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“They kicked me out.”
Scar chuckles. “Did you deserve it?”
Normally, Jimmy would sputter, protest, laugh it off. Instead, Jimmy stares him in the eye, a gash above his left eyebrow leaving a trail of dried blood down his temple.
Scar’s not ashamed to admit it: he finds himself a tiny bit terrified in this moment. Still, he holds his cool. He’s a businessman, after all. It wouldn’t reflect well on him if he lost it every time a customer acted slightly different than normal.
“Right. Moving on. I suppose you want a life, huh? Something to barter with to get back? I get that—”
“No.”
“N-no?”
“No. I don’t want a life, Scar. Not anymore.”
Scar doesn’t know what that means. Scar doesn’t want to know what that means. Maybe Jimmy wants a crystal? A friendship crystal! That has to be it!
“Well, how about a look at my wares!” Scar suggests. He opens up the door to the basement. Yes, his basement is a little shady. Maybe one day he’ll need it for a Boogey kill, who knows? Until then, he really likes the vibes.
Jimmy doesn’t move.
Scar thinks about poking him. Before he can reach out, though, Jimmy speaks, his words measured carefully as if he’s afraid he’s going to say the wrong thing.
“I don’t want any crystals. I don’t want any lives.”
“Wh-what do you want, then… ?”
Scar doesn’t like it at all when a nervous grin unfurls on Jimmy’s face. The man fidgets a bit with his gloves, then meets his eyes.
“I want revenge.”
-
Scar is building the altar while Jimmy pores over what he can only describe as ancient texts—and legit ones too, not the ones that he’s selling (bind together some books, douse them in lemon juice, throw them in the furnace for a few minutes, and voila! cool old books). But Jimmy, brows furrowed, is actually reading a book that is so old and worn the words are barely recognizable as English.
“Can you even read that?” asks Scar, taking a short break to peer over Jimmy’s shoulder. “Can you even read?”
Jimmy snorts, cheeks coloring red. “Yes—yes I can read. And it’s a little rough, but we’re getting there. I think as long as there are pictures on each page, I’m good.”
“Where did you get these anyway?”
“Ren’s private library. He was less than happy to let me have them, but I promised him some stuff.”
“Oh yeah?” The things Scar could get from Ren’s library… . “What kind of stuff?”
Jimmy smiles that nervous (but deadly) smile again. Scar can’t help a shiver running down his spine.
“Stuff that, y’know, we’ll get after midnight.”
Scar takes that as a hint, and gets back to building. He doesn’t know why Jimmy can’t ask Ren to do this in the first place, but he can bet that Ren isn’t at all interested. Not after what happened last time. Still, why not anyone else? Why not a Red?
“Why me?” he asks, setting down his chisel. Jimmy sighs and sets the book down.
“Well, Scar, honestly, it’s only you because of a few reasons. The most important is the land.”
Scar quirks an eyebrow.
“This is the place where the enchanting table is,” Jimmy explains. “Magic stuff is already—uh, what word did it use—imbued in the earth. For it to work anywhere else, I’d have to leave the table there for a while. I don’t have that sort of time, not when I could go Red at any minute. And another reason it’s you is because you’re always open to make a deal.”
“So is Joel,” Scar points out. “For the right price, he’ll kill anyone.”
“Right, but Joel is Red. I need a Green Life. You know?”
Scar doesn’t know. But he has to accept that this is magic far older than he or Jimmy or anyone else on the server, with the possible exception of Grian. There are other immortal beings on the server—Scott, for one, but he’s young for an immortal, and Scar’s always had his suspicions about Martyn, no matter what the man says—but none are as … eternal as Grian. Still, the last time magic like this was performed, Grian hadn’t seemed to have much of a clue as to what it was.
“Jimmy, I hate to ask this, but—” Scar pauses, checks over his work. He thinks he’s finished, actually. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay as the Red King? He didn’t like you much last time, and we both know how you are about … surviving.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jimmy laughs. “Ren said it shouldn’t carry over any hard feelings or anything. And that’s why I’m doing it, so that I’ll survive longer. I’m—I’m on my own, now.”
Scar doesn’t mention that if Jimmy had just asked, he probably would have teamed up with him. Magical Mountain is lonely when your only neighbor won’t even talk to you. He would love an ally, one who didn’t want anything back—a friend.
“What do I get out of this?” he says instead, because above all, he is a businessman. Jimmy would not give him a tactical advantage as a housemate. The Red King as an ally, though? That could be very lucrative indeed.
“Oh, I suppose you just tell me—uh, him? us—what you want. Who you want us to kill.”
“Wait, will you still be you or will it all be him?”
Jimmy frowns, cocks his head. “I think it’ll be some sort of—co-consciousness? Does that make sense? Or, at least, I’ll have some sort of influence or awareness. ‘Cause like, Ren was still there, just maybe not all the time? I don’t really know, though. Ren didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I can imagine. I’m done, by the way.”
Jimmy hops up, something Scar hadn’t noticed falling out of his lap. A diamond axe.
“Is that… ?”
Jimmy follows his gaze and laughs a little. “No, just made it myself yesterday. Mind sharpening it a bit while I do the runes?”
“Fancy,” says Scar, gingerly picking up the axe. The words Red Winter is Coming are carved messily into the handle. He’ll have to get used to handling it, he supposes. He’s going to be using it tonight.
-
When Scar approaches the altar, Jimmy is already there, unloading his pockets into a chest. He doesn’t know what he expected—for Jimmy to be dressed regally, perhaps? But he just looks like Jimmy, with the notable addition of his MCC crown. Stupid Captain America costume and everything.
Jimmy drops a few more items into the chest, then turns. He’s pale—very pale, swallowing compulsively as he sends Scar a weak grin. Scar can’t imagine that he’s looking much better. It’s not that he’s particularly torn up over killing Jimmy, he’s just … concerned. That’s it, concerned. He’s not scared, not exactly worried, but concerned about unleashing the Red King again. After all, he killed the guy last time. What if the Red King is out for revenge as well?
“Are you sure you—” Scar begins, but Jimmy nods furiously.
“Yes. I need this. Did you get the chalk?”
Scar holds it up—normal chalk, standard Southlands chalk (stolen, of course). Jimmy fumbles it when Scar drops it in his hand, nearly letting it crack on the ground. He manages to catch it just in time, letting out a short, much too high chuckle. “Right. I’ll get to drawing these. It’ll be a second, so take your time doing—whatever you need to do, yeah?”
“No problem! Just let me know if there’s anything you need, all righty?”
The other man nods, already focused on the tome in his right hand. He fiddles with the chalk in his left for a moment, then kneels and sets to work around the rim of the altar.
Scar twiddles his thumbs for a moment, then wanders back inside. Watching Jimmy painstakingly draw out complex runes is not his idea of a good time.
He doesn’t get much done, though. There’s plenty he could be doing—polishing his crystals, writing out contracts, pricing his new items. Yet he doesn’t do any of those things, just sits behind his desk and runs his fingers along the handle of the Red Winter axe.
He can already feel something in the air—a heaviness, a darkness.
(Ren, standing on his wall, gazes forlornly, anxiously, at the clouds gathering over Magical Mountain far in the distance.)
(Etho twitches, turns to Bdubs only to find his partner looking to catch his eye too. They stare at each other, something dawning in their eyes.)
(Scott, tending to some midnight gardening, stands straight up and sniffs the air. Something akin to dread fills his heart, yet he isn’t quite sure why.)
(Grian looks, and Grian sees. His skin goes clammy—not with fear. Not for himself.)
(Cleo wakes up, draws her blankets closer around herself. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she knows it isn’t good.)
(Skizz and Tango feel sudden waves of anticipation and anxiety, one after the other. They don’t look at each other, but privately wonder if the other felt the same.)
(Impulse drops the candle that he’s lighting as a sudden chill sweeps over him. The candle sputters out.)
(Martyn, stargazing with Mumbo on the Southlands wall, staggers to his feet. “No,” he gasps, staring in the direction of Magical Mountain. He knows this feeling.)
(BigB—Terry, asleep, stirs as his dreams suddenly turn red.)
(Joel, alone in his bedroom, gathers his dogs closer. He can’t help but feel he’ll need them in the coming days.)
(Lizzie, Mumbo, and Pearl feel a wave of cold blanket the air. They wonder what brought this sudden frost. One look at their respective companions tells them that something is wrong.)
(Jimmy, the only sound being the shriek of the chalk, hears whispers. Whispers of death, of blood, of revenge. He shudders, but does not halt.)
Scar stares into his desk, memories of the Red King flickering through his mind. He only looks up when a shadow falls over his face.
“It’s ready,” Jimmy says, voice quiet. Scar stretches, then stands, shooting Jimmy a very believable grin. He hopes.
“Let’s go, your majesty!”
Jimmy clearly restrains himself from wincing, licking his lips nervously. “Right. Um. Let’s go, then.”
For once, Scar has nothing to say as they trudge from his little wizard tower to the altar out back. The axe makes a heavy weight on his shoulder.
Jimmy stares at the chalk runes circling the altar, chewing on his lip, adam’s apple bobbing. Scar claps a hand on his back, grips his shoulder.
“Last chance to back out!”
He means it as mostly a joke, but Jimmy looks up at him, eyes wide. Before Scar can think about that too much, though, his eyes harden, mouth curving into a quivering frown.
Without a word, Jimmy steps over the rune circle and onto the altar. Scar shivers as power beats outward. Jimmy’s certainly done those right, if nothing else.
He steps over as well, staggering as the magic washes over him. That’s—that’s intense. That’s the most magic he’s ever felt, and he’s a wizard who lives somewhere called Magical Mountain.
Within the circle of runes, the air is icy. Jimmy is shivering, teeth chattering as he makes a loop around the altar, presumably checking that everything is in place. They’re both silent, so silent that Scar starts to get anxious.
“Ready to be sacrificed to a blood god?” he asks jovially. If possible, Jimmy goes paler. That certainly did nothing to defuse the situation. “Not that—not that it’s a bad thing, sacrifices and blood gods. It’s a first for this server! You’re making history. Imagine how surprised the new folks will be!”
Jimmy swallows. “Right,” he says, fiddling with his gloves. “Um. Anyway, I think—are you ready?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Right. I think I need to be kneel—er, kneeling, in—in the middle here, yeah? So—and you need to properly—um, decapitate me. Like, clean off. Off with his head and all that.”
Jimmy looks like he’s about to be sick all over his brand new altar. Scar should’ve grabbed a bucket or something. Does he still have time to go grab one?
Jimmy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then lowers himself to his knees at the center of the altar. He takes another breath there, then looks up at Scar.
“I don’t think there’s any words I have to say,” he whispers. Scar steps closer, hefting the axe off his shoulder. “I think you just … do it.”
“Okay.”
Jimmy looks so … pitiful, arms hugged around his chest, shivering right out of his skin. His nose and the tips of his ears are pink, his perfectly-coiffed hair slightly limp under his too-big crown. He’s out of place, surrounded by pulsing runes, stars glaring down in place of the new moon. Jimmy’s too innocent for this.
But.
Scar really wants the Red King at his bidding.
“I’ll try to make it quick—”
“Scar, please—”
He raises the axe, brushing it against Jimmy’s neck as the man bows his head—he needs to check to make sure he’s swinging down in the right place! Too bad his hand-eye coordination has never been great.
“And painless—”
“Please—”
“Oops—”
The axe sinks into Jimmy’s shoulder blade. Jimmy lets out a bloodcurdling scream, one that echoes down the mountainside.
(Ren, standing on his wall, hears the faint refrains of Jimmy’s pain. He quakes, then scrambles down and into his tower. He flees—he doesn’t want any piece of this, wants plausible deniability. Most of all, he wants to hide his face under his blankets and escape the chill.)
(Scott drops his shears as his heart stops. He knows that cry, has never heard it quite so agonizing, has never heard Jimmy in such pain. He’s frozen, though, cannot bring himself to move closer, as he desperately hopes that Jimmy will escape whatever is killing him.)
(Martyn is already in the forest when he hears the scream, having scaled down the wall as soon as he felt off. Jimmy—is Jimmy the first victim? He knows he shouldn’t have kicked him out—Jimmy had done something terrible, but he can’t survive on his own. He has to find him, before it all goes wrong—)
(Jimmy is dying, it hurts so much, it missed, it can’t miss he’s going to die and then he’ll be on Red and not the King because it doesn’t work without being beheaded and he’s going to die here, a failed sacrifice on an altar for a god of vengeance and everyone will know his intentions and gods, it hurts—)
Scar yanks the axe out of Jimmy’s back with some difficulty—the man screams again—then swings down hard, this time hitting his mark. Blood spurts everywhere, all over Scar, and he cries out too—he’s just—he—
SolidarityGaming was slain by GoodTimeWithScar using [RED WINTER IS COMING]
Thunder cracks.
Scar watches, shocked, as Jimmy’s decapitated head rolls to a stop at the edge of the runes. His body collapses, blood still flying all over the place, then slowly fades. The head fades seconds later, leaving behind a bloodsoaked MCC crown.
The body fades, but the blood remains splattered all over Scar and the axe and the altar. Scar slowly raises one red hand to his face, trying to wipe it from his eyes. It’s quite literally a bloodbath. He spits; blood drips from his lips.
His communicator buzzes, once, twice, three times. It doesn’t stop. He doesn’t check it. He just stands there, axe held loosely in one hand until it completely slips free and falls to the altar. He’s not sure how to feel—afraid? Excited? Horrified at what he’s just done?
After a moment, he numbly unclips his communicator from the rope around his waist and checks it.
Smajor1995: Oh no.
Grian: oh timmy
impulseSV: WHAT
bigbst4tz2: WHAT?
ZombieCleo: Uh oh
MumboJumbo: boogey?
InTheLittleWood: no no no no no no
LDShadowLady: boogeyman scar?
Etho: That’s not good
Renthedog: I’m so sorry
Smajor1995: Oh no oh no
Etho: Bdubs come home
InTheLittleWood: Southlanders get inside
InTheLittleWood: not you Grian
Smallishbeans: still taking hits! five diamonds for normal person ten for red king
Grian: I figured
MumboJumbo: scar? martyn? what’s happening??
Scar clicks it off and clips it back onto his rope belt, ignoring it as it continues to buzz. Someone will explain it to the newcomers. He can’t right now, not as mist gathers on the mountaintop. The blood is turning hard on the altar—not drying. Freezing. The blood is freezing.
Scar’s sweat is cold as it runs down his temple. He licks his lips, spits out more blood. Jimmy should’ve respawned in the wizard tower. What could be taking him so long?
Then, through the mist, a shadow appears. It grows nearer, and nearer, features slowly becoming discernable, until the runes suddenly shimmer and the Red King steps onto the altar, flurries of sudden snow swirling around him.
Jimmy’s blond hair, once gelled up, hangs down past his chin and over one side of his face, a few braids mixed into the unbrushed mass. He stands taller, prouder, a tilt to his chin that had never been there before. The white S on his chest has become a dirty grey, the rest of his Captain America suit a desaturated black but for his red gloves. A grey fur cloak is clasped around his neck, ratted and torn in places—there’s a hole so large in one spot that his entire shoulder is through it.
His eyes are red, skin a sickly grey. When he sees Scar, his mouth pulls into an unnatural grin. His teeth are uncomfortably sharp.
“Ah, the filthy desert hippie. Are you me hand this time?”
The voice isn’t the same as it was last time. It sounds like Jimmy, Jimmy but with an accent that he’s never known. Jimmy but with a rumble. Jimmy but echoing deeper. The Red King, but put through a Jimmy filter.
“Is—is Jimmy still there?” Scar asks, not sure if he’s being rude or not. The Red King chuckles.
“Yes, I’m still here,” he says, and with this his words are much more Jimmy, not near as accented as before. “I remember everything, don’t worry. But now for your deal.”
“Right! Right, my deal.”
His communicator is still buzzing. Scar smiles nervously as the King turns from him, red eyes darting around the altar.
“I would like,” says Scar, dragging it out as he relishes the words, “you … to kill Bdubs. Perma-kill, of course.”
Jimmy—the Red King—laughs. “Etho has wronged you one too many times, has he, Hand?”
“I—I’m not the—yeah, yeah he has.” Scar will handle the whole Hand thing later. Right now is time for revenge. “Think you can do that?”
The Red King stoops, picks up the bloodstained crown and straightens, setting it onto his own head, just slightly off-set. “Of course, me laddie. After all—your Red King has risen!”
Scar can’t help but feel uneasy. Maybe this isn’t his best business venture. It’s too late now.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Scar shoulders the Red Winter axe and grins.