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The cobblestone dug into his thighs. Grian ignored the sensation— he’d lived through worse. He’d lived through the agony of being blown up, thrown into lava, and poisoned.
He’d lived through the emotional pain of those strikes. Of his fist slamming into the side of his best friend’s skull. Of pushing Scar closer to the cacti— of getting much too close to the edge of their mountain.
Scar’s broken, bleeding body left to fester beside Pizza’s grave.
The pain didn’t matter. Grian wouldn’t let it.
The sun would be rising soon. And, with it, the beginning of a new day. A new Boogeyman would be chosen; a new threat for the Southlands. A new threat to his family.
(Don’t think about Scar. Don’t think about his first connection— his first friend. He shouldn’t worry about Scar. Scar has his own allies. Scar would be fine.)
His fingers dug into the crevice between two blocks of cobblestone. It burned, but he did not move. The pain was good. The pain grounded him.
The pain stopped him from looking on the horizon— from looking for the hut of dirt atop Scar’s mountain.
The five of them sat on their towers. Nobody spoke for some time.
Any of them could be out for blood by morning, Grian thought. He grimaced at the idea. A sinking feeling wrapped itself around Grian’s neck. Distrust— it was an agonizing emotion. One he hadn’t felt since…
“You traitor! Traitor Scar!”
The feeling was choking— suffocating. It made him rethink the entire alliance. It made him want to leave the tower and run to the edge of the world. Make a hole and live there. Maybe, he could grab Scar, and—
No.
Grian hadn’t run from death the first time around, and he wouldn’t now.
He sighed. The world felt colder, now. Maybe… crueller.
Maybe, it was because they sat here, waiting for the sunrise. What were they waiting for, exactly? A betrayal? To look in someone’s eyes and see that terrible realization? For the relief of knowing you weren’t the Boogeyman?
The silence was deafening.
Mumbo laughed quietly. He was the only sound besides the wind. “If I was the Boogeyman…” Mumbo began. His hand idly stroked his moustache. Grian watched from his tower as his friend smiled, big and hopeful. When did that hope die? “I think I’d go for Ren, or… maybe Scar.”
Grian laughed. He couldn’t help it. Everyone would think Scar was an easy target, but he wasn’t. He was good at twisting his words, at making people think well, wouldn’t it be better to stick with him?
“Scar’s not as weak as you think.” An easy nostalgia fueled his words. Old memories of explosions and reputation points. “He’s… he’s not good at fighting, I’ll give you that. But” — Impulse laughed into his fist — “he’ll convince you that there’s something better you should be doing. An easier target. He’s a danger because of how weak he appears.”
He could feel four sets of eyes staring at him with a mixture of doubt and fondness. Grian smiled bitterly.
“Don’t underestimate Scar, Mumbo.”
Impulse finally let out his laughter— full and boisterous. It filled the silence in a way Grian’s voice never could. “Oh, it’s not like he’s going to be able to convince me into a life debt, Grian!”
Martyn and Jimmy laughed, but… Grian couldn’t. It hurt too much to breathe. Every breath was a struggle. Far too late, he felt the lump in his throat. The blur in his eyes.
Grian squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn’t cry. Not now, not in front of Mumbo. Mumbo, who didn’t understand. Mumbo, who didn’t know of his and Scar’s… relationship. Mumbo… who didn’t watch as Grian’s fists knocked into Scar’s skull once, twice, three times.
Mumbo, who didn’t see the red sand atop Monopoly Mountain.
Finally, a grunt escaped his lips. It was nowhere near a real laugh. But, it was sound nonetheless. Impulse stared up at him, concerned.
“Grian?”
“What… who— who would you kill if you were chosen?” Grian choked out. His voice sounded hurt— as if Impulse had put the sword through his back. As if Impulse had pushed him off of Monopoly Mountain.
Impulse looked at him for a few seconds. Concern melted into caution and then into acceptance.
“I think… I think I would kill… you, Grian.” The admission calmed him, just the slightest. There was at least one person here who didn’t underestimate him— someone who knew him. “Your weakness is, uh… you care too much. You make the people you care about your everything.” Maybe… maybe, Impulse knew him too well, actually. “If I was smart, I think I’d threaten Scar.”
His blood froze. Impulse’s green eyes stared at him, with that same look in his eyes the same—
(“They gave me a clock.” Terrified, red eyes begging him for help. Scar’s laughter as Bdubs chased Impulse— as the axe cut through his shoulder, as he went in for a second blow.)
The same… terror.
What was he so scared of?
“The sun’s rising,” Mumbo murmured. The first rays of sunlight peeked out from behind that familiar dirt shack. Grian squinted his eyes in the hopes of seeing his friend. Maybe, if he—
Grian’s head snapped up toward the stars against his will. His hand dug into the cobblestone. Burning, blistering pain overtook his hand. He couldn’t breathe.
Unshed tears finally slipped down his cheeks. His mouth was open— he wanted to breathe, but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t allow it.
Grian’s bright yellow eyes stared into the endless galaxy of stars above them. His friends were speaking, but he couldn’t hear them.
Bdubs said it felt like an itch, but he was wrong. It wasn’t an itch— it was a stone in his stomach. Wrong and out of place. It was a boulder attached to his foot dragging him deeper and deeper into the ocean’s grasp.
Grian gasped feebly for air. His hands clutched at his neck. I’m drowning, he thought. I’m drowning. I’m drowning. I’m going to die.
And, finally,— as black dots hovered on the edge of his vision— the world spoke to him.
[You are the Boogeyman!]
Air rushed back into his body. Mumbo turned to him. His mouth was moving, but Grian couldn’t hear him.
The sun was rising over a dirt shack. Something clicked in his mind. The perfect target.
The ball and chain dragged him deeper into the ocean— into his own damnation.
He has a life or three to spare, he reasoned. It would be easy to kill Scar— it would. Scar trusted him, like Impulse said.
They were each other’s weakness.
“Grian?” Mumbo asked, louder this time. At least he could hear him, now. “Are you alright?”
Sunlight covered half of Mumbo’s face. Grian smiled robotically. It would be alright. He would go to Scar and—
“I’m the Boogeyman.”
Mumbo stared at him for a few seconds— confusion fading into fear.
“Grian?” Martyn called out, a hint of fear in his voice. He smiled bitterly. They were scared of him. They thought he would hurt them— hurt his family.
“I’m going to kill Scar…” Impulse’s eyes stared at him. The first inkling of guilt trickled into his mind. But, it was already too late. They were already scared; the ball and chain was still pulling him down. “And, then… I’ll be back.”
“Okay, Grian,” Jimmy’s voice was hesitant, fearful. If they were smart, they’d prepare to kill him when he got back. Well, he thought. I’ve never been smart when it came to family.
First, there was Scar. His brother-in-arms; a traitor.
Now, the Southlands. Was he a traitor now?
Grian grimaced. He hoped not. He hoped he would come back— his hands covered in blood— and be welcomed with cheers and open arms.
No, he considered. Even Scar wouldn’t do that.
On the way out of the Southlands, Grian grabbed an axe. It was iron, and it was dull. It would take three, maybe four hits to kill Scar.
His hand burned softly as he gripped the axe tight. Grian would kill Scar, and his ball-and-chain would disappear. He would float to the surface. He would breathe again. His friends wouldn’t look at him with terror in their eyes.
(He would drown Scar, instead. He would lock the ball-and-chain around his friend’s ankle and watch him sink. And, wasn’t that worse than their duel? Wasn’t this worse— crueler than a few punches to the forehead? And, if it was—
Why didn’t he feel guilty?)
His legs ached. Grian ignored the burning. He was walking past the trees, past his enemies and his allies’ homes.
Hopefully, no one would—
“Grian!” Ren called out to him as he began to walk toward him. Grian held the axe close to his chest. A threat, a warning. Stay away from me. Ren stopped just a few feet away from him. “Gr— Grian?”
Ren’s eyes were fixed on his axe. On his hands, on his eyes. Grian blinked, and took a step forward.
“Ren.” He smiled, but it felt like he had forgotten how to. It came out crooked and wrong. Ren took a step back. “Do you know where Scar is?”
Ren’s terror-filled yellow eyes met his own. Why were they so scared? It wasn’t like Grian told Ren the truth— so why was he backing away, still? Why did the Red King shake in the presence of a yellow-life armed with only an iron axe?
Was it something in his eyes? Something he said?
“No.” Ren clenched his hand into a fist by his side. “No, I don’t. Shouldn’t you? You were best friends, last I heard. Did Monopoly Mountain really fall apart so soon?”
And—
Grian growled, taking a step forward.
And, wasn’t he—
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, false king.”
And, wasn’t he right? Grian should know where Scar was. They were best friends— they survived together until the end. Why did they split up? Why had he thought—
“Says the man who murdered his best friend.”
Grian’s eyes widened. His hand loosened around his axe. The world went silent before—
“He wanted it,” Grian growled. There were two of them, and there could only be one winner. There hadn’t been a choice. “That doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
Grian let his grip loosen around the axe. The blade embedded itself in the dirt. Ren grimaced at the thinly-veiled threat.
“Now,” Grian laughed. It was cold and uncaring. It wasn’t the insane laughter that rang through Dogwarts when the minecart went off nor the soft laughter that haunted the desert. It was a bitter, cruel sound. A sound that preceded violence. “Here’s the deal. You tell me where Scar is, and I don’t murder you for that. How does that sound?”
Ren was silent.
“Well?”
“He’s at his Soul Emporium.”
Grian smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
His footsteps echoed through the cave. He’d heard rumors of Scar’s excavation of the mountain but hadn’t gotten the chance to see it for himself until now. And… wow.
The outside looked like a normal mountain with his house on top. Grian hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
But, inside, pillars of polished diorite held up the ceiling. Torches were sprinkled around the floor. It didn’t quite light up the whole hall. Grian walked across the beautiful dark oak and polished granite floor. Across the hall, a staircase went up, up, up. Scar would be up there, he knew.
Grian smiled, something soft and special. A smile he’d only ever given to his best friend. Scar’s buildings always managed to impress him.
(It was such a shame— Scar would have to scrub out the bloodstains.)
For a moment, he forgot what he’d come for. For a moment, he forgot about the curse in his blood.
There was a quiet echo from above him. Footsteps. Grian readied his axe. He’d make it quick. He would make sure Scar didn’t suffer. Not like before.
“Hello?” Scar’s voice was a balm to the fury buzzing under his skin. Grian didn’t move. His feet were glued to the floor. His eyes fixated on the end of the hallway, where a familiar shadow was descending down the stairs. “Hello?”
Scar looked down from the staircase— their eyes met. Dark green and yellow. Excited, and hopeful; dim, and tired.
“Grian?” Scar smiled and ran toward him. “Grian! It’s been so long since you’ve visited!”
His hand tightened around his axe. Green eyes stared at him, uncomprehending.
“Grian?”
And, it— it hurt too much. Grian lowered his axe. The blade slammed into the wood with a dull thud.
“I…” Do it, do it, something screamed at him. Spill blood. Cure your curse. “I—” His hand tightened around the axe against his will. “I’m—”
Scar took a step closer to him. “What? You’re what?”
Oh, no.
Scar was in striking range.
“I’m the Boogeyman.” Scar’s eyes widened. He tried to move backward, but it was too late.
The iron axe dug into his shoulder— blood sprayed across the floor. The oak floor was ruined. After this was finished,— after the curse was lifted— he would help Scar clean up.
Maybe, he’d find more time to visit Scar after this. Maybe, he’d have a reason to check in after this.
Maybe, this was a gift— an excuse to see Scar again. To rejoin him.
Ren was right. He never should have left Scar’s side. They’d made it to the final two before; it was only smart to stay together.
Scar gasped in pain. His hands pushed at the handle of the axe, desperately trying to pull it off of his shoulder. Grian tilted his head, and smiled.
In a smooth motion, the axe was pulled out. Scar’s screams were—
The echoes were harsh and loud. It hurt to listen to— but, it hurt much worse knowing he made Scar scream like this. Ren never made Scar scream.
Make it quick, he reminded himself.
“Wh…” The blood seeped out of the wound. Scar’s once-blue shirt, now a dark brown. Scar’s hand trembled as he desperately applied pressure to his shoulder. Tears brimmed in his friend’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
Because, you’re my best friend.
Because, I want to talk to you again.
Because, I want to hear you scream again.
“I don’t have a choice.” It was a lie— it was one Scar would believe. A day ago, Grian would have believed it, too.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move. Blood dripped his off axe, back onto the floor. Grian grimaced. Blood was so messy. He should have just cut his head off and been done with it.
“Does it feel the same?” Scar’s words surprised him. For some reason, he’d expected his friend to just… take it. He’d never expected this from Scar. No one ever expected much from Scar. “Is it like the voices? Are they demanding blood again? Or is this…” Scar frowned. “Is this all you?”
Grian flinched. He gritted his teeth.
The axe came down for a second swing across Scar’s collarbone. The scream was worse the second time. Louder. For the next few seconds after the hit, the silence was filled with Scar’s quiet sobs. The screams grated at his ears. It…
It was the worst sound he’d ever heard.
Scar gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. “Does— does— oh, god— does it hurt? Are you in pain, Grian?”
Blood covered the front of Scar’s shirt. There was a deep gauge on both sides of his body. He wouldn’t last much longer.
Scar would be dead soon.
He’d be cured soon.
(He’d be free of his ball-and-chain. Deep down,— buried beneath his murderous urges— Grian felt bad. He regretted the pain he was putting Scar through.
It was easy to be selfish. It was so much harder to care for someone else.)
“Does this help you?” Scar spat. Tears dripped down his chin. He watched numbly as they mixed with blood. Grian’s eyes narrowed. There was a wound on Scar’s wrist.
His arm was in the way, Grian realized. He’d been holding it over the first wound. His grip on the axe tightened. His hand shook. Grian looked away from Scar’s bleeding body.
He couldn’t bear to look any longer.
“Grian!” Scar screamed, and Grian finally met his eyes. His best friend gritted his teeth through the pain. And… Scar was angry— he was bleeding and broken across his own floor, and he was angry with Grian. “Answer me! Does… this… help you?”
“Yes,” Grian whispered. The admittance felt like a punch to the gut. Like poison settling into his bones.
His ball-and-chain tugged at his ankle as it— finally— hit rock bottom. For a few seconds, he floated in the air.
“This… does help.”
Scar smiled bitterly— angrily. He spat his words as if they were weapons. And, to Grian, they were.
“Then, I’m glad to be of service.”
And then, Grian was pulled back down. Back to the server. Back to the heavy scent of copper— back to Scar’s harsh breaths and harsher words.
Grian lifted his axe for a final swing. Scar shut his eyes tight.
He hesitated.
“I’m sorry, Scar.”
The axe came down for its final blow— and the curse lifted.
A sob escaped his lips. Oh, God. He’d murdered Scar. He’d killed his best friend. He’d taken an axe and tortured him— and for what? For some sick enjoyment?
Did he really enjoy that?
Grian lifted his hand to cover his mouth— and tore it away immediately. It was… it was covered in blood.
He— he hadn’t touched Scar. Not with his hands.
Had he hurt someone else on the way to Scar’s home? Had he hurt Ren?
A tear slipped down his cheek. Bdubs had killed a stranger. Bdubs was forgivable.
Bdubs didn’t torture his best friend. Grian could have killed anyone. He could have killed Ren, and yet… he’d chosen Scar.
Grian began to sob in earnest now. Tears flowed down his cheeks. Blood covered his hands, his arms, his chest. Maybe even his face, too.
He was covered in the evidence of his crime.
All around him— the blood on the floor, his axe— was proof. He would have to get rid of it. Grian would clean up, like he promised.
Maybe, just… in a few minutes.
Yeah, he only needed a few minutes.
After a few minutes, Scar would come back down the stairs. Three new scars on his body. One over his shoulder, another over his collarbone, and a third down the middle of his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Scar smiled. There was still pain in his eyes, still the remains of those screams echoing in both of their ears.
“I… it wasn’t you.” Scar laughed humorlessly. “You got the curse, just like Bdubs. I’ll probably get it eventually. It’s…
“It’s alright, Grian. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
Fresh tears began to run down his face as Scar sat down beside him. He leaned his head on his best friend’s chest. Scar hummed a quiet, peaceful tune.
It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.