Work Text:
It's a new life, a new series on a new world. They're used to the song and dance now— when Grian calls, they reply. It takes time to coordinate everything and set it all up, to weave the lines of code in the fabric of the universe that surrounds them. Martyn sees familiar faces. They're all his friends— some distant allies, some distant enemies, some both. They play different roles in different lives. They live. They die. They move on.
The clock starts ticking. They have 24 hours to live. Three, two, one, zero.
Martyn's a survivor. He's always been one.
He likes quick paths, he likes knowing everything, he likes cutting corners and being smart. Everything he does is calculated, he’s shifty and suspicious even of his closest allies, and he’s quick to leap into action— too quick, in fact.
Martyn likes to think he's learned from his mistakes, but maybe he hasn't. Still, he dutifully collects his resources, banters with friends, same old, same old. Skizz gets killed once, then twice, and there are roaring demands for a new Boogey reroll. There's a crowd of people surrounding a poor Skizz, and the odds do not look good
Of course, Martyn gets chosen as the killer.
(It's something he's good at, isn't it? People trust him to kill them. The swing of an axe, the cold winter wind, a promise forged in blood—)
Martyn's a survivor. But he's also not heartless.
He's tempted, honestly tempted, in the way he was back when he was someone's Hand. But he can't do that to Skizz, can't make him lose more time than he already has.
Martyn goes around searching the four corners of the world like he does, but he isn't sure if he has anyone to call home. He meets a bunch of people, runs towards a burning tower (when has he done that before?), accidentally burns someone's cow. It’s great, until he realizes he has to kill someone to cure himself.
… It’s a lonely job, being a killer.
(It didn't use to be lonely. Martyn remembers cold fingers pressing the handle of an axe in his hand, a sincere plea, a reverent bow of a head. He swings. He kills. Instead of chopping off a connection, a new one is born.)
The TNT fails, and Martyn rushes away to find someone. He does get the kill, but he ends up fleeing for his life. (He remembers diving into the cool river to escape from mobs, and then he has flashbacks of salmon and a familiar smirk and an instinctive gasp of “Oh. Oh”, but none of that is here.)
Martyn's a survivor, he thinks, as he pushes himself out of the river, water dripping down his clothes, much like the solemn red-eyed figure he saw at a pool a lifetime ago. When Martyn steps on the riverbank, he doesn't see the salmon fisherman, doesn't inexplicably pass him a handful of netherwart. The water isn't to soothe the flames on his clothes, or to put out self-inflicted fire, and Martyn's heart isn't burning for someone else.
And that's for the better, isn't it? There's no one to distract him, no one to keep an eye on, no one to sacrifice for. No one to soften his heart, no one to be his vulnerability, no one to love. It's better this way. Maybe his survivalist instincts will take over. Maybe Martyn will actually win this time.
Martyn's a survivor. Perhaps it sounds heartless, but Martyn thinks he might be better off alone.
(In his defense, the first time he died because he was trying to protect the king and their kingdom. He remembers crying out for his king. The splatter of blood. The horror. The rage. It was real. It was real to him.)
(In his defense, the second time he tried not to get to attached, but they end up gravitating towards each other anyway. He was favoured by the moon— they were favoured by the moon. Their figures melted together in the shadows. But at last they had to fight to the death. What use is it, getting attached, when only one person is allowed to win?)
(In his defense, the third time he really did feel alone and he was having a jolly old time traveling solo. Him and his soulbound, they were both survivalists anyway. But then Martyn saw him, they were both yellow and brokenhearted and they both took damage at the same time from their soulbounds, it hurt, and Martyn understood. It was dangerous. Frivolous. Taboo. And Martyn wanted to survive.)
This time, Martyn wants to be smart. He knows people will inevitably form groups, some might turn on each other, and they'll all be desperately fighting against the inevitability of death. Martyn's smart. He's a realist. He knows what will happen.
And for the first time, Martyn's free. No fate pulling him and some old dog together, no moon orchestrating their meetings, no secret soulmates or whatever. He's free! He can do this all on his own, just like how he planned it at the start ("-going across the land searching the four corners of this world, I learned there was nothing in this world for me, nothing but walls, corners, edges."). He's free, just like how it was meant to be.
Martyn's a survivor.
(Martyn opens the list of members. It's time to edit the list for this new world. Grian's probably sending it out. Maybe Martyn spaces out for a second. Maybe it's a Freudian slip. Maybe Martyn's subconsciously longing for someone. Maybe he's still stuck in the past— red banners, purple cloaks, yellow sunglasses. Maybe Martyn misses him. Just maybe.)
And yet.