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You are a Red name.
Kill everyone who is not also a Red name.
The first thing Lops felt as he woke up from the depths of respawn, even before his sight returned, was bloodlust.
It was buried underneath the residual panic and the numbness of his hands that had been clutching the bucket of lava, but it was like... it was like a deep instinctual pull, like a thread being pulled on, towards something, something he instinctively knew was a person, and the desire to maim. And it was different to the Curse - the Curse had been jittery, shaky, panicked; this was calculated and clean.
He ignored it though. There were other things to focus on - like getting his stuff back.
By the next session, the bloodlust had become a lot more noticeable. Lops' heart beat a fast pattern, thump thump thump thump, and constantly there was a deep-seated feeling of needing to do something.
There was no one around, but he checked his traps anyway. It made the feeling lessen slightly, and if the trap had worked on Meat and Fritz, then it could work on others too.
As the session progressed, the bloodlust grew stronger. It was almost like an elastic band stretched taut, ready to snap at any time. At the wedding he'd resisted it, but now, despite the people surrounding him being his allies... the urge was there. Constantly thoughts poked into his brain unwillingly, you should knock them off, you should draw your sword on them, you should, you should, you should-
No. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that.
The elastic band stretched further.
It was going to come to something eventually.
They'd all gone to the LoveWins base, just for fun - of course, they didn't have any way to know that most of LoveWins had gone to conquer the End.
Except for one.
Beef was inside the house, and Lops' mind flashed back to those final seconds before turning red, Beef's sword dealing the killing blow.
The taut elastic band, stretched to its limit, snapped.
As Lops zeroed in on Beef as it walked away, everything else faded away - his allies, his surroundings, everything except his target. Blood rushed in his ears, fingers barely feeling the bowstring that was suddenly pulled tight by his cheek. He was entirely silent, barely even breathing as he aimed for the receding target.
One arrow missed.
Two arrows missed.
Three arrows missed.
And Beef escaped, it and his horse unharmed.
The tension drained from Lops' shoulders, bow lowered to his side.
Next time, he reassured himself.
The elastic band was stretched once more.