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There is blood soaking into the desert sand as Grian stares blankly at the limp body by his feet.
Scar’s corpse is messy; blood-soaked and wind-bitten. He lies still and breathless, bruises swelling on his grey skin, contorting his frame beyond recognition. His legs must be broken, with the way that they stick out at odd angles, and Grian distantly wonders if that could be bone he sees, poking through the skin.
Blood covers every inch of the ground, seeping into the sand and clumping the grains together until it feels as though he is standing on hot stones.
His arms ache, his knuckles throb. Grian is covered in bruises too, and he ponders if anyone would be able to recognise him with the way that blood drips down into his eyes. There is no one left to ask.
“I-“ he starts, a bitten back whisper which is carried away by howling gales in an instant.
His lips seal shut immediately after. There is no point in wasting his words- there is no one left to hear them.
Instead, Grian stumbles to his left, staggering towards the precipice of the mountain, the craggy cliff just past Pizza’s grave. It’s a little ironic, perhaps, that Pizza received the loveliest burial of them all, but Grian doesn’t let himself dwell on it as he stretches his wings outwards.
The wind threads its fingers between the vanes of his feathers, meticulously carding through every barb. These wings are flightless, they are clipped and grounded and he will never get the chance to use them. He will never be able to touch the skies in the way that he yearns to.
Perhaps this is the next best thing.
Grian takes a deep breath, he peers over his shoulder to look at Scar – still as lifeless and still as he was before. It feels like he should try to say something again, like he should apologise or beg for forgiveness, crowding himself onto Scar’s chest and breaking down; sobbing and finally telling him all of the things that he wishes he had earlier.
He turns back to the cliff.
The desert is vast and empty, sand being swept up in whirling spires as the end grows nearer. Grian knows that he will not get another chance. He knows that he will never see this place again- never see anything again.
He tips forward and lets himself fall from the peak.
There is no one left to see it.
—
Chatter is not something that Grian was expecting to hear, after that, and yet… someone is talking.
He is warm, and uncomfortably comfortable, laid on something soft. Grian stays there for a moment, strategically keeping his eyes shut as he listens to the voice.
“-Yeah, he’s respawned.” The voice says, with an accent similar to his own. “We’re at the mansion, he’s, uh- he’s not woken up yet.” There’s a pause, as if the person is listening to a response. “Yeah, alright. I’ll let you know, thanks, X.”
They fall silent for a moment, before sighing, and then Grian can hear the rustling of fabric.
Where am I? How did I get here? He thinks to himself, fighting to keep as still as possible despite the uncomfortable vulnerability that comes with lying next to someone. What colour am I on, now?
There are no more words – at least, not for the time being. He can’t learn anything like this, answers aren’t just going to fall into his lap, so he needs to act, and he needs to act fast. Before the person realises that he’s not really asleep.
Slowly, Grian begins to open his eyes, peeking through his lashes as the room around him begins to come into focus. It looks grandiose, with high ceilings and expensive furnishings, and there are carved wooden detailings along the coving. It’s almost fanciful, just how luxurious everything looks, and Grian can’t help but wonder just how long the game has been going on for in this place.
More importantly, however: from here Grian can see a man.
He’s tall, with slicked back hair that falls neatly to his shoulders, and there is a full, well-kept moustache above his lip. He looks slightly fake, a weird, cartoonish charm about him that makes Grian question whether he hit his head on the way down from the cliff. It’s only exaggerated when he notices that the man is wearing a three-piece suit, a pressed waistcoat hugging his frame and a silver pocket watch poking out of his breast pocket.
The man sighs, running his knuckles together distractedly, and Grian knows that this is his opportunity. He thinks that he’s asleep, so Grian has the advantage here, and, while he might not have much else (he can’t feel the comforting weight of his sword on his hip, which is increasingly concerning when looking at the fancy room and the fancy man, both of which indicate that he must have some pretty amazing gear), the element of surprise is better than nothing.
He counts to three, breathing steadily to calm his nerves, and then Grian shoots towards the man like a bullet.
The man startles, as expected, but then he tips over backwards in his chair, hitting the floor with an echoing thud. Grian takes it as the opportunity that it is, landing on top of him and pinning him to the ground. He presses his feet into the man’s calves and hooks both of his hands above his head with one clawed fist, holding firm as the man kicks and struggles and yells.
“Oh my, oh my- oh my! Grian- what are you doing! Let- let me go!” He cries, wiggling somewhat pathetically.
Grian’s eyes narrow, his brows knitting together. “How do you know my name?” He demands, tightening his grip for a few seconds.
“Ow- ow, stop! Grian!”
He growls, low and animalistic, baring his teeth and leaning down until he’s in the man’s face. “I said, how do you know my name?”
"Wha- what? You're hurting me- stop-!"
"Answer the fucking question!"
“I don’t- understand!" He writhes and thrashes, stuttering over his words as the last ten seconds barely seem to process in his mind. He seems confused, scared, and Grian shoves him just a little harder until he's crying out in pain, a resounding crack signalling from his shoulder as he's pressed bodily into the ground.
"Answer me!"
"We’re- we’ve known each other for ages, dude, of course I know your name!” He finally responds, and there are tears beginning to pool in the man’s eyes, a few escaping to drip down his temples and into his hair. He looks considerably less put together than he did a few minutes ago.
Good, Grian thinks.
“I don’t know you,” he argues back, putting pressure on the man's broken shoulder and preening at the way that he gasps and yells in pain. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
He doesn't say anything to that, simply blinking wordlessly up at Grian, something dazed and hazy in his gaze. His eyes are steadily reddening as tears track their way down his face, snot and drool mixing together on his lips as he sobs.
Grian simply snarls. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“W-what?" He gasps, his voice wavering and half-present. "We’re at- at your mansion, what on earth are you–“
Grian yells frustratedly, digging his claws into the man’s wrists hard enough to draw blood, “My mansion? Where is our desert?”
The man beneath him does nothing but shake, eyes wide and fearful. “I-I-I don’t know!” He wails, gasping for breath, “I don’t- I don’t know what you mean!”
This man is infuriating, Grian decides. He’s practically useless! What good is all of these riches and shows of wealth if he can’t even defend himself? If he doesn’t even understand the rules of the game?
Grian takes a breath, narrowing his eyes at the injured body beneath his own, and tries not to think about the last time that he had someone underneath him. He hisses, “I’m not scared to knock you all the way down to red if you don’t tell me what I want to hear. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”
He leans closer, tilting forwards until they’re practically chest to chest and Grian is resting his entire body weight on the man's injury. Grian opens his mouth to threaten the man again, but, instead what happens is that the man begins to kick his legs harder, overbalancing Grian until he can kick him in the gut, sending him sprawling.
Grian recovers quickly, jumping to his feet and raising his fists in preparation for a fight- but he’s not quick enough.
The man has pulled himself to his feet, tapping with one thumb at a strange device in his hand as he backs away from Grian with a stumble. He looks fearful, with his other arm hanging limp and unmoving, like he wants to run rather than fight, but Grian won’t let that happen.
Grian dives forward again, forcing the pair of them to collide with a dresser, knocking the intricate vase decorating it onto the floor. It shatters into pieces, sharp and dangerous, and Grian scoops one up as the man recovers from the impact.
“I warned you!” He screeches, pointing the shard at him and thrusting it towards the man’s throat.
He barely has time to scream before Grian is slitting it, blood gushing from the wound and coating them both. He disappears into a puff of smoke shortly after, and, distantly, he wonders what colour that will put the man on. Only yellow, right?
He shakes his head furiously, trying to rid himself of the thoughts.
The device that the man had been holding is on the floor now, dropped in their scuffle, and Grian approaches it cautiously. It looks… somewhat similar to the comms that he’s used to, but it’s far sleeker, far more high-tech. He picks it up with careful hands, sliding his fingers over the buttons on the sides until the screen turns on. It reveals something familiar, a general chat for the world that looks exactly the same as he’s used to it looking.
Curious, he skims over a few of the messages that appear, puzzling over the purpose of this world. The man didn’t seem particularly cautious of death, but, then again, maybe he just wasn’t a very good player.
(For some reason, the word spoon comes to mind.)
<MumboJumbo> Grian is back! :D
<Zedaph> really??
<Keralis> That’s very good news sweetface!
<xisumavoid> Where are you? Are you with him, Mumbo? :-)
<MumboJumbo> We’re at the mansion, I’m with him
<MumboJumbo> He isn’t awake yet though
<MumboJumbo> Has anyone been to check on Scar?
Now that, that makes Grian pause. Scar? These people knew Scar too?
His brows furrow. He keeps reading.
<xisumavoid> Stress popped over briefly, she says that he seems alright!
<xisumavoid> Apparently he was very eager to get back to building after hearing he had been gone, haha! :-)
<Zedaph> lol that seems like scar
<Zedaph> never a second of rest
<Cubfan135> nah we’ll force him into it soon i’m sure
<Cubfan135> gotta get some r&r in him
Why were they talking about Scar like this? Like he was alive, like he was with them? P-perhaps the messages are old?
Everything is so confusing, so unexplainable, and Grian finds himself entertaining the idea that… maybe Scar is alive. It’s stupid. It’s going to do nothing but disappoint him, getting his hopes up and then letting him down, but… what if.
The next message is more recent.
<xisumavoid> Mumbo, call me to update me on Grian’s condition?
And then, as he scrolls down further.
<MumboJumbo> hlep
<MumboJumbo was slain by Grian>
<iskall85> ????
<Cubfan135> what
<Keralis> Mumbo? D:
<xisumavoid> Can I have a few people to the mansion right away please.
<xisumavoid> To figure out what happened.
<xisumavoid> Mumbo, let us know when you can
<iskall85> omw
The messages continue; more sympathy, more confusion. But all that Grian can think is shit.
There are people on the way to his location. People with alliances and gear and weapons, and here he is, with nothing.
He has to go.
He has to- he-
He has to find... Scar?
The next minutes are a blur. Somehow, he manages to find some steaks that the man – Mumbo, apparently – must have left behind. They are stashed in his inventory along with a half-broken iron axe and a chestplate, which he shoves on haphazardly.
He finds a set of grand stairs, running down them as quickly as he dares, wings flared behind him for balance. The building he’s in is massive, far too big to be practical in any meaningful way, and he must spend at least five minutes searching for an exit before he decides to just use the axe to smash a window.
He clambers out of it desperately, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he twists and turns, trying to figure out where to go. He has no idea where he is, there’s not a speck of sand in sight, and Grian’s heart twists when his eyes land upon a jungle.
He must be so far away from home.
There’s no jungle, where he came from.
Despite the way that the sight makes him want to fall to his knees and mourn, Grian knows that the jungle must be the smartest way to go. He can hide in there; he can use the trees as shelter to hide from whoever is searching for him.
Without another second to think about it, he’s running into the trees and dodging the thick underbrush. The jungle is noisy, but not with the sounds of people; there’s birds singing in the trees, dragonflies humming past his ears, leaves being tousled by the wind, cats meowing—
Wait, meowing?
That’s an… undeniably non-jungle noise, and Grian finds himself slowing to a stop as it reaches his ears again. He’s panting, sweat forming on his forehead and under his wings, and he knows that he shouldn’t stop to look for the cat, but he can’t hear the sounds of people looking for him yet so- so he allows himself this.
He pushes clumsily towards the noise, toeing his way through bushes and past vines, around towering trees and under low canopies, until, eventually, he comes across a clearing.
Grian’s eyes widen as he peers around the gorgeous, self-contained village that he has stumbled upon. It’s wonderful, with life and detail in every little corner, and it looks so… magical. There is a giant crystal in the centre, and Grian walks towards it, entranced by the way that it shimmers in the sunlight that filters through the trees. There are villagers around, ones which look almost exactly like those that Impulse had set up in his trading hall, and Grian gives one of them a small wave as he passes.
Suddenly, the culprit that he had been looking for emerges, and Grian startles as he looks down to see a grey and white cat twisting itself around his legs. It looks soft and well cared for, staring up at him kindly. He reaches down after a moment, scratching under its chin as it leans into the touch.
“Hi there, kitty,” he whispers, smiling at it. “Are you-?“
“-Jellie! Jellie, where did you go?”
Grian snaps upright, shoulders pulled to his ears as he looks towards the familiar voice.
No- no, it can’t be…
“Jellie!” The voice calls again, and Grian almost wants to run away, before Scar is walking around a corner and into his vision.
The pair of them freeze, eerily similar to the way that he and Mumbo did earlier, before Scar’s face breaks into a grin.
“Grian!” He cheers. “Nice to see you, dude! Have you spoken to Xisuma yet?”
Xisuma? The name sounds familiar, but Grian just can’t quite place it. He’s too caught off-guard by the fact that Scar doesn’t seem angry to really think about it, only managing to stutter, “W-what?”
Scar waves it off, grinning ever wider as he repeats himself. “Have you spoken to Xisuma? Y’know, to get the rundown on what’s been going on?” He tilts his head to the side contemplatively. “I spoke to Stress, personally, but I know that X has been wanting to talk to you, since you were the last one back.”
“Uh, well- no, I haven’t,” Grian stutters, mind reeling at the words; at the smile. “I didn’t- I- what do you mean back?”
“Oh! That’s right, silly me!” Scar exclaims. “If you haven’t spoken to X, then you probably don’t realise we left, right?”
“I don’t- I don’t know what you mean, Scar.”
“That’s okay! Uh- basically, apparently a bunch of us Hermits vanished for a little bit. Spooky, right?” Scar wiggles his fingers in the air to punctuate the sentence, something just comical enough to fill Grian with a familiar amused exasperation.
He smiles at Scar, probably a little dopily, before replying, “Uh- r-right?”
“You get me?”
Grian finds himself hesitating for a moment, considering how he should respond. He doesn’t have any idea what Scar is talking about – Hermits, vanishing, X; it all seems like a foreign language to him. But… he doesn’t want to let Scar down. He doesn’t want to accidentally hurt him, or upset him, or worry him. He doesn’t want to be the reason for Scar feeling bad ever again.
But, still… he doesn’t know what the other man is talking about, and it’s not like he can just pretend to understand. That wouldn’t be convincing for long.
So, with a sigh and a weary shake of his head, Grian says, “I- no, I don’t get you, Scar. B-but that doesn’t matter right now.” His voice is determined, hardened. “We can’t trust these people,” he says, “We have to go.”
“Huh? What?”
“We can hide out in the jungle,” Grian continues. “They seem pretty bad at taking care of their resources, so we can steal things that they leave behind until we manage to figure out how to get back. I’ve already got some food from the big house up there, and I’m sure we’ll be able to find some weapons! And-“
“-Wha-”
“And we can be us again! W-we can start again, if you want!” He’s still panting, the words filled with a sort of exhausted weight as they spill from his lips in a way that he can’t quell, not even to take a breath. “And, I’m- I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. How about you consider me in your debt again, yeah? As penance for, uh- killing you, again. I’ll keep us safe this time, I promise—"
“–What on earth are you talking about?”
That makes Grian pause, as his eyes slide slowly over the confusion written into every crease of Scar’s expression. He looks well and truly lost, as if he didn’t understand from the first moment that Grian began to speak.
“W-what do you mean?” Grian asks, timidly.
“Is this a new story that you’re working on or something? Like the turf war? Sorry, Gri, but I really don’t understand-“ Scar jumps suddenly, before rooting around in his pocket to pull out another of the devices that Mumbo had dropped when he died. “Mm, sorry. My comm is pinging like crazy, just let me…”
Scar depresses the power button, eyes slowly scanning over something on the screen before he freezes, gaze jumping back to Grian with a new urgency behind them.
“Why did you kill Mumbo!?” He exclaims, something panicked and confused mingling in his tone.
“Wha- that’s not important, Scar!” Grian defends, equally as confused. Why would he get hung up on a small thing like that? He continues, “Mumbo doesn’t matter! What’s important is that we get out of here before his allies arrive!”
Scar is steadily growing pale, and – much to the avian’s horror – he takes a few stumbling steps back. “No- Grian, are you hearing yourself? What are you talking about? Why would you kill him?”
“They’re all threats! We can’t trust them like we can trust each other!” Grian pleads, trying to fight the urge to move forwards. “I don’t- I don’t understand why you’re fighting me on this!”
“Why I’m—Grian, those are our friends! Of course we can trust them!”
“Friends? Scar, we don’t know these people! We don’t know what the game will make them do to us-!”
“-What game?” Scar cries, desperate and afraid.
Grian ignores him, instead asking, “Are you coming with me or not?”
His heart thuds in his ears, his blood pounding as Scar hesitates. He doesn’t know if he can do this without Scar… he doesn’t think that he can stand to be alone again.
Please, he begs to whoever might be listening. Please.
“… No.”
It stings like betrayal. Like Scar has pushed him into the cactus of the ring surrounding them. Like he has taken Grian’s hand and led him gently off of the zenith of the cliff that started all of this.
“No?” He repeats slowly, like he’s tasting it.
“No.”
Scar takes another step back, widening the space between them.
“Right,” Grian says.
Scar says nothing in return. He says nothing as Grian steps away too.
He doesn’t call after him as Grian turns and sprints back into the jungle.
Grian isn’t sure if that’s better than if he did.