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Chapter Text

PURGATORY ISLANDS

TEAM BOLAS - RED

LEADER • Philza Minecraft

Baghera Jones

Jaiden Anemaysions

Cellbit Guapo

Charlie Slimecicle-Elbackflipo

Foolish Jee

Vegetta Gaymer

Willy Rex

German Dia

Felipe de Trãs (Felps)

Wilbur Soot-Minecraft

Carre “The Carrier” Krafft

TEAM SOULFIRE - BLUE

LEADER • Tobias Underscore (Tubbo)

Pac Teedubbleyew

Bad Halo

Ay Pierre

Tina Kitten

Niki Ahchu

Luzu & Arin Vlogs

Mariana Elbackflipo

Lenay Exoh-Dia

Missa Sinfonia

Rivers Gigi

Pol Ispol

TEAM NINJAS - GREEN

LEADER • Etoiles Kewcumber

Fit Emcee

Alexis Quackity

Roier Guapo

Iron Mouse

Baji Gabi

Mike Thelink

Forever “Player” Jones

Maximus Threeblog

Kameto Sasuke

Rubius

Antoine Daniel

Chapter Text

   Phil knew he was going to crack at some point. But three days in? He thought he could deal at least a little longer.

   But he couldn’t. The air was a thick, acrid red fog that rolled around every time they thought it had gone. The gas mask was uncomfortably tight, itching and scraping against his skin where the suctioned metal ends met Phil’s face. His modest apron had long since ripped, the colorful ribbons lost to the wind.

   Baghera told him his face was getting longer.

   His reflection in the water shifted too much for Phil to back that up.

   Three days on the Purgatory Islands, and Phil is already cracking. He’s built up walls around the base of a hill and collapsed. He couldn’t will himself to move any longer, and he was certain he would start hissing like a wild animal if anyone tried to talk to him in this state.

   If this was what three days did to a man, what would two weeks be like?

   Phil lowered his face into his hands, ripping off the gas mask and throwing it down at his feet. It was a small gesture of frustration—at the Federation, at the weird eye dude, at the stupid islands. At the other teams, too.

   Phil was the leader of Bolas Rojas. He had led his team to two victories by looking their friends in the eyes and slaughtering them in hot blood. They turned on each other too quickly. The delicately spun bond of companionship built on Quesadilla Island was torn the minute a challenge was put before them.

   Phil supposed it was the cost of love. Love made you greedy, and the islanders loved their eggs more than anything. This was their chance to get them back, and in Phil’s case, this was his chance to see Chayanne swing a sword again. This was Phil’s chance to reunite Tallulah with her father. For that, Phil would conquer the world.

   And it seemed like, in some twisted way, that was what The Observer wanted them to do. Throw aside their morals for their greed.

   Phil has come to find he is a greedy man.

   He took a breath in for eight seconds. Held for four. Breathed out for eight.

   The air tasted like sawdust and smoke—a cold reminder that Phil was further away from home than he had been in a long time.

   “Right,” he said abruptly, standing up. “Let’s get to work.” A crow flew down to perch on the edge of the wall, head tilting back and forth.

   Phil huffed and blew a strand of hair out of his face, ignoring Brian as he strode over to a chest hidden in the wall. He pulled out a fresh set of armor and peeled his current set off. The invisible metal pulsed purple when his fingers skimmed it, each piece turning opaque after Phil removed them. 

   He tossed the set into the chest and geared up with the new one. The set was caked in scuffed maroon paint, matching the makeshift warpaint on Phil’s face. This was one of the sets the Bolas’ used during the day-to-day.

   Brian squawked from his perch.

   “I know, I know,” Phil grumbled as he tightened the leather straps of the breastplate around his chest. His gaze flitted to the headset, abandoned by his gas mask. Brian was right—his team might need help or could be in danger. But he also felt… repulsed at the thought of speaking to anyone when his throat already felt hoarse after yelling for hours through the night.

   Brian squawked again, this time an irritated edge to it. Phil elected to ignore the passerine and instead strapped his sword to his belt.

   “Look, if it’ll make you shut up, I’ll bring the headset with me,” Phil decided, glaring up at the bird while he tested the armor straps one last time. Brian simply flapped his wings and bounded off into the sky in the direction of the Bolas base. Phil rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed the headset and gas mask from the ground.

   Putting on the mask and turning the channel to aux in his ear, Phil knocked down a chunk of wall with his pickaxe, stepping out into the island. He unsheathed his sword and jammed the pick into its place on his belt, speeding up as he brushed through tall savanna grass.

   He slaughtered pigs and patrolled beaches, roaming the island and stepping into long-forgotten mines from the first day in Purgatory. Phil mined as much as he could, and chucked the rest in a chest or the refrigerator for later. He was losing it, and needed to clear his head.

   Phil tried not to forget what he was doing this for. Chayanne, Tallulah. Rámon, Pomme, Dapper, Richarlyson, Leonarda. Phil always knew he was willing to go extremely far to get the eggs back, but this…  

   Phil couldn’t think about that right now. He had to focus on the positives of this.

   If any team won, some of the eggs would come back. (But what would happen to the others? The Observer didn’t specify, and that made Phil worried. But he pushed that thought aside.) At least some of them would be safe. They would get to see their families again, and if they had any information, they’d all be one step closer to finding who did this to them in the first place.

   Phil plodded along the beach, tattered boots leaving light imprints in the sand. He reached up to hover over his headset. He should check in on his team. He’s being an irresponsible leader. Phil turned the headset to the Bolas channel.

    “Phil?!” came Charlie’s shout, wobbly over the static.

   Phil pursed his lips, not breaking his stride. “Hey, guys. I’m on the beach down south getting materials. What’s up?”

    “Where have you been?!” yelled Cellbit, disregarding his question. “You went radio silent all of a sudden!”

   “Yeah,” said Baghera. “We thought Bad had gotten you!”

   “Don’t bring up that moron,” Charlie growled.

   The flint in Phil’s chest sparked in surprise. “Were you attacked?”

    “No,” Cellbit assured. “It was just an example. So, come on, what’ve you gathered?” A twinge of frustration lingered in their tone, and Phil frowned.

   “I tossed some pork into a fridge and got plenty of cobble for this stupid Egg War thing.” Phil clenched his fist. “I don’t know what they want from us with this. This just seems like instigation for The Observer’s amusement.”

    “All of this is for The Observer’s amusement!” Jaiden piped up—loudly, as she usually was. “It’s kill or be killed out here, and now it’s throwing fake eggs into the mix to see us trip over ourselves protecting them. It’s taunting us.”

    “Obviously,” said Cellbit.

   “But there’s not much else we can do,” Phil added. He paused, then sighed, stopping to rest by an acacia. He lifted his right arm weakly, gaze traveling down to the back of his arm where the uncomfortable metal band wrapped around his wrist. An electronic column lit up down the length of his arm, detailing percentages of points with differently colored bars that fought for dominance with each kill or mission—red for Bolas, blue for Soulfire, and green for Ninjas. Today, Soulfire dominated the event bar.

   Expression sobering, Phil kicked back onto his feet and began jogging in the direction of the Bolas base. He spoke into the headset, “Right now, we need to forget everything else that comes with Purgatory and focus on the points. We need to win as many days as possible, because that has a good outcome for us. That’s all we need to worry about right now.”

    “What about the eggs? All these debuffs and killing—”

   “We don’t care about that right now,” Phil snarled. “For all we care at this moment , Purgatory has and always will be our lives, and our primary objective is winning .” Phil paused, and a loose breath escaped him. “We can’t think about anything else.”

   There was silence on the line for a few beats, before, “Dad.” Baghera. Her voice was soft, almost somber. 

   “I know,” Phil replied quietly. “It’s getting to my head, too.”

   Grass crunched under his boots, tall strands brushing Phil’s elbows. Cicadas buzzed angrily in the shrubs. Red fog curled around a blue sky. There was silence.

   Until, “At least you aren’t running around naked like Charlie,” Foolish joked.

   Despite himself, Phil smiled. The others laughed while Charlie mumbled half-hearted retorts. Team Bolas were the underdogs, but they always came up with ways to lighten a dark room.

   Phil stepped up to the Bolas base, greeted by calloused hands clapping his shoulders and cheerful shouts of “Dad!”

Chapter Text

   One day in Purgatory, and Charlie was his team’s man in the chair—a spy with a goal.

   Two days, and Charlie’s mind was quickly losing itself to the sound of the ocean’s waves.

   Three days in, and Charlie had lost the shirt.

   His gas mask filtered out the smell of blood on his hands. It kept the plagued air out of his system. He would never be seen without it. Now, his hands lingered on the buckles of the mask, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the campfire before him. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, his mind screeched.

   Charlie lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around his legs. He hid his chin on his knees.

   The gas mask was so uncomfortable. The metal was too cold against the sides of his head. The suction made red marks in his cheek. He wanted it off so bad, but his fear of the unfiltered air trumped his buzzing irritation.

   Charlie didn’t notice, but across the campfire, Baghera was beginning to pick up on his unease (Although, it wasn’t hard to spot with the way Charlie was drumming his fingers on the ground as he always did when he was upset). The duck hybrid’s eyes glittered with sympathy as she scooted closer to him.

   “Charlie,” she murmured. Charlie hummed a tone, but didn’t bother to move his head. “Are you alright?”

   Haha. No. Charlie wasn’t alright.

   The island was messing with him. The island was pissing him off. He couldn’t hold a sword properly, and his form was that of a six-year-old’s, which means he can’t defend himself. He was so angry all the time—angry at the people who used to be his friends. At Bad, at Quackity .

   Purgatory was getting to his head and Charlie was at his breaking point .

   Before The Dipwad Eyeball knocked everyone unconscious at the end of the first day, Charlie’s walls of delusion came crashing down. He looked down at his rashes and realized: not a rash. Definitely not a rash . The thought of seeing the very building blocks of his being pulsing through his skin terrified him in a way it hadn’t before. And he didn’t know why . That’s what scared him the most.

   It wasn’t a rash. And thus, a domino effect of terrifying thoughts kept Charlie in constant torment. But, at least Purgatory was good at making things so tense that it numbed his emotions.

   It was in the quiet times like this when everything came crashing back.

   Baghera didn’t touch him, thankfully.

   “You can talk to me, you know,” she went on, concern dripping from her tone. She glanced over at the sleeping forms of Foolish and Jaiden, curled in fetal positions near the crackling campfire. “There’s no one listening.”

   Charlie just hummed, drumming his fingers faster.

   Baghera wilted. “Cet endroit va être notre fin…” she whispered to herself. Baghera paused to collect her thoughts. Charlie pressed his forehead into his arms and closed his eyes, face desperately pushing against the glass of the gas mask.

   Baghera made an encouraging humming noise.

   Charlie glanced up out of the folds of his arms, blinking at her. His eyes came into focus on her askew golden feathers, her soft beady eyes blinking at him. Baghera hummed again, a pleased sound.

   Hesitantly, Charlie hummed back.

   Baghera’s small smile widened. “The fire feels nice, doesn’t it?” she remarked.

   Charlie mumbled to himself as his eyes flicked over to the campfire again. Sparks flitted around the fiery tongues. His legs and feet were warm—a little too warm. He scooted back a bit and let the cool midnight air hit his back and soothe the burning feeling.

   He realized his “rash” couldn’t feel the heat. Charlie looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers, watching the green binary flicker and reposition. He held his hand closer to the fire, aching for the feeling.

   Baghera’s eyes widened. “Careful—”

   Charlie’s fingers brushed the fire and his hand glitched, a sputtering noise rising from his throat involuntarily. He drew his hand back, hiding it against his chest, trying to squash it—

   “Charlie, are you okay?” Baghera hovered close to him, eyes wide with concern. “Are you burned?”

   Charlie shook his head numbly. “I’m okay,” he rasped. He wasn’t, but his hand was.

   Baghera sighed softly and leaned back. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the fire,” she said simply. Charlie was so thankful she didn’t press about what just happened, because he didn’t really know either.

   “It’s okay.” He really needed to stop saying things were okay.

   Baghera hummed again and nodded, silently turning to the fire.

   They sat like that for a while.

   Charlie took a deep breath in through his nose. The gas mask translated it into a wheeze. “They should just rename this place to Hell already.”

   Baghera snorted as if it was a joke. “Yeah, no kidding,” she murmured. “I’m just so… stressed out. I’m going to start getting white hairs like Cellbit.” She ventured a smirk at Charlie, and Charlie tried to indulge with a laugh. It came out almost bitter-sounding.

   “None of us are going to come out of here the same,” Charlie mumbled, tilting his head to the side as his gas mask breathed out. He imagined grabbing one of Bad’s arms and twisting it to the point of immobility, or breaking off one of his stupid-looking horns. Leaving a few scars in Tubbo. Scaring Quackity into claustrophobia.

   It had been a long time since the wild urges to do horrible things to others had surfaced in him.

   Baghera nodded. “But… it’s just two weeks, right? Then we can pick up the pieces. It’ll be fine. We just have to hold out hope, like Dad says.”

   A soft chuckle bubbled in Charlie’s chest. “I wish I had your optimism, Baghera.”

   Baghera smiled again, but this time there was something somber to it. “I’m not optimistic all the time.” Charlie recalled the time she had shouted to the sky to take her egg; just let her go home. Given up so quickly and desperately.

   Weakly, Charlie risked a small grin, a worm of unease tugging at his stomach.

   In the end, Baghera offered to stay up for nightwatch, to let Charlie rest. Charlie numbly agreed, barely registering when Baghera slung one of her wings around his shoulder and drew him closer to her side. Charlie’s head fell to rest on her shoulder, eyes half-lidded as his mind wandered closer and closer to the pit of sleep, just dancing around the edge. 

   The abyss drew him in as the timer on his wrist device ticked down to the end, and The Observer knocked every player cold.

  The Observer’s form of unconsciousness was more like limbo than sleep. Charlie felt like an apparition sailing through a muggy sea of black, all time slowing until there was a burst of light, and he appeared on the other side.

Chapter Text

   Baghera Jones was officially Absolutely Done with this island.

   This island, and every other island. Soulfire’s was a no go, Ninjas’ was out of the question, and at this point, so was Quesadilla Island. She was sick and tired of beaches. She was so done with palm trees. So much for a nice vacation; now she was stuck in Purgatory.

   Still, Baghera tried to be a helpful teammate. She received orders and followed them. She suggested ideas and went along with plans. Baghera was doing what she was supposed to do.

    And yet.

   Walking through the sandy valley by the beachfront, Baghera tried to take her mind off of the fact her life was currently in danger. Instead, she decided to focus on the simple, constant pleasures of life: traveling, sightseeing, and the rumbling of her half-full stomach. The sound of leaves rustling in the trees reminded her of home, and the echo of sand crunching underfoot kept her grounded. She was down by the beach collecting stacks of sand for a mission, and thankfully, the satchel of infinite holding—or as it was more commonly called “inventory”—now had four stacks of white sand. 

   Of course, the peace had to end somehow. Baghera glanced down at her arm when her wrist device made a loud sound. There was the disastrous roulette, cheerful pixelated designs describing each event that would reap the lives of many teammates. Baghera watched as Burning Sun and Dehydration flew across the screen, slowing to land on… Flood.

   What?

   “Oh no,” said Baghera. “This is not good.”

    “Flood?” came a sharp cry from Jaiden over Baghera’s headset.

   “Aaughh,” Charlie whined.

   Phil quickly cut in. “Everyone get to higher ground.”

  Baghera flung her head wildly to the imposing cliff faces on either side of her. The sound of the ocean’s waves sounded closer than before. “I’m, um, well, I may be a bit stuck, Dad!”

   “Well get unstuck!” Very helpful. Phil sighed over the communicator. “Where are you, Baghera?”

   Baghera shot forward, running through the valley now. Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, a testimony to the sheer adrenaline throbbing in her temples. The sound of approaching water reminded her of the horrible rumbling of the plane that stranded her on Quesadilla. “I’m down in the valley!”

   Baghera heard Phil curse under his breath. “Alright, just…”

   “Run?” Baghera suggested fervently.

   “Yes, that.”

   Baghera ran. She stumbled over sand-covered stones and flashed terrified glances over her shoulder. The water frothed white, licking at her heels as it drew closer. Desperately, Baghera spread her arms and attempted to use her wings to kite her forward, letting the strong winds from behind push her ahead. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Baghera thought, speaking to no one but her wings. Thank you, thank you!

   Baghera could barely hear her team talking in her ear as the water churned closer and closer. Stretching out as much as her body allowed, Baghera bolted for the tunnel exit of the valley. Her wings glided her with enough speed to stumble out onto the moor just before the waves reached her boots, and Baghera tucked to roll left, out of the way of the water.

   Hopping back onto her feet from her sumersault, Baghera rushed up a hill.

   She allowed herself a few breaths before collapsing onto her bottom. Black dots swam around her vision, but as she looked down, she could make out ferocious sea water swarming the moor. Waves pushed against indignant acacia trunks, turning gray bark black.

   Baghera shivered and pulled her tattered sweater closer to her person.

   Once the adrenaline surging through her had died down to a dull throb, Baghera allowed herself to tune back in to the goings-on of her team. “Jaiden and I are up on the pillar. We’ve got a pretty good view from here,” Foolish was saying.

   The proud smile was evident in Charlie’s voice. “I had to run away from an underground fight!” he bragged.

    “So long as you’re safe,” said Phil. The flood charged on below. “Baghera? Are you with us?”

   Baghera took a few breaths to choke down the tears that threatened her eyes before speaking. “I’m okay. I’m with you, I’m with you.” It was spoken like a prayer. Ghostly, as if it was almost never there.

   “Do you think you can still get the sand to Global? I can have Charlie—”

   “No, no,” Baghera cut in, aggressively wiping under her eye. She took a breath in through her nose. “I can make it. Send a few others for— for backup, will you?”

   Phil paused. “Of course. Foolish, Jaiden? Me and you?”

   “We’re on it, El Cap-ee-tan!”

   As Bolas geared up for the treacherous trip to Global, Baghera waited with bated breath for the waters to die down.

   Once she deemed it safe to begin walking down the hill, Baghera set up a crossroads location for her, Foolish, Phil, and Jaiden to meet at. Global was a fair run away, but with the lingering surge of unbridled fear that boosted her speed when the flood rolled around, Baghera caught up with the rest of her team rather quickly.

   “The sand task is pretty simple, so we better be prepared to see other teams trying to nab it,” said Foolish, twisting the hilt of his dagger in his hand. The team’s stride fell in line; single file to hide their numbers; Phil at the head.

   Baghera chewed on the inside of her cheek absentmindedly, caught up in thought. She hoped the flood had stunted any other patrols, but Soulfire had always been resilient. Their leader, Tubbo, was only nineteen, but his skills in architecture and mechanics were unmatched by most. (At one time, Tubbo might have invited Baghera to look at his train system or marvel at the mountain-sized pit he dug to build a statue from bedrock to beyond the clouds. The thought crossed Baghera’s mind, and she wondered if the young man would ever consider that after they returned home.)

   The Bolas patrol stepped cautiously up the smooth white stairs on the deck towards Global Spawn. Foolish flanked Phil and Baghera on the left, with Jaiden on their right. Swords raised and glaring across the points of their blades, the four approached the dome.

   Global was a massive glass dome, reinforced with a knock-off protective layer, not unlike the kind the Federation used to protect their buildings. Rushing across the deck towards Global was a tense experience; every flash of light could be the moon reflecting off a weapon—any sound could mean approaching doom.

   “Go-go-go-go-go!”

   Baghera, Foolish, and Jaiden burst in through the side doors in the Global building, storming toward the stairs while Phil lingered on the deck.

   Baghera skipped every other stair. “Phil? What’s happening?” she called into her headset.

   “Ninjas,” came Phil’s voice over the comm. Baghera’s eyes widened. She hadn’t anticipated—

   Foolish and Jaiden heard it too. “I’ll go help Phil.” Foolish ran off, leaving Baghera and Jaiden to the Global Missions Adviser.

   “Hi,” Jaiden announced, practically slamming into the cactus hybrid’s table. “We’re here to turn in the sand mission.” Her voice was high-pitched and fast. Baghera tried to ignore the sounds of battle just downstairs.

   “Sure, sure,” said the adviser with a smile, oblivious to anything else. It probably didn’t even know where it was, Baghera mused. “Just put some in this here box and—”

   Baghera sped forward, ripping open her inventory and depositing the sand into the small gray  box. “Thanks,” she added, and nothing more was needed for Jaiden and her to bolt for the stairs.

   The two ran into Phil and Foolish at the last few steps. They were fighting off Quackity, Baji, and Etoiles—the Ninjas leader. As Baghera and Jaiden leaped into the fray, Baghera realized two things very quickly.

   One: this battle didn’t need to be fought, as she had already turned in the quest.

   Two: Etoiles was still very, very strong.

   He quickly overpowered Baghera, knocking her sword out of her hands with a flick of his wrist. He switched to a battle ax, bringing it up and over her head—

   “Baghera!”

   Etoiles’ ax came crashing down on Baghera’s skull and her world contorted into darkness.

   Baghera sailed laxly through the void before she was grabbed and pulled out into the light.

   Baghera awoke at the Bolas’ respawn point. Her armor and sword were lost.

   Limbs weak, Baghera walked off to get a drink of water.

Chapter Text

   The voice spoke to them in a dream. Or, at least, it felt like a dream. They couldn’t remember what had happened just before they were thrown into this never-ending void of darkness and red fog.

   “Greetings, restless combatants. Let’s get to the point.”

   Cellbit scowled. Right. The Observer. A ring of white dominated their sight, glowing an eerie crimson.

   “You are here to fight, not listen. The rules are simple. You will begin hunting for the opposing teams’ ‘egg’ on each team base. Amidst three bases, there will be a central cornucopia. You may be able to gather materials for your success. They will each have a visible life bar on your wrist device ”—Cellbit’s watch beeped and flashed—“ to show their dwindling health.”

   Unease wormed in its stomach. Cellbit tried to squash it. There was no room for that in Purgatory. But imagining having to go against Ninjas with their powerful, hardened leader Etoiles or Soulfire with their formidable intelligence and strength made the feral team Bolas seem like the underdogs once again.

   But Cellbit could hope. Phil was a war-hardened fighter in his life before the islands, Foolish knew the insides and outs of the bastion protecting their egg, and Charlie was… Well, Charlie was absolutely insane, which only boosted his headstrong ability to dive into battles.

   As long as Bolas was moving, they had a fighting chance. Cellbit was ready to break every barrier to defend its friends, if not the disgustingly fake replica of their eggs.

   “You will have to defend them with your life.”

   Cellbit knew that already.

   “Thankfully, I am generous. You will respawn closer to your base for the duration of your fight. You will also retain your inventory upon death. Explosives will not destroy terrain but can still damage your foes. Whichever team deals the most damage to enemy eggs will achieve the highest percentage for the day. Oh, and because of your nervousness, I will assure you that assumptions about what will happen to your eggs will only result in suffering.”

   Cellbit wished they had a weapon on them to vent some of its thinly-veiled anger.

   The Observer’s soulless laugh echoed through the expanse of nothing and buzzed in Cellbit’s ears. “May the best team win.” Red fog swarmed to blind them, and Cellbit presently allowed unconsciousness to overtake them.

   “Look alive, Bolas!”

   Cellbit felt dead.

   Hoofbeats made his ears twitch. Its eyes were shot, collecting airy dust from the desert. Foolish led the cavalry, Cellbit just behind on its dusky-pelted steed. Together they sped after Bad, bows strung and legs wrapped securely around their saddles.

   Foolish clutched a shield to his side while Cellbit kicked back on their stirrups, standing up in the saddle and pulling back their bowstring. Bad was dancing just out of range, circling around on its—albeit, slightly slower—horse.

   Cellbit let the arrow go long: a warning.

   Bad snapped an icy glare at the two. The cape of blue fire that rolled down its shoulders bristled.

   Cellbit wasn’t afraid of Bad. It was one of the most feared warriors of Soulfire, one of the first to draw blood when Purgatory began. It rivaled only Quackity on the list of people Charlie hated the most, and its kill count probably only seconded Etoiles’. Cellbit couldn’t bring themself to care.

   Foolish charged at Bad, twirling an ax in one hand. Cellbit followed just behind, snapping the reins as their horse lurched forward. Bad yanked on its reins and sped off, and thus the chase began.

   A few of Cellbit’s arrows soared and hit Bad’s horse, but the trained steed simply whinnied and forced itself on. Sand kicked up by hooves and speedy zig-zags kept Cellbit on their toes, trusting their horse to continue moving while they aimed another arrow.

   One of Bad’s arrows flew and nocked in Foolish’s horse’s neck, sending the animal reeling and slamming onto its side, likely crushing Foolish’s leg. Cellbit hissed in frustration and jerked on its reins. It sped past Foolish and lurched forward to reach Bad, trading its bow for an ax.

   “Fudge!” Bad shouted. Cellbit slammed their ax into its horse’s thigh. The creature brayed and lurched unceremoniously to the ground, taking Bad with it.

   Bad tucked and rolled away, kicking on to its feet as it ran off. Cellbit’s horse pounded after it. There was nothing but adrenaline left in them. Their eyes were glossy and bloodshot.

   Bad dug its heels into the ground and spun around, lashing out with a Fire Aspect sword that cut through Cellbit’s horse’s flank as they sped past. Cellbit was barely deterred as they barreled off of the horse, letting it veer off and crash into the dunes. They swung at Bad with an ax, met with the broad of its blade until they disconnected. Bad’s eyes were wide as it turned tail and ran for the slopes.

   Cellbit didn’t bother chasing it. They drew their bow again, nocking another arrow and sending it flying after Bad. The barrage of arrows wedged in the sand at Bad’s heels, and eventually, the great warrior was gone.

   Cellbit wasn’t sure how many times they had seen Pierre fall. Ignoring his taunts, Cellbit just cleaved an ax through him and was done with it. 

   Cellbit wasn’t sure how many times they had chased Bad across the desert. A few yards felt like hours. 

   Cellbit left nothing in the cornucopia for them.

   Cellbit was far away from their body. 

   It was The Observer’s game. Cellbit might as well play it.

   Cellbit’s heart was gradually beating faster.

   Etoiles grinned malevolently and twirled the dagger in their hand. “ Après-midi , Cellbit.” He seemed overjoyed.

   “I”—Cellbit laughed nervously—“I wasn’t really planning on attacking you!” Another precise arrow launched and wedged itself into their thigh. Cellbit winced.

   “Really?” The Ninjas leader stepped down from the top of the slope, idling next to Cellbit, but they didn’t miss the way his feet shuffled into an attack position. “I don’t remember having an alliance with team Bolas.”

   Cellbit tilted its head and blew a clump of sweat-stained hair out of its face. “So we’re doing this.” They lurched at Etoiles with their ax, met by a shield. Cellbit jumped out of the way of a sword thrust, leaving Etoiles room to poach their personal space.

   Etoiles’ sword lashed out again, connecting with Cellbit’s skin. Cellbit’s tail bristled and it paced back, hoping to put some distance between them but was quickly overtaken by the leader. Most of Etoiles’ cuts tried to make it through to the weak parts of Cellbit’s currently-invisible armor, which made some of the worry inside them leak out into their face.

   Cellbit whipped out their sword, swinging it at Etoiles with reckless abandon. They got a few hits, and Etoiles matched them with his own. Again and again weapons collided or missed or parried, and with each heartbeat Cellbit could hear thudding in their ribcage, the end seemed to creep closer and closer.

   And Etoiles was towering over them.

   Cellbit turned tail and ran. Etoiles landed a blow to their shoulder.

   Cellbit floated peacefully through—

   It wasn’t going to waste any more time in limbo.

   Their head was hammering. The arrow blows stung like fire. Cellbit returned to the fray, met with Etoiles who was now equipped with his signature dagger and a friend.

   Quackity and Etoiles came at them from both sides, shouting fruitlessly at them. Cellbit couldn’t hear. Cellbit was a machine with one goal: to fight. They would throw themself into battle over and over again because that’s what The Observer programmed them for.

   Cellbit fought until Etoiles pushed it back against strategically placed lava, not even sparing it a death in fire.

   The sword tore through Cellbit’s armor and through its gut.

   Cellbit waded through the void, closing its eyes and allowing itself to cry a little until the universe spat it out to the other side.

Chapter Text

   Jaiden limply allowed her battle ax to drop from her hand, her shaking fingers moving up to brush through her hair. Foolish, Cellbit, Baghera, and Phil all shuffled in after her, Phil breaking off from the group to relight the torches strung up against the walls of the cavern. Cellbit went for the bandage chest with Baghera limping after them, while Foolish simply slumped against a wall, sighing happily with his weight off of his leg.

   There was silence, if not for the quiet dripping of cave water from stalactites far overhead. Jaiden’s gaze swept bleakly over her teammates, assessing everyone’s wear and tear before ambling off to a hidden storage room.

   Jaiden’s pickaxe quickly broke through a wall of deepslate, revealing a small hollowed-out area. There was a refrigerator stuffed in the corner, rumbling softly. Around it crowded seven sleeping bodies. 

   They could easily be passed off as dead if it wasn’t for the way their eyes flicked back and forth behind their eyelids, as if looking for something. Jaiden frowned and idly picked at a scar on her cheek as she slumped down to sit next to them.

   Every team knew that a majority of Bolas’ team members hadn’t even awoke in Purgatory yet. While it was common for some people to fall into a sort of coma-like state on Quesadilla Island, Bolas seemed to be terribly unlucky and ended up with the most frequent sleepers. Jaiden had hoped when they were out of Federation territory the comas would stop and they could live the way they did before Quesadilla, but it seemed that was not the case.

   Jaiden glanced at Charlie, who’s eyes moved the least among the sleeping group. He was unable to wake up that morning, and was left behind during the battles.

   Jaiden snorted bitterly. “We really could’ve used you, big guy,” she croaked. She sniffed and wiped a trail of ash from under her eye. “We really could’ve used all of you .”

   Carre had been awake the day the Purgatory teams dropped on to their islands, and had defended the weak Bolas with a strength that made up for the fact that the rest of their team were comatose. Jaiden missed the solemn spirit from the man and knew he could’ve been a massive contributor to Bolas’ success.

   When Jaiden thought about it, she wouldn’t mind if Willy stayed asleep. He had proved to be sort of a lone wolf—never sticking to anything important—which meant no one would be able to stop him if he—likely—decided to go rogue. That being said, Jaiden thought if they could beat some loyalty in him, he would make a valuable explosives expert.

   Wilbur’s hands were crossed peacefully over his lap, curly brown hair shading his closed eyes. Wilbur, Phil’s son, who—mind you—had been allowed a six-month-long Federation-backed trip to the Mainland to play shows with his band. Wilbur, who had left his daughter behind for six months , and now wasn’t awake to fight to get her back.

   German and Felps’ comas were given, however. Felps had fallen into a long, long coma for almost the entirety of their time on Quesadilla Island, while German fell asleep within a day. Jaiden didn’t know them, and didn’t expect to much from them.

   Vegetta seemed to be resting with a small smile on his face. He seemed to be content to neglect his team.

   With a groan, Jaiden dropped her face into her hands. “You all have no idea how terrible this has been!” Their smooth, untouched faces and impeccably clean clothes were luxuries Jaiden couldn’t stand to face. She didn’t even have the privilege of sleep . “I’m so jealous of you all. You don’t have to watch us all die meaninglessly every day .” Jaiden pressed her palms into her eyes.

   She thoroughly wiped her face and glanced up at the sleepers. “You’re all so lucky.”

   Jaiden sat there for a while.

   A sharp gasp drew Jaiden out of the hazy doze she was left in. She blinked, scanning for danger, but only finding Charlie, slowly shifting where he sat, adjusting his broken glasses.

   Jaiden allowed some of the tension to leak out of her shoulders. “Charlie. You’re awake.”

   “Yeah,” he agreed. “Rubius Christ, I forgot what the coma does to you.” Charlie rubbed his forehead and glanced around at the lump of sleepers beside him.

   Jaiden glanced up and observed him. She herself never went into comas for too long, and usually when she awoke, she filled the void in her memories with new ones that blotted out whatever happened in her dream world. Charlie was familiar with the comas, as he had a long one not too many months ago.

   Jaiden wondered what he saw.

   She shook her head as newfound anger found its way to her brain. “You missed out on the Egg War.”

   Charlie’s eyes were still barely glossed over as he turned to her. His mouth hung slightly agape. “Sorry, I— Uh, you can’t really help it when, you know, you pass out like this—”

   “I know,” Jaiden snapped, turning away.

   Charlie paused. “Alright.” He moved on. “What happened?”

   “We won,” Jaiden gritted out.

   Charlie’s face bloomed. “No way! That’s insane! I bet you all did amazing!”

   “It was great,” Jaiden replied bleakly.

   Charlie’s grin lingered as he grunted and pushed himself up onto his feet. “Well, I bet everyone needs some help cleaning up. Maybe I can work more tonight to make up for missing out.”

   Jaiden rolled her eyes, but got up as well. “Instead of going on a midnight date with Mariana? Sounds great.”

   Charlie’s cheeks flushed but he only lightly pushed her shoulder, stepping out of the room and into the newly relit cave. Jaiden stepped out and strapped on her sword, passing by Cellbit, Baghera, and Foolish who were touching foreheads as they worked on stitching each other’s wounds. She hovered nearby while Charlie rummaged through chests, taking out his day-to-day armor and buckling it on.

   “I’ll come with you,” she suggested, idly picking at the crusted blood behind her nails. “I need to get some stress out.”

   “Sounds good,” Charlie chirped, lacing up his clunky boots. They relayed the plan to Phil before heading out into the evening, starlight reflecting in their eyes.

   Jaiden let some of her aggravation out through her hoe swiping at wheat. “So, what’s headspace like in a coma?” she asked.

   Charlie let out a sharp noise. “Ah, well, Purgatory comas are a little different than the ones I’ve had on Quesadilla Island. They’re kinda like respawn limbo—ya’ know—except you kinda feel like you’re always being watched.”

   Jaiden tilted her head, passively glancing over at him as he piled harvested wheat onto a small wagon. “Could that be The Observer?”

   “You know, I thought of that,” Charlie said. “You’ve kind of only got your thoughts in there, so I thought a lot. I never really narrowed down where the feeling was coming from, though, since everything felt like a physical blur and I was just a smudge in the middle of it.”

   Jaiden scowled. “That sounds terrible.” She paused, studying the handle of her hoe. “Do you think the others feel like that?” She continued.

   Charlie shrugged. “I guess we’ll never really know until they wake up.”

   “You know, as pissed as I am that they’re still asleep, I really can’t blame them. It’s certainly Purgatory out here.”

   “Yeah.” Charlie offered a soft grin as he passed Jaiden by, clapping her shoulder with a dust-caked hand. “Besides, we’re pretty strong even without them. We can make it.”