as if it were to start levitating.

But the quakes don't stop, the table now pulsing strong enough for the ink pot to tip and the murky liquid to spill. Lukas and I gasp, dragging our notebooks away from the mess as we feel the ground shake.

I look out the window, locking my focus on the beacon, its unfinished pyramid now fully withered. In the corners of my eyes, I make out all kinds of people, speeding aimlessly around in terror, many tripping over to the ground's imbalance.

To my horror, nine malevolent, raven beams shoot up, reaching for the sky and transforming the peaceful clouds into ones full of stormy intent.

"How?" Lukas yells, "the pyramid isn't complete!"

"Get out of this building," I mutter.

"What?"

"Get out of this building! We need to be there! Protect the people; destroy the beacon!"

"It's too powerful!" Lukas warns, his voice battling over the low groans of the earth.

"Then we need to barricade it! Build a wall; do anything to help! We have to go now!" I scream, dragging Lukas by the arm and down the stairwell.

Radar's efforts weren't enough, and to pay, he ended up with Wither Sickness, many more Beacontowners following his case.

It's no longer a threat.

It's a war.

****