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As he hovered within the now-smoldering forest, small, unseen wind chimes clinked around above his head. They seemed… reminiscent somehow, but Etho swore to hell and back he was coming out of this.
He couldn’t come this far to give up.
He wasn’t sure who was dead and alive. All he knew was his armor pulling him every which way, its heavy motions making him dizzy with every step. All he knew was the burning heat scorching his back, sending flashbacks to the war in the hot desert, water unimaginable, and shade unfindable. All he knew was to kill, and to not be killed.
Shimmying across the dense, forested field, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, the small thing reminding him how much anything could hurt him here. Slowly, shaky as if a first timer, Etho pulled back and released as he heard his least favorite pain fill his ears.
Not now. Never now. He repeated, affirming himself that nothing was happening, until he was about to fall off, into the pit of great despair formed by a few tnt minecarts scattered throughout the plain, waiting, watching for them.
Finally, his eye caught on a lonesome red name, barely visible through the thick vegetation surrounding the area. Joel. He didn’t particularly want to fight him, but he had no choice.
Rushing into battle, he was pelted with arrows, a few? Dozens? Hundreds? He couldn’t tell exactly from just the feeling alone. But still, he held up a makeshift shield someone had handed him, not able to work with it’s weight, wishing again he hadn’t lost his shield in his tragedy of a death.
It didn’t matter. There was no going back for a singular shield now. He would work with what he had.
But still, as soon as he put his shield down for a second to whip his sword out of his hilt, he felt red life pain. And it was beautiful and tear-bringing, this pain, and not only because of it’s astonishing effect, but also its encompassment even of Etho, and he saw it at work around him, golden auras surrounding the reds as they fought so hard for all but death, and for a mere second he wanted to hold his own pain in his two hands, comforting and loving it.
But it was a stupid ideology; pain was not physical nor magical, and to believe so would be cheating himself.
Once again heading into battle, he found himself lost in the trees, as if he had never been to this specific part of the small world before. But he knew where he was, manifesting it into his mind, falling, falling, falling,
falling into harmony with his own thoughts.
He wavered back into a reality as the taste of powdery, dry gunpowder filled his mouth, jerking his body upwards in a singular energetic motion. Fireworks echoed through Etho’s head, as he darted forward, our to get whatever-whoever- was after him.
And so he ran, right past his attacker, slightly pausing to catch his balance as he almost fell into the river of which he ran along the backs recklessly. The hot sand burned the soles of his feet, stinging as the man fought back tears from the arrows still falling into his side. But, for all Etho knew, a few harsh arrows wouldn’t matter if he was dead by the time there was someone to pull them out of his torn skin.
Speaking of torn skin, Cleo suddenly appeared from the shaded forest, blood gushing from the top of her head, her gorgeous, falling hair severed by someone’s blade.
“Cleo, you-”
“I know, Etho. Don’t worry about me.” She said, pulling things desperately from her backpack, trying to find something, anything to heal her, until she finally found a sweet gold-coated fruit, and, biting into it, nodded to the man in certainty.
He turned his head behind him towards the raging fire the girl had set a few minutes ago, watching tentatively as a small rabbit fled toward the safety of an approaching cliff.
But he had other problems.
So, shielding the cowering redhead behind him, he blocked against Joel, who had chased him into the small area. He (selfishly) wanted to run away, and to hide somewhere in the forest, closing his eyes until Skizz and Tango and Bdubs could find him again. Bdubs. Bdubs could find him again, couldn’t he?
Damn this, thought Etho, I’ve got to keep fighting.
In his moment of blackout, Joel had moved on to taunting Cleo, and Etho sprinted along the bank, his foot slipping as he rounded into the clearing. He felt chilling warmth hit his face briefly as he pushed upward, back onto his feet as he sprinted towards the spinning duo of enemies.
One more step, he thought, and Joel is gonna get it.
A singular lightning strike.
Cleo’s frozen body fell to the ground, the coarse dirt seemingly rising up to meet her, before she promptly rose again, items spilling from her pockets like fine sand pouring out to measure the rest of someone’s life-either Etho’s or Joels- and only the sand could tell, yet only those who could afford to bear an eye to watch the timer would have the advantage.
So Etho ran, helpless, desperation kicking in, longing for some friend back, any friend back, releasing his anger to Joel, striking him up and down with his sword, with his axe, hitting his shield, until the wooden carcass of the shield split, leaving with Etho the opportunity to wrap his blade in the other man’s blood.
He froze.
Was he about to kill someone? Really, right now? When everyone was weakened, tortured, manipulated by each other and by the system? The same system turning them on each other and pulling them apart? Why did they trust it so goddamn much?
“Joel, I-” He staggered, trying to separate his thoughts from one another, trying to fill all the little, the one especially big hole left inside his heart after all that had hurt them throughout the season, the season apparently coming to an end, as the leaves fell and the breeze rolled in through the canyons, creating a second of relief for the fighters, and that was when he realized everything and nothing.
“It’s, Joel, it’s-” Pointless. He was going to say, but no more quickly than he could jump back, suddenly defending himself against the man he had yearned to empathize with, and yet the man he was ready to kill only mere seconds before.
Joel was corrupted, just like the others. He was out for blood and glory, not empathy or courage. And, the one difference- he had no sympathy or fear as he tore through what might as well have been the last rays of sunlight, only out to rip apart all they had worked so hard to build through the weeks-their friendships and alliances.
There was no more convincing; Etho had to die in vain, or kill someone in cowardly immorality.
And, for the very last time, the man lowered his shield, no longer sporting his friends, no longer raised in attack, instead pushing the handcrafted metal/wood contraption down to his waist in defeat as he knelt at the hand of the man before him, the bloodthirsty bastard with no better option than to hurt the man so obviously willing to give up his everything just to be morally just.
He felt Joel’s blade in his back.
Blood blurred his vision.
Shaking, he held his hand to the air, simulating his last desperate attempt to live, for some reason still convinced he could get out of there.
For a second Joel stood still,
willingly grabbing Etho’s hand, holding it,
caressing the second man’s tough skin,
pulling it apart and then together,
the last second of tranquility before whatever happened next,
“Thanks, E.”
Cold hard truth hit Etho harder than any betrayal ever could have.
It wasn’t Joel’s hand in his. It was his blade.
Etho felt his body leave his consciousness, pulling upwards, and the man watched all he had worked for fall to the ground as Joel admired all of it with great pleasure and interest in the worthy materials shining, now on the damp ground.
You’re corrupted! Etho wanted to shout, to scream at the murderous, immoral man. Stop! Have mercy on us! We want to live too! Joel couldn’t hear him, he knew. But still he fell, sobbing, to the ground.
It had been a few days since he cried, so it came as a horrid surprise to find that his ghostly tears were cold, freezing even, so much so that they almost froze over while sliding down his cheeks, pulling himself together and apart, curling up into a little ball trying to find some wort of warmth, of remnants, of something still alive about him.
Yet he was still dead.
There was nothing to be done about it.
There was no magical revival, no happy ending, no second chance, no friends to life through, no more BEST, no more boogeyman, no more magic mountain, no more alliances and contracts and shops and deals and tragedies and battles and no more everything and nothing at the same time. And there would be no more last life, for god’s sake, for everyone’s sake, and if there was, could it ever be the same?
“Hey Etho.”
The voice was behind him. And still despite the fact that he had been waiting to hear that voice for days, he wasn’t sure how to face the tormented man behind him.
Was he supposed to turn away or towards the man he had let down so horrifically? Should he hang his head in shame of failure and of the tears, or let the man see him clearly in the light?
He had no idea, so he did nothing, letting (his friend? his enemy? his lover? his everything?) the other ghost watch as unaccommodating, salty tears crept down his red cheeks, pulling towards the ground he sat on.
“Oh, Etho. Buddy.” Bdubs half-whispered, walking closer as he knelt down to be on Etho’s level. “Buddy.”
Etho sniffled, letting out a quiet sob as he exhaled, leaning into Bdubs’ figure behind him.
Bdubs pulled him into a hug, giving the taller man a pat on the back as his tears picked up speed, the man in moss cupping Etho’s head with a singular hand, wiping the sloppy tears up, letting the taller of the two have both his space and his comfort.
Etho ducked his head, unable to look Bdubs in the eye, cowardly although he had just made the most brave decision of his life.
“Bdubs, I-” I could’ve killed Joel and won for you. “I should’ve killed him while I could.” I should’ve lived for you. You didn’t hesitate to kill someone for me. You wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone for me.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to break Bdubs’ heart anymore than he already had.
“Shhhh, Etho.” Bdubs pointed at the woods, which were, by now, riddled with flame, but through the inferno of heat, he could make out fighting, and, sadly miraculously, Joel’s dead body.
Etho wasn’t sure why he felt guilty for Joel’s death-he hadn’t killed him, in fact, Joel had killed him, but it was still depressing for him; after all he had done to try and convince him to turn away, still he had betrayed his morals, and still he had died.
.
“Etho, you-” Bdubs’ voice cracked, leaving room for Etho to doubt Bdubs himself was over either of their deaths, or anyone else’s. “I’ve got your shield.” Simply, he handed it out to the taller man, and Etho couldn’t comprehend all he had just done.
He didn’t take the shield, though.
Etho couldn’t see one justified solution where he did.
To take it, would be to rob Bdubs of all he could hold on to. And if Bdubs could hold on to anything at all, Etho would hold on to Bdubs for dear fucking life.
“Etho?” Worry crossed the sckrunkly moss man’s face as the gaze of the fortnite gay dance boy turned to rest on him.
A singular sigh managed to escape his lips before his tears started running for the gates.
“I can’t take that, Bdubs. You know I can’t.” It was, somehow, the truth. But still Etho was scared, he was terrified to admit it, so desperate to know true peace yet doing so would encourage the breaking of the short king’s heart.
“Etho.” Bdubs whined, looking both disappointed and still somehow heartwarmingly proud of the man breaking only few feet from him. Setting down the shield, finally he pulled his head up to turn his eyes towards Etho. As they met eyes with a silent gasp, his heart relapsed for only a second- beating quickly and more quickly before returning back to it’s casual rate.
Leaning in, he could see the sparkle in Bdubs’ eyes: One that was there constantly, yet very little did Etho get the chance to truly admire it because most of the time spent together was around others who may not know why their eyes would meet and pause, unwavering, as Etho looked at the other man fondly, soul in hand and heart on fire.
Yet now, and perhaps only now, did he get the chance to see those fiery, passionate eyes up close, as he ran a hand along Bdubs’ shoulder, searching for any hint of emotion beyond those beautiful irises. Casually, comfortably, Bdubs hand slipped around the taller man’s waist as Etho rose a hand to caress his cheek just as the other had done a few minutes ago.
And finally, horrifically, it was silent. Fighting had stopped at a chilling degree, clouds still whirling above, as the whole world seemed to lay to rest if only for a mere second to let the grieving and passionate men have their moment of ultimatum.
It would be scary silent if not for a fine whistling blowing through the trees, coming gently from a weeping, persuading oak tree, the wind chime hanging off of its strongest branch restless and scrawny in the berth of the oncoming thunderstorm. Yet Etho didn’t see it as a bad thing; in a way, it ignited him, leaving him sprawling in a race for the best way to settle this.
Timidly, Etho began to sag to the left, almost dancing with Bdubs through the quiet night as he felt the other man’s breath mix with him, unnecessarily close in the wide open field. The shorter man, taking initiative of Etho’s nerves, leaned into his chest, swaying lightly in the wind like a fragile flower.
Still swaying, Etho took an intrepid step to the right, Bdubs stumbling along, stepping on his feet as Etho moved to the rhythm of the wind chimes, which were growing louder as wind whistles by the pair; the two of them alone in their own special way.
“Nice music we’ve got.” Etho said, half breathing into his ear, half proclaiming the tiny joke to the whole world. Bdubs laughed into Etho’s stomach, the movements causing so much more pressure on Etho for everything.
Slowing to a stop, Etho pulled his right hand off Bdubs’ shoulder, running it through the scrunkly moss man’s hair before using it to trace his jawline, warm rosy skin meeting the pale chill of Etho’s.
His breath hitches in his throat as his gaze moved from his eyes down to his lips-
And oh, those lips.
But still he remained frozen as a raindrop hit his nose, looking back up at Bdubs to find him entranced in the beautiful rain and the sheer madness of their situation.
“Can I- ?” Etho whispered, hand still poised on Bdubs chin, ready to strike.
And with a nod from the shorter man, he leaned in, the other man seemingly ripping his heart apart in the simple touch of their faces; yet somehow, he was undoubtedly whole.
When their lips met, it was as if a rift in time had been opened, and they had foolishly fell into it, doomed to be falling together, forever.
But still it was like honey, warm milk, and the smell of peppermint as they made gingerbread houses. Still it was consolation refracted from grief and the clean slate the both of them were afraid of having. Still it was as if they were one being, one breathing, living thing, as their breaths mixed and their hands met, encapsulating each other into this infinite circle of endless love.
But still it was the sweaty tears running down Etho’s face, the subtle flash of lightning in the distance, the knowledge that they were dead, the knowledge that their friends were dead. And still it was their unworded wish to still be the victor, for anything and everything.
Still it was the bloody, hanging silence, except for those stupid wind chimes taking away from the moment, yet giving it a magic unable to be found with deafening silence. Clink, clink, clink, they mocked, running into each other strategically, shrinking sound into a corner, and letting it out as the short clinkings grew faster and louder, and as Etho felt the wind on his back as he pulled out of the other man’s gentle, timid kiss.
And he wanted to shout it from the rooftops; that he loved, that he was loved, that, over anything else, there was something more special than victory, and there was a world out there unlike any physical world- one full of pure happiness and betrothed moments such as these.
His and Bdubs’ noses brushed against each other as he set his head down on Bdubs’ shoulder, almost collapsing into the dead man as he leaned on him for support, both emotional and physical. Letting out a harsh, sour sob, he exhaled, salty tears running down the little crevices and cracks of his face as he lightly brushed the tears from his face.
“God, Bdubs.” He whispered, although, admittedly, he was more congratulating him than cursing him.
Pulling his head off of Bdubs’ shoulder, he went in for another kiss, burning, intense, and magic, light, soft kisses from the both of them tracing each other’s lips, and then, without thinking, Etho hit home, slipping his tongue into Bdubs’ mouth for a second, and then, when Bdubs’ hand on his back stiffened, he began to tease the moss-coated man’s lower lip with his tongue, as he let his hands wander up to his hair, pulling himself in further with his new grip on his head, both astonished and terrified at the thought of what was happening right now.
Pulling out, he stared at Bdubs, and fuck, something about him just clicked, something in his ruffled hair and his rosy cheeks. Yes, there was definitely something in the way his brown eyes could stare into yours, in the way his cloak barely fit his shoulders, as it fell off his shoulders as a jacket ideally would, in the way only he could pull off. There was something in his hands, the way they gripped the rough fabric of Etho’s vest, the way he could feel the warmth through the thick fabric, and the way the warmth spread to Etho’s cheeks, illuminating his face as he leaned in again.
As their lips met again, lightning struck in the distance, but Bdubs waved it off, turning back to the matter at hand, as their lips met for the third time, and this time, their tongues met in the middle, sending out a sensation into both the men that made them pull together even closer with each millisecond, tasting each other as they reminisced on the greatness of the few euphoric weeks they had had before death.
They were loving, inevitably, up to and through death. It was merely an obstacle; merely a short-term setback before they could love fully and openly again, before they were free.
They had loved; they had loved; so precious and yet so illegal in the eyes of the universe Themselves, so pretty and just and sweet; yet so powerful in the ways of Love, so magical and real and true; the two of them and the two alone were perfect; loving and being loved until time ran out like the numbers on a clock.
“Hey Etho?” Bdubs asked, breaking their lips, still breathing heavy while staring into each other’s eyes.
“What?” Etho mused, his cheeks red with passion, his hair rustled, his jacket unbuttoned to the point where the top of his chest was visible.
“I really love you, man.” And then he smiled, grinned, even, this huge, encompassing smile that filled Etho with a joy he never would’ve imagined.
“To death and back.” He laughed.
“To death and back, buddy.” Bdubs whispered, the sound ringing out in the field, in the world, proclaiming their love through thick and thin; through friends and enemies; through life and death.
And with that, a final tone of lightning struck and cheering broke out from across the map, those damn wind chimes still twirling aimlessly in the distance as the sun peeked out from the clouds, beginning the New Day.