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Cleo’s pissed.
She currently sits in their villager hole, fuming. To her left are Bdubs and Tango, sitting on the ground, and to her right is Impulse, sullen after losing his first life.
Now, Cleo would never consider herself a very angry person. She’d consider herself a very calm person, actually! She’s always been very good at letting things roll off her back—or, at least, regulating her emotions before they get out of control. When people get on her nerves, she sends them an eye roll and looks the other direction. Occasionally, she might start arguing with someone. But for the most part, she thinks she’s very calm, and rational, and generally not a very angry person!
But right now? Cleo’s pissed.
How dare he, she thinks. The Red King , that bastard, taking her second life. She wonders what happened to Ren—sweet, kind Ren, who was a bit of a goofball and overly dramatic, but who she now misses more than anything.
At first, she thought the Red King was just another one of Ren’s bits. He was always like that on Hermitcraft: melodramatic, willing to play a character—and good at it, too. But the Red King was more than that. He was cruel, and unwavering, and cold, and Cleo knows that there’s something else going on there, because that’s not Ren. Whatever the Red King is… it’s cruel . Whatever it is, it kills people. It killed her .
Quite frankly, she thinks. She’s done with the Red King’s bullshit.
So, yeah. Cleo’s pissed. Cleo’s pissed, because why wouldn’t she be?
She tries to tamper it down, though, because she can’t do anything about it now. She’s around allies and friends and what not, and if she lets her emotions get out of control, she might lash out and kill, like... Impulse, or someone. And the poor guy doesn’t deserve that. Although she wouldn’t be particularly opposed to taking out some of these dumb villagers if they don’t quiet down...
“I think we can still pull this off,” Impulse says, snapping her out of her thoughts. Her allies seem to be in the middle of a conversation that she's missed entirely. “The trap didn’t get ‘em, but they still think I’m loyal.”
“Right,” Bdubs nods from Cleo’s left. He fiddles with his comm, looking at nothing in particular. A villager hums loudly from the stall behind him.
“Sure,” Tango grumbles. “ Gods , I’m still so angry.”
Impulse paces. “I can’t believe none of that worked. Man! My trap didn’t go off, the fishing rod didn’t work… I would’ve made it out of there alive if it did...”
Cleo’s pocket buzzes as he talks. She pulls her comm out, his muttering fading into the background.
<Etho> impulse we got some of your gear here
“Impulse,” Bdubs says, standing. He holds his comm out to the other man and gestures at the screen. “Go get your gear.”
Tango nods. “Yeah, that would help.”
“Go get your gear,” Cleo echoes. “And if you go red, we’re here.”
Impulse sighs. “Yeah, alright.” He pulls out his own comm from a pocket underneath his armor. After a moment, Cleo looks down to see a new message on her screen.
<impulseSV> OMW
“D’you want any backup?” Bdubs asks, already brandishing his sword. Tango stands up from next to him.
“I don’t think he needs it,” he says, dusting off his pants. “It’d be, like, super dishonorable for them to shoot you while you’re getting your gear.”
Cleo doesn’t point out that she wouldn’t put it past them. At that point, she thinks it’s just the pettiness talking.
“I think I’d better go alone,” says Impulse. He slips his comm back into his pocket, already walking away. “Is there a way out of this place, or…?”
“Yeah, go alone,” Cleo says, at the same time Bdubs says, “Yes, we built one!”
“Right,” Impulse chuckles. He makes his way through the iron door and out of the noisy villager room. Cleo follows, only to reach a chest on the other side; she thinks she stashed a Sharpness I sword in there a bit ago. Her back is to the makeshift exit as she unlatches it, so she doesn’t see him leaving so much as hear him.
“I’ll be right back!” Impulse calls. His footsteps lead away and through the hastily dug tunnel. They probably should have dug something better, Cleo thinks, but he seems to have an easy enough time getting out.
Cleo is just beginning to rummage through the chest for her sword when she hears hurried footsteps back in her direction, accompanied by Impulse’s voice, shouting, “Nope, they’re coming here!”
And that’s when things escalate.
-
They spot the Red Army before the Red Army spots them. That gives them the element of surprise, which is lucky, but Cleo doesn’t think that luck will last.
“There’s people firing down at them,” says Impulse. The four of them are above ground now, surveying the situation from afar. He’s right–there seems to be some commotion over there. She can see arrows flying back and forth, red banners held high above soldier’s heads. It looks like it’s happening right outside the crastle…
“They were just in my crastle!” Bdubs fumes. He sprints away from the rest of them, towards the Red Army, screaming something incoherent, and… well, there goes their element of surprise.
… But, Cleo thinks. It’s also an opportunity.
“I have to follow him, don’t I?” She sighs, weaving fake indignance into it. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to follow him.” It’s convincing enough. In reality, though, she’s already eying up the Red King from afar.
Tango laughs. “You do,” he says, unsheathing his sword. “We do.”
Cleo’s already on her way over. She doesn’t bother to see who follows.
She walks with a ferver. Her shoes crunch on grass, then on stone, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Bloodlust builds tunnels around her vision, harrowing in on her goal–on the Red King. Once she’s over the hill, the rest of the Red Army comes into full view, their leader standing in the middle, and Cleo sees red.
“Hi!” She chirps in a mockingly happy tone. Martyn and Skizz both turn to look at her, but she pays no mind.
Cleo keeps moving towards her target, like a predator sneaking up on its prey. Something in her makes her want to halt, to take a moment to consider , but those thoughts are quickly shoved away in favor of the instinct to rid .
(She doesn’t question that instinct. Maybe she would if she remembered that she was on her red life.)
Before she knows it, she’s right behind the Red King, and a worn iron sword sits in her grip.
Skizz is the only one to notice her. He backs away, a fearful expression on his face, but doesn’t alert anyone otherwise. Good.
The Red King stands less than a foot away. His back is turned to her. So, she does the sensible thing, and raises her sword to stab him in it.
It’s not a deep cut. She swings again. It’s only til the second hit that everyone gasps.
“Cleo!” Someone shouts. Another yells, “Woah!” She doesn’t pay any attention to who’s talking, though, only to the task at hand.
When the Red King turns around, his expression is pained and fearful. “Oh, gods,” he grimaces, attempting to run away. It makes something in Cleo grin.
“Don’t touch my king!” bellows Martyn, already charging at her from the right. He swings his sword at her side—she dodges, just barely. She slashes again at the king, splitting some of the robes on his back. She grins wider.
As Cleo charges at him again, an arrow passes by her head. She dodges by the skin of her teeth. Another arrow comes near her legs, and another barely misses her torso from the opposite direction, but she still storms towards the Red King, sword in hand.
Martyn swings at her again, leaving a dent in her shabby armor. And, oh, isn’t it funny? Because even knowing that she’s being hunted—by an army, no less—Cleo doesn’t stop. She keeps running after the Red King, even as arrows fly towards her, because bloodlust blots her vision, and every time her sword catches on his skin feels more satisfying than the last.
As she winds back for another swing, though, an arrow hits her on her side. Flames begin to spread from it, licking over her torso. Damn flame bow. She swaps her sword out for some water and dumps it on herself.
“Save me, Hand!” The Red King calls. When she looks back to him, Martyn stands between them.
He draws back his bow for another shot, shouting something at her. She dodges to the right.
Cleo turns to attack the king again–but in the blink of an eye, he’s been covered by his army. They’ve rallied around him, weapons held high and pointed right at her.
She blinks. One look tells her that they wield swords far better than hers, with armor enchanted beyond her wildest dreams. Their king sits behind them, obviously healing. On the other hand, she estimates that she’s on five hearts.
And, well. Who’s to blame her if she runs the other way then?
People shout. Footsteps soon pad the ground behind Cleo, chasing after her, but she doesn’t care—she needs to get away . She keeps her feet steady and her eyes on the horizon, heart now thudding with both the fear of the chase and the thrill of the bloodlust. The adrenaline is the only thing that keeps her moving.
An arrow hits the ground near her feet, and she almost trips on it. She rights herself as more come flying.
She’s not far enough when another flame arrow hits her on the shoulder. She winces—that had to take a lot of hearts, right? The flames spread quickly across her shoulder blades, but she keeps running.
Someone’s still chasing her, she realizes. Their footsteps are loud behind her, the clink of their armor apparent. Another arrow comes toward her head—it misses, just barely.
She spares a look behind herself, and is met with Skizzleman, eyes wide and red, just as she assumes her own look. He raises his sword above his head to strike, but she keeps on running anyway, her shoes catching on mud and grass and water and her mind running on a hope and a prayer.
But it’s futile—a blinding pain erupts down her back, the telltale feel of a sword attack. She yelps. And as Skizz’s blade digs in further, splitting skin open, and she screams something blood-curdling, eyes popping at the too-late clarity and the realization that she’s dying and she’s a red name and she has no lives left —
Cleo realizes that, just maybe, she underestimated who she was messing with.
But as her body drops to the grass, she doesn’t regret a thing.